Narcissistic Giving
Why do I have to say ‘nice meeting you’ to people I hate?’
Holden Caulfield’s question (In J.D.Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye) resonated with a generation of adolescents who seemed to be suffering from the same identity crisis. They were unmoored; certain they did not want to follow in the footsteps of their parents, but bewildered as to the path that they should follow. One answer was offered by The Graduate, the movie that helped launch the 60’s: do not bend to the expectations and exhortations of your elders; whatever the cost, follow your bliss (“To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any man.”)
The problem is that there is not just one self. There are, in addition to the true self: a false self, a social self, a fantasy self, a delusional self, a creative self, a narcissistic self.
Not surprisingly, one is called the true-self. It is the self that is, by far, the most difficult to connect with. No two true-selves are remotely alike; but sincerity and authenticity are essential elements. Rationality, coherence, consistency, cognitive efficiency, (however desirable) are not indispensable. It is a sad fact that some of the most invaluable aspects of a person’s true self — taking ownership of one’s behavior; manifesting an adult self-reflective, open-minded perspective, and perhaps most important, a vibrant subjectivity that one way or another, makes itself dynamically-present — are often sadly missing (in its stead, is what DW Winnicott famously called the false self).
Some of the most famous books and movies (of the post-WW2 period) reflect this: i.e. The Graduate, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Five Easy Pieces, The Heartbreak Kid, The Rainman, The Stranger). A cultural shift had occurred. In order to keep up clinical psychology and psychotherapy came up with new categories: Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD); Schizoid Personality; As If Personality; Sociopath, Psychopath).
What they had in common was a dislocated self; an uprootedness; (see Christopher Bollas’ Meaning and Melancholia — Life in the Age of Bewilderment) — (Oliver Stone’s protagonist in Wall Street — Charlie Sheen staring from the balcony of his brand new, and very first, penthouse apartment; and whispering “Who am I?”).
Perhaps the signature illness of the new age was the Narcissistic Personality Disorder. There are many aspects to — NPD — none is more salient to the psyche than profound boredom when it comes to relating. There is a brief scene in the classic comedy Annie Hall when Woody Allen, mic in hand, is strolling down the street as though he is a roving reporter working the crowd. Suddenly he comes upon a remarkable looking couple, approaching from the opposite direction: arms linked, both well over 6 feet (towering over Woody Allen), beautifully tanned, superbly fit, with God-given perfect features as though they had just finished a fashion shoot.
Seizing the opportunity, Woody Allen stops them, “excuse me, you look like you have a nice relationship — could you tell us what your secret is?”
The woman (taking this seriously as though they’re having a Doctor Phil moment) after thinking for a moment, carefully answers:
“Well, I am shallow. I have no ideas. And I never have anything to say.”
Woody Allen, taking this in as though he may be on to something, “Hmm.”
The woman, sensing the interview is over, returns to her default expression, which is a thousand-yard stare. Woody Allen, turning to her partner who, (head bowed) as though listening with rapt attention:
“And you?”
(Enthusiastically) “And I’m the same way!”
Woody Allen (turning as though to a hidden camera recording this), “So, I see, you two have worked out a thing between you.” The vignette cannot take more than a half a minute to play out. The genius of these two vignettes is that — Woody Allen and J.D. Salinger under the pretense of spoofing the superficiality of contemporary relationships have put their finger on something truly profound. Modern love is absurdly infantile, hollow, and devoid of meaning in any philosophical simple sense. The line, “Why do I have to be nice to people I hate,” struck a nerve. To which the short answer is: because — if they didn’t say that — they would be faced with telling someone the awful truth; in effect, that meeting them has been boring and banal, (which seems to characterize the vast majority of social encounters). That it has been without meaning, and it is hard to imagine ever wanting to run into them again. But we can’t say that, as the great social psychologist, Erving Goffmann long ago pointed out. So to get through these typically fraught encounters there is an unspoken and powerful contract that holds sway: “We’ll treat you as though you are better than I think you really are. As long as you agree not to take advantage of me.” Goffmann gives the example of a guest, enjoying himself at his friend’s house, he enquires, as the hour grows late — if it would be alright if he could stay a while longer. “Stay as long as you like,” to which Goffmann adds an ironic footnote: “If the guest makes the mistake of really believing it then (ignoring the usual, not so subtle hints, he will find after just a few minutes that he has worn out his welcome). His irritation will become palpable (an indispensable social contract has been violated!).
Woody Allen, in his inimitable way, takes the situation to another (deeper) level: he betrays what it would be like if ordinary people were truth tellers: not necessarily to bluntly reveal “I find you boring,” but to politely dispense with the almost ubiquitous phony pleasantries; smile politely and then, (biting your lip) — just refuse to say “nice to meet you!” (and thereby make an enemy for life.)
What happens if someone shows you a picture of their children, or partner, and on a scale of one to ten, the very best you can give them is a 2 or a 3? What if someone shows you a picture of their newborn infant and, stunned, your first thought is a reflexive “that’s an ugly baby?” I’ve never heard anyone say that, nor know anyone who heard of someone saying that. It may be one of the most unsayable things to say in the English language.
The genius of Woody Allen’s vignette — “I’m shallow. I have no ideas. And I never have anything to say.” is that it goes to the level of brutal honesty that is utterly unimaginable. Why? First, because it is profoundly self-contradictory. Someone who is honest enough to think that is thereby too intelligent to ever say it. Why? The answer is because it is so shamelessly unnecessary and also because there has to be a humiliating degree of truth in it, in order for any one to go to the trouble of playing this game.
What truth? That very often that is exactly how people do feel when — there is that horrible silence, when two strangers who have just met, look into each others’ eyes and don’t know what to say. Typically that is the moment when — after the cursory pleasantries have been exchanged — that it is time to go or not to go to the next level of intimacy. A difficult decision, because having just met the person, you are wary of prematurely overcommitting (signalling that you are open to a second, more extensive encounter that later, with hindsight, you may bitterly regret). On the other hand, minutes after just one meeting, you are considering never meeting the other person again. So, you stall for time. Perhaps, the other will do or say something, that may make the decision easier. Such moments are inherently uncomfortable. The person feels put on the spot. If a window of opportunity is rapidly closing, you either make a favorable impression almost immediately or you are at risk for being judged a nonentity for the rest of your life. Narcissistic Giving is the name I have given to the universal defense mechanism that has evolved to deal with this: the person — in order not to be unfairly judged at having nothing to offer — makes a show of being extraordinarily, gratuitously generous and giving. They turn a routine act of giving into a performance of how potent they are. Whatever favor is asked, no matter how little, they say, “no problem.” If a person is helpless, or has fallen down, they instantly make a display of grandiosity extending an arm. If someone who is lost, asks for directions, they whip out their smartphone and almost instantly, via the magic of GPS, produce the most expeditious route to take. Ironically, the more impersonal, perfunctory, and officious, the more haughty the performance. There is no more fertile field for Narcissistic Giving than politics: the politician concluding a major address to the nation with a de rigeur portentous “…and, may God bless America.” Or the campaigning politician making one outrageous promise after another, that everyone knows has almost zero chance of being kept.
And for the individual who has no power other than his pitiful (one person, one vote) there is always, what I have called The Politicized Psyche. When it comes to Narcissistic Giving the last refuge for the hopeless and hapless — is something that is called the Politicized Psyche. Instead of seemingly being reduced to Woody Allen’s “I’m shallow. And I have no ideas. I never have anything to say.” — the person grasps at a political lifeline. Instead of having nothing to say — what they say might be the most important thing anyone has ever said — because the fate of our Democracy hangs on it!
Thirty years ago, I wrote a short book about Narcissistic Giving (which of all my books is by far the most read) in it with a brief section with a variation on narcissistic giving I call The Politicized Psyche. I mention it now, because, because it seems to almost perfectly fit the battered psyche of the post truth post reality time in which we are living. (See Christopher Boallas’s profoundly insightful new book Meaning and Melancholia: Life in the Age of Bewilderment
- Gerald Alper is the author of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Patient (Psychodynamic Studies of the Creative Personality). His new book is God and Therapy (What We Believe When No One is Watching).
