Writings on Narcissism, Part 3

Rastinews — Man is an insufficient being…

Deficiency and inadequacy are among the most familiar human experiences. A newborn cannot cope with life alone for a long stretch of time. Its parents and surrounding social world make up for its deficiencies. It cannot feed itself, clean itself, or meet its own needs. Psychoanalysis often invokes a telling comparison: humans are, in effect, born "prematurely." A gazelle fawn can run within hours of birth; a lion cub becomes independent of its mother in a relatively short time. Human independence, by contrast, takes an extraordinarily long time to achieve. A deep gap separates biological birth from psychological birth — the point of full psychic integration. It is precisely within that gap that the child confronts its own deficiencies and inadequacies, and begins learning to cope with them. This is why the sense of inadequacy is one of the most basic and earliest emotions a person comes to know. Nor does it belong to childhood alone: adults, too, periodically encounter this primal experience of lack.

The feeling of deficiency is not merely one of the earliest human experiences; it is one of the founding axes of psychic life. From the moment of birth, a person confronts his own inadequacy — but at first this inadequacy is not experienced as trauma. It is carried within a relationship. The infant's deficiency is made bearable by the caregiver's presence. In other words, a person can tolerate his own lack only through the presence of another. Yet this early experience does not always remain seamless. In time, the child discovers that the world does not exist for him alone, that love is neither absolute nor unconditional, and that others make the same claim to "uniqueness." This discovery marks a narcissistic rupture. The first world, built around the self as its center, is shaken.

At this point narcissism emerges not merely as a fantasy of grandeur but as a way of managing deficiency. Rather than experience inadequacy directly, a person covers it over by feeling stronger, more special, more "complete" than he really is. Narcissistic structure is, in a sense, a denial of lack — but the harder that denial works, the deeper the underlying fragility grows. The most demanding emotional response to confronting one's own deficiency is shame. Shame is not simply the feeling that one has failed at something; it is the feeling that one is, in one's very self, inadequate, lacking and worthless. For that reason shame touches the self at its most exposed and unprotected. People often resort to various defense mechanisms to avoid this intense feeling. Rather than confront shame directly, they suppress it, deny it, or convert it into other emotions. Shame, after all, is not just the experience of failure — it is a moment of rupture that threatens the integrity of the self.

According to Norbert Elias, shame and shaming are among the most fundamental regulating emotions of the civilizing process (Der Prozess der Zivilisation=The Civilizing Process, 1991). Similarly, Moritz Senerclens de Grancy, drawing on the Christian narrative, states that shame is one of the first emotions a human being experiences (Der heißeste Wunsch der Menschheit=Humanity's Most Burning Desire, 2022). Adam and Eve noticing their nakedness and feeling shame after eating the forbidden fruit shows that shame is one of the founding moments of a person's encounter with himself. Nakedness here is not merely a bodily condition; it is also a state of existential exposure. Hans Peter Duerr, too (Nacktheitund Scham=Nakedness and Shame, 2017) emphasizes that nakedness is linked to shame across different cultures. This shows that shame is organized not only individually but culturally as well. We regard certain societies (in Africa, in the Amazon) as naked and assume they feel no shame about it. Duerr writes that in these societies nakedness and privacy are defined differently, and that the nakedness these societies do recognize likewise provokes in them a sense of shame. So nakedness and shame have shared the same frame since Adam and Eve.

Modesty and Covert Narcissism

Modesty is generally regarded as a positive, valuable trait. People feel a kind of ease around modest individuals, because the modest person does not push himself forward — he keeps even his praiseworthy qualities in the background. In this sense, genuine modesty is a sign of narcissistic balance. The person neither inflates nor devalues himself; he feels no need to keep staging himself in order to display his qualities. Today, when many people put even their most ordinary skills on display to be seen, liked and admired, modesty looks almost like an anti-narcissistic stance. But it is precisely here that something else emerges: the instrumentalization of modesty.

Some narcissistic structures use modesty as a cover. In overt narcissism, a person praises himself directly. In covert narcissism, a person does not praise himself; instead, he gets others to do it. The blatant narcissist puts himself on stage; the modest narcissist has others build the stage for him. He does not applaud himself; he makes others applaud. He does not glorify himself; he organizes his own glorification. In this case, the "modest" person does not put himself on display, but those who attach that label to him do the advertising for him. What results is not modesty but a modesty show. At this point, modesty becomes a mask that hides narcissism. The person helps, but acts as if he is not showing it off. Yet those around him describe just how generous he is — and glorify him further by saying he "does it secretly because he is modest." A clear contradiction sits here: if something is truly hidden, how does everyone come to know it? This kind of covert narcissism becomes especially visible at moments of crisis. It is a pattern common after natural disasters. Those who say "I helped without telling anyone" then recount that "secret" help in public, exposing the contradiction. In a cultural context where help is given in God's name, carried out "for the sake of Allah," recounting that help to others is not seen as improper. In this way, "secret good deeds" turn into an indirect form of display. At this point, modesty stops being a virtue and becomes a strategy. And perhaps this is covert narcissism at its most potent: being seen without showing off, being glorified without boasting. Genuine modesty, however, means staying outside this game altogether. Genuine modesty does not strive to stay unseen, but it does not build itself up to be seen either. In this sense, modesty is not only a virtue; it is also an anti-narcissistic stance. But in a narcissistic age, on social ground where narcissism is at times branded as arrogance, self-indulgence and egotism, humility and modesty become a powerful value. And for that very reason, appearing virtuous can turn into a new mask. Modesty is no longer just an attitude; it becomes a trait to display, an identity to wear. At this point, a person is modest not because he is modest, but because he wants to appear modest. And so narcissism rebuilds itself — not through overt display, but through covert virtue. It is strongest exactly where it is least visible.

Religion, Nation and Narcissism

For a Buddhist, the truest and highest faith is Buddhism. A Jew sees himself as part of God's chosen people. Throughout history, Christianity has spread its own faith as a universal and superior truth through missionary work. For a Muslim, Islam is the truest and highest religion. It is almost impossible for a believer to accept that another faith is truer than his own and still remain in that faith. The same holds for sects. Alevis experience Alevism, and Sunnis experience Sunnism, as the truest and finest form of belief. The emphasis on "the" here is not merely a preference; it is also a narcissistic positioning. The Frankfurt School drew attention to this kind of structure when it studied fascism, pointing to the concept of collective narcissism. Erich Fromm defined it as "group narcissism": an individual considering the group he belongs to superior to others, without any rational basis. This is not limited to religion; it applies to nations too. A German who considers himself superior because he is German, or a Frenchman who feels superior because he is French, bases that sense of superiority not on personal achievement but on belonging. Collective narcissism requires no particular effort from the individual. Belonging is enough. In individual narcissism, a person builds a sense of worth through his own skills, achievements and traits. In collective narcissism, that worth is built through the group's exaggerated narratives. Collective narcissism is therefore not just a sense of belonging; it is also an exclusionary construction of superiority. And this is precisely where racism takes root, because instead of producing his own worth, the individual absolutizes the worth of the group he belongs to. Yet no person is superior simply for belonging. No nation is valuable simply for being a nation. Statements like "the Turk is equal to the world" express not a truth but a collective narcissistic fantasy. Collective narcissism gives the individual a chance to boast and take pride without any effort. A person feels valuable not through his own achievement, but through the exaggerated worth of the group he belongs to. For this reason, collective narcissism often blocks rational thought, because the issue here is not reasoning but a state of affect. The sense of superiority is accepted without question; it is open to protection, not debate. My students sometimes ask, during our presentations on racism and group narcissism: "How can we make this more understandable and put it in a normal frame?" I start from here: I am Turkish. The rituals of Turkishness — attitudes invisible in daily life but built into the culture — feel familiar to me. I express myself best in Turkish; I live my emotions in this language and on this cultural ground. But that does not make Turkishness superior or worthless. Turkishness is, for me, a place of closeness and belonging. But that closeness is not grounds for superiority. I tell my students that the same relationship I have built with my own Turkishness could be built the same way by a Kurd, an Albanian, or someone from any other community. Belonging is a form of the relationship a person builds with the world; it is not a measure of worth.

Whose Shit Is Worth More… The Narcissist's Shit…

Some films produced a certain representation of "Kurdishness" to glorify modernity — a modernity often equated with Western civilization — by putting feudalism and "backwardness" on display. In these representations, Kurds were drawn as figures living under a tribal-lord system, polygamous, brutal and crude. These traits were often exaggerated into caricature. The audience laughed — but also felt superior. Many viewers came to know "the Kurds" through these images before ever meeting one in real life. This representation did not merely depict an other; it also built a basis for comparison: "They are like that, we are not." Kurdish characters in these films were often drawn as slovenly, dirty and disorderly. This produced not only a social construct but also a "bodily" image. Yet one of the most basic things a person learns from childhood is to stay away from filth, to clean it and to be rid of it. Cleanliness is not only about hygiene; it is also a form of cultural and emotional regulation. Precisely for this reason, the image of "filth" carries not only a physical but also a moral and cultural meaning. The relationship built with Kurds through these representations was shaped by this very image. What is "dirty" becomes something to be kept at a distance, placed below, and excluded. Yet it is easily overlooked that the same practices, the same beliefs, or similar contradictions could exist in other social structures too. Traits attributed to the other are externalized rather than questioned within their own cultural context. Thus the matter does not remain a mere representation; it turns into a mechanism of separation. And this separation is built at the most basic level — through the body, cleanliness and disgust. Yet it was easily overlooked that the same practices, the same beliefs, or similar contradictions could exist in other social structures too. Traits attributed to the other were externalized rather than questioned within their own cultural context. Thus criticism gave way to a sense of superiority. Comparison replaced questioning. Issues such as the tribal-lord system, violence against women, or inequality were presented as though they belonged to a particular group, rather than being treated as universal social problems. This gave the viewer an opportunity: to ignore similar problems within their own society while building a sense of superiority over another. For instance, while practices such as polygamy, concubinage or slavery found in religious narratives were rendered invisible, the same or similar issues were attributed only to the "other." Thus Kurds were equated with disrespect for women's rights, while similar contradictions within one's own religious and cultural narratives went unquestioned. Yet the fact that the concubines and slaves in these narratives were also human — and often women — was overlooked. The "other," coded as crude and uncouth, was criticized, while the same issues were rendered invisible when discussed within their own context. In debates on women's and human rights in Islam, concubines and slaves were often excluded from the category of human altogether. Thus criticism ceased to be a universal inquiry and became a selective gaze.

How deeply these representations have been internalized can also be seen in popular cinema. In one Kemal Sunal film, a sharecropper who returns from the city to his village starts running a paid toilet to make a living. But the tribal lord is granted a privilege: he uses the toilet for free. "Free for the ağa"… This scene is not merely a comic device. It also shows how hierarchy, privilege and "who is entitled to what" extend into the most basic, most bodily areas of daily life. And this is precisely where the matter sharpens: even the thing considered most "lowly" — the body, excrement, cleanliness — becomes part of the social hierarchy.

In recent years, a language similar to the one urban Sunni Turks built to demean Kurds has begun to be built around "Almancılar" (Turkish emigrants in Germany). Traces of this are not hard to find in everyday speech. Statements like "Almancılar clean toilets but come to Turkey and show off" are common. Yet the issue is not who cleans toilets. One of the most basic facts of being human is that a person produces their own waste and must clean it. In fact, one of the most important steps in a person's acquisition of autonomy is learning to clean up after themselves. In other words, to sustain life, every person is directly or indirectly connected to this "dirty work." For this reason, the language used to demean Almancılar is, in fact, a way of covering up a social problem: an attitude that does not clean its own filth but belittles the cleaning labor of others. This is exactly why public toilets are often too dirty to use: people leave their own waste behind instead of cleaning it. As Erich Fromm pointed out, people may not be disgusted by their own filth while being disgusted by that of others. This is the product of a narcissistic distinction. In other words, a person values their own excrement more than that of others. A person is not disgusted while cleaning their own waste, but another's waste is repulsive. A person tolerates their own "filth" while turning another's into a degrading object. Norbert Elias, too, in The Civilizing Process, describes the historical transformation of feelings of shame and disgust, showing how these feelings became part of social distinctions. One of a person's earliest experiences is confronting the fact that their own body is not clean. An infant is not only fed; it is also cleaned. It produces its own excrement and, over time, learns to control and clean it. In other words, one of the most basic conditions of being human is this: a person becomes soiled. And life is organized around ways of dealing with this soiling. But the narcissistic structure struggles to accept this shared condition. It renders its own filth invisible while magnifying that of others. This is why "our own" is tolerated while the same behavior in "others" is scorned. The problem is not the other's filth, but the failure to acknowledge one's own. And perhaps the most basic question is this: whose excrement is truly worth more?

A childhood-centered culture

Culture, in terms of childhood, can be roughly divided into two. The first is adult-centered culture. In this structure, adults — more precisely, often adult men — are at the center. Needs, priorities and decisions are shaped around them. Children hold a secondary position within this order; they come after adults and are not held to be of equal worth. This can be seen even in the simplest everyday practices. At the dinner table, for example, the adult man is fed first; what remains is shared among the women and children. This is not merely a habit; it is also the expression of a hierarchical order of values. By contrast, starting especially from the 17th century, a child-centered world began to develop in the West. In this new cultural order, the child is positioned as a being who must be protected, who is special, and who must be placed at the center. In many situations now, the child's needs are considered first. In planning a weekend activity, the child is asked what they want, and the family arranges itself accordingly. This shift can be observed even within the home: whereas control of the television once lay with the older man, today families have come to watch children's programs together with their children. Along with this centering of the child, an extensive children's industry has also developed. Fairy tales, clothes, rooms, toys, playgrounds and films made for children… An entire world of consumption has been organized around the child. This transformation has, on one hand, brought important gains in terms of the protection and development of the child. On the other hand, however, constantly placing the child at the center can also create a foundation that feeds the child's narcissistic structure. A child-centered life produces not only care and protection but also a continuous experience of being valued and privileged. And when this experience is not limited, it creates fertile ground for the development of narcissism.

In eras when medicine and hygiene had not developed sufficiently, people had many children to carry on their lineage and secure their old age. But child deaths were extremely common. Under these conditions, the emotional investment made in a child was also limited. Childhood was, in a sense, a waiting stage: whether the child would survive was not yet certain. For this reason, parents often avoided forming a deep emotional bond with the child. The psychology of motherhood and fatherhood here was different from today's. A child was born, but whether it would live was left largely to fate — or, in religious terms, to God's will. The notion of "God gave, God took away" offered a way of coping with such losses, while also providing a framework that limited individual responsibility. As a result, the relationship formed with the child was more distant, more cautious. Keeping the emotional bond limited also limited the pain of a possible loss. Today, the situation has changed radically. With advances in medicine, child mortality has dropped sharply, transforming the nature of the emotional relationship formed with children. Today, a child is a being invested in intensely — not only biologically, but emotionally. A bond forms with the child from the very earliest stages of pregnancy; even an unborn baby acquires meaning within the family. For this reason, even the loss of a fetus just weeks old — through miscarriage or abortion — can create a heavy psychological burden for the mother. Childhood is no longer merely a process of growth; it is also an intense field of emotional relationship. And this transformation has radically changed the child's place within the family. Today, childhood has largely become a field of narcissistic investment. People take pride in their children, delight in their successes, and often experience those successes as an extension of their own selves. The child becomes not just a subject living their own life, but also a figure who feeds the parent's sense of worth. For this reason, the child is no longer seen, as in the past, merely as a guarantee for the future — old-age or retirement security. Instead, the child becomes a source of emotional nourishment that functions in the present as well. The child's success is felt as the parent's own success. The child's happiness merges with the parent's sense of worth. Thus the relationship formed with the child takes shape not only through care and responsibility, but also through a narcissistic reciprocity. This produces a strong emotional bond on one hand, while on the other it carries the risk of turning the child into a carrier of the parent's emotional needs. In other words, the relationship is not one-directional. As parents nurture the child, the child also nurtures the parents emotionally. This reciprocity is not merely a caregiver–care-receiver relationship; it is also an emotional exchange. For the parent, the child is not only a being to be protected, but also a source of joy, pride and meaning. Thus the child becomes, as much as one being raised, a figure that nourishes the parent's self. Here the child's narcissistic value rises sharply, and parents become emotionally dependent on the child. In other words, the child gains far more power than is commonly assumed…