Writings on Narcissism, Part 9

Rastinews — Narcissistic dependency

The modern narcissist cannot love himself directly. He can only love himself once he sees that others love him. Other people's admiration is therefore not a luxury for him but a necessity — proof of his own worth. If someone desires him, he can believe he is worth desiring. If someone loves him, he can find himself lovable. So although the modern narcissist appears self-sufficient, he is in fact deeply dependent.

The source of his worth lies not within himself but in the gaze of others. That is why he constantly needs to be seen, approved of, admired — the moment that gaze is withdrawn, his sense of worth collapses with it. This is the paradox at the heart of narcissism: the narcissist claims to need no one, yet is in fact the person who needs others most. He devalues others, yet can only feel his own worth through them. He looks down on others, yet waits for them to confirm his existence. Modern narcissism is thus a sign not of a strong self-love but of how fragile that self-love really is.

It is an attempt to borrow, from others, the worth one cannot give oneself. Here, another's love does not complete the self — it merely props it up. The modern narcissist tries to love himself, but can only do so through someone else's eyes. The defining feeling of modern narcissism is therefore not self-sufficiency but a compulsion to be seen. When he goes unseen, unapproved, unadmired, he does not simply feel hurt — he begins to doubt the very worth of his existence, because the only way he can love himself is by believing that someone else loves him. Modern narcissism thus means feeling compelled not just to love oneself but to keep re-creating oneself. The self no longer merely looks at itself; it produces itself. And perhaps for the first time, it becomes both the creator and the creation of its own existence.

Even if everyone admired him constantly, the narcissist's problem would remain unsolved, because underneath it all sits a conviction that he does not deserve to be loved. Admiration, in other words, can never satisfy a narcissist.

Narcissistic intelligence

This calls for another concept: narcissistic intelligence. People with a narcissistic structure are often remarkably sharp at spotting other people's weaknesses. They are skilled at sensing others' needs, fears and vulnerabilities — and they typically use that sense to strengthen their own position. Narcissistic intelligence, then, is not only about self-glorification; it is also a capacity to read one's surroundings and turn that reading into a tool. A narcissist can quickly grasp who needs what, who can be swayed by what, and which situation can be turned to his own advantage.

An important distinction is needed here, though: between intelligence and partial intelligence. Intelligence is a multidimensional capacity. Some people can be exceptionally sharp and successful in one domain without being able to carry those skills into other areas of life. A butcher or a trader who excels in his own field is not thereby competent in every area of life. The people we call "streetwise" or "sharp" in everyday speech often possess exactly this kind of partial intelligence — and narcissistic intelligence is usually the same. The self has a high aptitude for recognizing, feeding and sustaining its own narcissistic needs. But that aptitude rarely extends to building reciprocity, developing empathy or forming a genuine relationship. Narcissistic intelligence is thus less a general mental competence than a narrowed capacity that serves one purpose — feeding one's own narcissism. A person can be extremely successful in this domain, but that success does not amount to overall maturity.

Certain political figures illustrate this well. It was not always obvious that Erdoğan, Trump or Orban would reach such positions of power before they took office. What these men shared was the ability to turn every opportunity they encountered into an instrument of power. What mattered was not the political circumstances alone but the capacity to read those circumstances and use them to one's advantage. Narcissistic intelligence, in this sense, is the capacity to notice weaknesses, spot openings and convert those openings into power. But this intelligence has a limit: it is deployed not to build relationships but to establish dominance. It can be impressive, but it does not produce genuine encounter.

A misreading follows from this. Narcissistic intelligence, and the success it produces, is frequently mistaken for charisma. When a narcissist grasps others' weak points quickly, turns a situation to his advantage and presents himself forcefully, the outside impression is one of compelling coherence — one that crowds, in particular, read as "charismatic leadership." Figures such as Erdoğan and Trump are often described by their supporters, in this vein, as "charismatic leaders." But charisma and narcissistic functioning are entangled here. These men have been quick to read social vulnerability, anger, fear and expectation, and to organize those emotions to their own advantage. From the outside, that capacity looks like charisma. In fact, though, it is fed not by a capacity for genuine relationship but by skill in steering, intensifying and influencing. Supporters call this success, this visible power, this effect, charisma — because the result is plain to see: power grows, influence spreads. What gets missed is this: charisma produces reciprocity and trust. Narcissistic influence produces dependency and adulation. The effect narcissistic intelligence creates may look like charisma, but it is not the same thing.

The narcissist's trick…

The balcony speeches the AKP holds after every election have become a kind of ritual. At first glance, these moments look like a winner's joy. Look closer, though, and the scenes are never pure celebration — resentment, anger and hostility run through them too. The joy that follows a genuine win usually comes with ease, calm and quiet confidence: the winner is sure of what he has won and feels no need to keep proving it, and he can spare some empathy for the loser's disappointment. Some victory moments, by contrast, are dominated by a different feeling — intensity, excess, concentrated anger — as if the win must be endlessly re-announced rather than simply celebrated. The winners seem to be proving their victory to themselves. The triumph is not just experienced; it is declared again and again in an effort to make it real. Such gatherings are therefore not simply an expression of joy — they also produce a closed emotional space with definite limits. Those limits show up with one simple question: could you walk into that crowd carrying symbols that openly marked you as an opponent? The answer is not hard to guess. Because what is on display here is not only celebration — it is also an intensity that excludes whoever is different.

To understand this situation, one must look at power relations. Gains that emerge in an environment where economic power is concentrated in one hand, where the media is largely controlled, where dissidents are kept under pressure and even face criminal sanctions, are not experienced as victories won on equal terms. Winning in such an asymmetric power relationship does not give the subject a sense of full confidence and relief. Because there is not merely a competitive outcome at play; there is unequal ground from the very start. This is why the winning side, however powerful it may appear, cannot fully live out its victory. Instead of producing inner certainty, the triumph becomes a state that must be repeatedly re-announced to the outside world. This is precisely where the narcissistic structure takes over. Every gain that is not authentic leaves a void inside. That void is not filled with joy, but with constant display. Celebration is not for sharing; it is for covering up a deficiency or a deception. But what is covered up does not disappear. On the contrary, it deepens with every new announcement. And so the narcissistic cycle reestablishes itself: the gain, most of the time, is not enough on its own; a need for a display to follow it is born. The display provides short-lived satisfaction. But this satisfaction is not lasting, because the inner deficiency has not been resolved. As this deficiency is felt again, the person, the mass, the crowd turns once more to display. Thus the process repeats itself: the gain is bolstered by the display; the display produces temporary satisfaction; as the satisfaction fades, the inner deficiency resurfaces, and this deficiency gives rise to a need for a new display. Unless this cycle is broken, the victory is never authentic, and joy never finds its place.

I am in child therapy. We are playing a game. The child wins. Sometimes therapists, mothers or fathers deliberately lose so that the child's self-confidence grows. They try not to show that they have lost. A pedagogical defeat. But such games are actually zero-gain. The child does not obtain a real gain here. What the child gets from winning at backgammon is often just the pleasure of being able to say "I won." The superficial joy of coming out on top. Real joy, however, arises from an encounter between equal forces. A person feels joy when they beat a rival close to their own level. Because that victory contains a confirmation of one's own strength.

In a game where the forces are not equal, joy is lacking. An adult beating a three- or four-year-old child in a race creates no meaningful victory for the winner; nor is it a deep loss for the loser. What makes joy possible is that the chance of winning is real for both sides. We continue the game in therapy. This time the child cheats. And beats me. But a victory won through cheating is not a real victory. Those who win by cheating can never rejoice with confidence in themselves. Because they do not know whether they could truly win through their own strength. This is why cheating is not merely a means of winning; it is also a sign of insecurity. The subject wants to win no matter what, because they cannot tolerate the possibility of losing. But this state of "winning no matter what" empties victory of its meaning. The narcissistic structure becomes evident precisely here. Narcissists are like children who have cheated. They cannot rejoice when they succeed, because their success is not authentic. There is no real encounter within the relationship. They seem to be constantly trying to prove something, yet they are never truly convinced. Narcissism is like chewing gum and trying to feel full. No matter how much you chew, the hunger does not go away. On the contrary, every chew reproduces it. This is why narcissistic success produces no satisfaction. It only makes the deficiency less visible — and deepens it further. Because every gain that is not authentic leaves a deficiency inside. And this deficiency often returns as shame. Instead of confronting this shame, the person wants to win more to cover it up, to show more, to prove more. But every new victory invalidates the one before it. Unless this cycle is broken, neither the victory is real nor the joy ever finds its place.