Machiavellian-cum-altruist and altruist-cum-Machiavellian—it's enough to make your head spin as you try to tease a clearer picture from the crazy jigsaw we call personality. But, perhaps surprisingly, there is a clearer picture. The fuzzy shades of gray that at first seem so confusing can, in the end, fill in a far more nuanced portrait, not only of the successfully sinister but of people in general. More than that, these shades can lead us to a much more complete understanding of why seemingly “evil” genes persist.
NARCISSISM, DECEIT, HUMBLENESS, AND CONSCIENCE
We can first see how shades of gray fit into the picture by harking back to narcissism—that vain self-fascination and inordinately high self-esteem that has received so little attention in hard science research. This trait forms a hallmark of those with borderline, antisocial, and narcissistic personality disorders. As mentioned previously, suspicions abound that it has a strong genetic component.4 Virtually every nasty dictator has shown the worst of narcissism's ugly features. Hitler, for example, deigned to share his feelings with an interviewer at Berchtesgaden: “Do you realize that you are in the presence of the greatest German of all time?”5 Romania's Ceausescu told his health minister in the early 1970s, “A man like me comes along only once every five hundred years.”6 Turkmenistan's Saparmurat Niyazov, frequently criticized in the West as one of the world's most authoritarian and repressive dictators, had images of himself in virtually every public place and a gold-plated statue in the capital that rotated so it always faces the sun and shines light into the capital city. Niyazov modestly noted: “I'm personally against seeing my pictures and statues in the streets—but it's what the people want.”7
But what happens to talented people when narcissism is not present? Such individuals help form the backbone of society—the superb secretary whose adept business skills make her boss look good, or the guy who never even sees fit to mention to his family that he had won the Bronze Star for his cool heroism under fire.
One such brilliantly talented, non-limelight-hogging person was Gregor Mendel, the man now known as the “Father of Genetics.” Mendel was an inordinately neurotic individual who spent his teenage years in bed with a mysterious illness that now appears to have been akin to acute anxiety.8 In keeping with his neuroticism, Mendel suffered so badly from test anxiety that he twice failed the examination to become a high school teacher. But Mendel, who loved both plants and mathematics, was a curious character. In his happy hideaway at the monastery, he spent eight years and raised thirty thousand pea plants figuring out why variations in heritable traits occur.
Mendel did attempt to communicate the results of his remarkable studies, but his pedantic lectures, paltry published study, and bashful attempts at correspondence with other scientists went ignored. Ultimately, although Mendel suspected his results were of supreme importance, his lack of confidence led him to give up and turn away from science altogether.
If Mendel had had the ego, self-esteem, or sheer, untrammeled narcissisma. to repeatedly trumpet his findings to the world, researchers would have been clued in to the central ideas underpinning genetics some thirty-five years earlier than they did.
Mendel makes an interesting contrast with Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace, co-discoverers of evolution and variation with natural selection, who superficially appeared to share Mendel's lack of self-esteem. Darwin was an inhibited man with a reputation for integrity and a pride so well veiled that Wallace admired him from afar for being “so free…[of] egotism.”9 After a five-year, round-the-world voyage on the Beagle, Darwin returned to publish his findings related to zoology and geology. Secretly, however, he also embarked on a never-finished five-hundred-thousand-word masterwork (the equivalent of two thousand double-spaced manuscript pages) that was to summarize the theory of and evidence for evolution.
Much of the twenty years Darwin spent tucked away at his country estate preoccupied with puzzling out the secrets of evolution, Alfred Russel Wallace spent puzzling at the same problem in his adventures studying and collecting the flora and fauna of both the Amazon River basin and the Malay Archipelago. Like Darwin, he published his findings. Unlike Darwin, however, Wallace also began publishing articles related to the origin of species—poaching on evolutionary turf Darwin had thought was his alone. In a moment of feverish malarial brilliance, Wallace conceived a comprehensive theory of evolution and, in his enthusiasm, wrote it up and sent it to a man he knew would appreciate its importance—Charles Darwin.
Biographer-physician Ross Slotten notes: “Whatever the reason for [Darwin's delay in publication]—failure of nerve, a passion for perfection, periodic debilitating illness—it was not until the unexpected appearance of Wallace's essay that the issue of priority suddenly reared its ugly head.”10 Darwin, wringing his hands at the thought of his research being relegated to a footnote, wrote to his friend Charles Lyell, “I rather hate the idea of writing for priority, yet I certainly should be vexed if anyone were to publish my doctrine before me.”11 With Darwin's tacit encouragement, his friends arranged a neat sleight-of-hand joint publication of the theory, with ever-so-slight seniority accorded to Darwin's efforts, and Wallace's more complete work used to bolster Darwin's claim.
If Wallace had sent his results directly to a journal, rather than to Darwin, he would have unquestionably have laid claim to the theory of evolution. But Wallace never worried over issues of priority. In truth, Wallace hadn't a drop of self-aggrandizement in his body—he was happy his work was recognized at all. (As science historian Michael Shermer notes, Wallace was “agreeable to a fault.”)12
Darwin, with his curiosity, brilliance, and well-concealed egotism, became canonized. Wallace, on the other hand, with the same curiosity and brilliance, coupled with an utter lack of egotism, became an impoverished footnote. Granted, neither of these men were flaming narcissists, but Darwin did have just enough ego to trump Wallace's hand.
Far more flagrantly egotistical than either Darwin or Wallace, however, was the sublimely arrogant James Watson, the misogynistic codiscoverer of the structure of DNA. Watson had no qualms about using data pilfered from scientist Rosalind Franklin to make his seminal discovery—and then writing a book describing “his” discoveries that mocked virtually everything about Franklin.13 Later, Watson would try to block the development of the computerized approach to gene sequencing. Instead of hailing Craig Venter's automated sequencing machines at a senate meeting about the Human Genome Project, Watson derisively cracked that the machines “‘could be run by monkeys.’ Venter, sitting next to him, turned pale. ‘You could see the dagger go in,’ a witness later recalled. ‘It killed him.’”14 Later, of course, Venter's sequencing machines would help decode the human genome years ahead of the government's desultory schedule.
Want ego? Science alone provides plenty of examples. Narcissistic Nobelist William Shockley, the inventor of the lucrative junction transistor, was goaded into his discovery by jealousy of his colleagues’ invention of the point contact transistor (which, indeed, used the underlying theory that Shockley had developed). Despite his genius, Shockley's arrogance and heavy-handed style alienated those who worked with him—he butted into everyone's business, sadistically blocking the careers of those he disliked. (Nobel co-laureate John Bardeen would leave Shockley's group in high dudgeon and go on to win a second Nobel Prize for the superconductivity research that Shockley had tried to prevent him from completing.)15 When founding his own company, Shockley deliberately hired the brightest men around, but he could become unhinged, pounding the table in rage, during the rare occasions they accidentally outshone him.16 Willing to do anything to keep in the spotlight, he took up controversial theories of eugenics, which undoubtedly assuaged not only his need for publicity but also his obsession with his own superiority. Ultimately he was left with racist allies whom “no moral, thinking soul would ever be associated with.”17 Even Shockley's own children became estranged—not surprising, considering that he publicly announced they had “regressed” from his
own intelligence because of their mother's inferior standing.18
All of this doesn't even begin to do justice to the myriad of other cutthroat battles for glory surrounding the sciences. There was the mean-spirited Jonas Salk, with his continual public humiliation of Alfred Sabin. (Sabin had developed a far better polio vaccine that Salk did everything in his power to block and discredit.)19 And the bitter feud between Newton and Leibniz over the invention of calculus.20 And neuroscientist Solomon Snyder's blithe usurpation of credit from his doctoral student, Candace Pert, for the discovery of the opiate receptor.21 (Snyder had, in fact, tried to stop Pert's research in this area because he thought it was a waste of time.) And brilliant Edwin Armstrong's invention of FM radio, which was hijacked by the unsavory Lee de Forest.22 Armstrong would eventually leap to his death in despair over the legal imbroglio that left him destitute.
Why does it so often seem necessary for there to be at least a smidgeon, if not a heaping helping, of narcissism to get one's just (or unjust) due in this world?
A big part of the problem seems to lie in the fact that so many people are so darned creative, not only in science but also in thousands of different areas. Simply walking into a corner bookstore and thinking about the billions of hours of imaginative work encapsulated there can make you gasp with astonishment. And that's not to even mention the ongoing creativity swirling worldwide in software, music, cinema, science, art, sports, and contraptions of all sorts. No matter what creative enterprise one might undertake, there are frequently so many other people doing something similar that it's difficult to stand out. The Beatles, who'd floundered for three years with no recognition (there were over three hundred rock groups in Liverpool alone), used their manic-depressive “drama queen,” Brian Epstein, to get them off the ground.23 There would never have been a Motown without Berry Gordy, who has been dubbed a Jekyll-and-Hyde “thief of dreams” as well as a monstrous manipulator.24 Madonna, with her ego and me-first sense of ethics, purportedly found whoever she needed to boost her up and then cut them out.25 She, like many another superstars, understands that being nice when competing against those who use their elbows is likely to leave you in the shadows. (Darwin was lucky to have had a sweet-natured competitor, and he knew it, writing Wallace that “[m]ost persons would in your position have felt bitter envy and jealousy. How nobly free you seem to be of this common failing of mankind.”26 The fundamentally decent Darwin worked hard to arrange a civil list pension for Wallace. Even so, Wallace was still forced to continue publishing in his frail, final years in the hopes that his royalties would sustain his children.)
In the arts, it is difficult enough for an individual or group to stand out, even with the assistance of world-class, in-your-face promoters. But many modern-day creative concepts in other spheres—such as sequencing the human genome, building an assembly line and creating the automobile, coding a “killer application” for a computer system, or designing a high-definition TV—require an even more complex interweaving of innovation, tenacity, flexibility, and resourcefulness in order to be successful. To make matters worse, virtually all new innovations contain hard-to-protect creative concepts, either in execution or marketing, that other researchers or businesspeople love to emulate—or steal. This is where a spearhead person—a visionary who “gets it” yet also has a protective cloak of narcissism—is invaluable. And when the rewards of the enterprise are large, competition by those visionaries can become ruthless—a veritable clash of egomaniacal titans. As Roy Kroc, “the founder of McDonald's, once said of competition in the fast food industry: ‘This is rat eat rat, dog eat dog, I'll kill ’em, and I'm going to kill ’em before they kill me.’”27
Narcissism can be a crucial asset not only in art, science, and business but also, understandably enough, in politics. Winston Churchill's sense of self-importance can be gleaned from an early letter to his mother from the battle lines: “I am so conceited I do not believe the Gods would create so potent a being as myself for so prosaic an ending.”28 In the dark days of 1940 and ’41, when the Nazis seized the bulk of Europe and the lonely little islands of Britain were the next target, it was Churchill's convincing, egotistically certain manner that rallied the troops and the populace around the idea of standing fast rather than continuing with fruitless appeasement—as Lord Halifax, Churchill's competitor for the prime ministership, was wont to do. (Churchill once said: “Halifax's virtues have done more harm in the world than the vices of hundreds of other people.”)29 Where would England have been without Churchill's hyperinflated ego—coupled with his cunning intelligence and rapier wit?b.30 We might do well to listen to Churchill's own admonition: “Megalomania is the only form of sanity.”31
Shades of narcissism might be needed to get your music heard, your ideas out, your innovations noticed—or your country saved, for that matter—but as people slide into the darker shades of that gray area, we find successful characters among us truly willing to hurt others to benefit themselves. As one former close associate of billionaire CEO Martha Stewart observed: “Martha often got involved with highly creative women whom she could dominate, manipulate, use, and abuse, women who wouldn't fight back.”32 Stewart's one-time business partner Norma Collier, whose ideas were cribbed during Stewart's me-first climb to the top, says of her former best friend: “I hope I never hear that woman's name again in my life. She's a sociopath and a horrible woman, and I never want to encounter her again or think about her as long as I live.”33
Interestingly enough, one of the few lawsuits Stewart has filed was one against the National Enquirer for an article characterizing her as having many of the traits of borderline personality disorder. In 1997, reporter and celebrity biographer Jerry Oppenheimer published Martha Stewart—Just Desserts, a meticulously researched book that characterized Stewart as a narcissist of “almost diabolical dishonesty,” who suffered from fits of depression, had threatened suicide, possessed a mercurial and explosive temper, and was capable of profoundly abusing those around her.34 In the Enquirer article, borderline expert Leland Heller maintained that traits such as those described in Oppenheimer's book were consistent with borderline personality disorder. The National Enquirer didn't take Stewart's lawsuit lying down. After two years of wrangling, Stewart dropped the suit.35 Subsequently, of course, she was convicted of insider trading and sentenced to five months in jail.
Individuals like Martha Stewart can be tempted to run with “cutting-edge” remunerative ideas that are ill-advised or frankly illegal (although in Stewart's case, there's evidence of prosecutorial bias in her jailing for a relatively minor offense).36 As biographer Christopher Byron relates in Testosterone, Inc., Sunbeam's “Chainsaw” Al Dunlap, the Turnaround King, used channel stuffing—which entailed reporting shipments as revenue when the revenue hadn't actually been received—to fool people into thinking that Sunbeam had achieved a stunning surge in profitability when it was actually going broke.37 Sunbeam eventually went bankrupt. (Executive Jerry Ballas, who had worked with Dunlap at Scott Paper Company, said, “It's terrorizing working for the man. What you do is you avoid, at all costs, getting near him…avoid contact with him.”)38 In yet another selfish sleight of hand, Dennis Kozlowski, CEO of Tyco, was convicted of misappropriating company funds to support a lifestyle that included a one million-dollar birthday party for his wife on the island of Sardinia that included an ice Statue of David urinating Stolichnaya vodka.39
And then, of course, there's Enron.
Enron—The Power of Unchecked, Mutually Supportive Machiavellians
Cursed with a tag team of Machiavellian leaders who shunted away or fired underlings with ethics, Enron Corporation followed the money deep into the dark side. (“We don't need cops,” said Enron CEO Jeffrey Skilling, when asked to explain why he was moving a manager who was beginning to question some of the transactions.)40 Chief financial officer Andy Fastow was perhaps the key instigator of Enron's mythmaking flameout. Fastow was a smooth, deeply corrupt chameleon, able to charm his superiors int
o allowing him to supervise personally remunerative deals that were steeped in blatant conflicts of interest.
An overweening narcissist, Fastow told Enron's head of corporate communications Mark Palmer, “I ought to be CFO of the Year. I've seen it in CFO magazine…I want it to be me. Could you do that, get them to write a nice article about me?” Palmer was repulsed and became further appalled when he'd watch Fastow turn from tiger to pussycat in front of chairman Ken Lay. “It was like something out of a movie, with Fastow in the role of the obsequious yes-man.”41 In a set of stunningly adroit Machiavellian coups, Fastow would ultimately get his wish and be declared CFO of the Year, while Fortune would dub Enron America's best-managed company.
Fastow was not a genius—his ignorance of fundamental issues involving finance could at times be jaw-dropping. “Is this guy for real?” wondered one financially astute colleague. “How could someone making a play for the CFO job have such a fuzzy understanding of the basics?”42 But in Enron's top-down mandated culture of greed, traits such as competence and integrity were given short shrift. In any event, Fastow's temper served as an excellent guard to keep people from knowing his incompetence—or his dark secrets. Ray Bowen, a finance officer who had questioned Fastow's suspicious-looking partnerships, once received a late-night phone call from Fastow that quickly degenerated into a screamfest:
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