To be sure, every company wants its employees to be proud they work there and to feel that they share a meaningful mission—a bit of well-founded collective narcissism is healthy. Trouble creeps in when that pride builds on a desperate grasp for glory rather than on real accomplishment.
Trouble grows when narcissistic leaders expect to hear only messages that confirm their own sense of greatness. And when those leaders turn against bearers of bad news, subordinates naturally start to ignore data that do not fit the grandiose image. This skewed filter on reality need not be cynically motivated. Employees who themselves gain ego-inflation from belonging will bend the truth willingly, in exchange for the rosy feelings of group self-adulation.
A poignant casualty of such malignant group narcissism is not just truth but authentic connection among coworkers. Everyone tacitly colludes to maintain their shared illusions. Suppression and paranoia thrive. Work devolves to a charade.
In a prescient scene in the 1983 movie Silkwood, Karen Silkwood, a crusader against corporate corruption, watches a manager at a manufacturing plant retouch photos of welds on fuel rods that are headed for nuclear reactors. He’s making dangerously faulty work seem safe.
The manager seems to harbor no second thoughts about his potentially lethal chore. He’s just worried that the plant’s late delivery of the fuel rods might hurt business and so endanger the people who work there. He thinks of himself as a good corporate citizen.
In the years since that movie was made, we have seen a series of actual meltdowns like those the scene implicitly warns against—not of nuclear reactors, but Chernobyls of entire corporations. Beneath the outright lies and elaborate fiscal cover-ups, those companies arguably shared a single root affliction: collective narcissism.
Narcissistic organizations implicitly encourage such duplicity, even while ostensibly asking for candor and hard data. Shared illusions flourish in direct proportion to the suppression of truth. When narcissism spreads within a company, then those who challenge the self-flattery—even with crucial information—threaten all those who count on the narcissistic high with a deflating feeling of failure or shame. In the psyche of the narcissist, the knee-jerk response to such a threat is rage. In a narcissistic company, those who imperil the group’s grandiosity are typically demoted, upbraided, or fired.
The narcissistic organization becomes a moral universe of its own, a world where its goals, goodness, and means are not questioned but taken as holy writ. It’s a world where doing whatever we need to, to get whatever we want, seems perfectly fine. The ongoing self-celebration fogs over how divorced from reality we’ve become. The rules don’t apply to us, just to the others.
The Narcissist’s Motto: Others Exist to Adore Me
She had promised to read him an erotic passage from a novel. But now he was furious.
At first everything seemed fine. She began reading to him in a low, seductive tone from a titillating scene about two lovers. He could feel himself getting a bit aroused.
But as the passage grew steamier, she grew nervous, alternately stuttering and hesitant, then plunging ahead in rapid chunks. She was clearly flustered.
Finally it was just more than she could handle. Pleading that the passage was just too pornographic after this point, she refused to read on.
To make matters worse, she added that “something” about him made her too uncomfortable to continue. Worse still, she admitted she had gone ahead and read the whole passage for other guys.
That scene was played out 120 times, each time with a different man, as part of an experiment at an unnamed university.5 The woman reading the steamy prose was an assistant in a study of what provokes some men, but not most others, to force sex on women. The scenario was set up deliberately to prod men first to feel aroused, then to feel frustrated and put down.
After that setup, each man had a chance for retribution. He was asked to rate the woman’s performance, to set how much she should be paid or whether her pay should be withheld, and to decide if she should be asked back—or fired.
Most of the men forgave the woman, especially when they heard she needed the money to pay her tuition. But true to type, those with narcissistic tendencies were outraged by the slights and retaliated most. The narcissists, feeling they had been cheated of something to which they were entitled, were punitive on every count. And on a test of attitudes about sexual coercion, the more narcissistic the man, the more he approved of coercive tactics. Had this been a date where the couple made out and then the woman wanted to stop, the researchers concluded, such men were most likely to force sex on her despite her protests.
Even unhealthy narcissists can sometimes be charmers. The very name comes from the Greek myth of Narcissus, who was so entranced by his own beauty that he fell in love with his own image reflected in a lake. The nymph Echo also fell in love with him, but she ended up spurned and heartbroken, unable to compete with his self-adoration.
As the myth suggests, many narcissists attract people because the self-confidence they exude can lend them a charismatic aura. Though they are quick to put others down, unhealthy narcissists view themselves in absolutely positive terms. They are, understandably, happiest in a marriage with someone who will be unfailingly fawning.6 The slogan of the narcissist might be “Others exist to adore me.”
Among the Dark Triad, narcissists alone are blatant in their self-inflation and braggadocio—leavened with a necessary dose of self-deception.7 Their bias is firmly self-serving: they take credit for successes but never blame for failure. They feel entitled to glory, even blithely claiming credit for others’ work (but they see nothing wrong in this—nor in anything else they might do).
According to one standard test, a narcissist is someone who has a grandiose sense of self-importance, harbors obsessive fantasies of unbounded glory, feels rage or intense shame when criticized, expects special favors, and lacks empathy.8 That deficiency in empathy means narcissists remain oblivious to the self-centered abrasiveness that others see in them so clearly.
Although they can selectively turn on the charm, narcissists can just as readily be disagreeable. Not in the least drawn to emotional intimacy, they are highly competitive, cynical and mistrustful of others, and readily exploit the people in their lives—glorifying themselves even at the expense of slighting someone close to them. Nonetheless, narcissists typically think of themselves as likable.9
Unrealistic self-inflation comes more readily in cultures that encourage individualistic striving rather than shared success. Collective cultures, prevalent in East Asia and Northern Europe, place a premium on harmonizing with the group and sharing both work and credit for success, while giving up expectations of being treated as special. But individualistic cultures, like the United States and Australia, tend to encourage striving for the glory of individual accomplishment and its rewards. Accordingly, American college students see themselves as “better” than two-thirds of their fellows in most endeavors, while Japanese students rate themselves exactly in the middle.10
THE MACHIAVELLIAN: MY ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS
The manager of a large division at a European industrial giant had an oddly split reputation: the people working for him feared and loathed him, while his boss found him utterly charming. Highly polished socially, the manager made considerable efforts to impress not just his boss but also clients outside the company. But once he was back in his own office suite, he became a petty tyrant, shouting at people whose performance displeased him, while uttering not a word of praise for those who excelled.
A consultant called in by the industrial company to evaluate its managers realized how demoralized the people in this autocrat’s division had become. After only a few interviews of his coworkers, she saw that he was clearly self-centered, caring only about himself rather than about the organization or even the people whose hard work made him seem so praiseworthy to his own boss.
The consultant recommended that he be replaced, and the company CEO, rather reluctantly, asked
him to leave. The manager, though, found another high-level job immediately—because he made such a good first impression on his new boss.
We instantly recognize this manipulative manager; we’ve seen him in countless movies, plays, and television dramas. The stereotype of the cad, the unfeeling but smooth villain who ruthlessly exploits, pervades popular culture.
The type stands as a perennial staple of popular entertainment—he’s as old as the demon Ravana in the ancient Indian epic the Ramayana, as contemporary as the evil emperor in the Star Wars saga. In endless cinema incarnations he reappears as the mad scientist bent on world rule or the charming yet callous leader of a criminal gang. We instinctively loathe the type because of his unscrupulous cunning, his wile in the service of evil ends. He’s the Machiavellian, the villain we love to hate.
When Niccolò Machiavelli wrote The Prince, the sixteenth-century manual for seizing and holding political power through cunning manipulation, he took for granted that the aspiring ruler had only his own interests at heart, caring not at all about the people he ruled nor those he crushed to gain power.11 For the Machiavellian, the ends justify the means, no matter what human pain he may cause. That ethic prevailed among Machiavelli’s fans in the hothouse of royal courts for centuries (and of course, it continues unabated in many contemporary political and business circles).
Machiavelli’s assumption was that self-interest is the sole driving force in human nature; altruism nowhere enters the picture. To be sure, a political Machiavellian may in fact not consider his ends to be selfish or evil; he may come up with a convincing rationale, even one he believes. Every totalitarian ruler, for instance, justifies his own tyranny as needed to protect the state from some sinister enemy, even if only a concocted one.
The term “Machiavellian” (or the shorthand “Mach”) is used by psychologists to apply to people whose outlook on life reflects just this cynical, anything-goes attitude. The first test for Machs was actually based on statements from Machiavelli’s books, like “The biggest difference between most criminals and other people is that the criminals are stupid enough to get caught,” and “Most people forget more easily the death of their parents than the loss of their property.”
The psychological inventory makes no moral judgments, and in contexts ranging from sales to politics, the talents of the Mach—including a glib charm, cunning, and confidence—may be desirable assets. On the other hand, Machs tend to be cynically calculating and arrogant, readily behaving in ways that undermine trust and cooperation.
Though perhaps admirably coolheaded in their social interactions, they remain uninterested in establishing emotional connections. Machs, like narcissists, see others in strictly utilitarian terms—as an It to manipulate for their own ends. For instance, one confided to a counselor in matter-of-fact tones that he had just “fired” his girlfriend; he saw people in all realms of his life much as interchangeable parts, one as good as another.
The Mach shares many traits with the other two branches of the Dark Triad, such as a disagreeable nature and selfishness. But far more than the narcissist or psychopath, the Mach remains realistic about himself and others, neither making inflated claims nor striving to impress.12 The Mach prefers to see things clearly, all the better to exploit them.
In human prehistory, some evolutionary theorists argue, human intelligence first emerged as such crafty operation in the service of one’s own interests. In mankind’s earliest eras, runs this argument, victory lay in displaying just enough deviousness to get a lion’s share without getting booted out of the group.
Today Machiavellian types like the kiss-up-kick-down manager may well gain some personal success. But in the long run Machs run the risk that their poisoned relationships and resulting bad reputation may one day derail them. A Mach’s personal history inevitably will be littered with resentful ex-friends, ex-lovers, and ex-business associates—all brimming with hurt or simmering resentment. Still, a highly mobile society may offer a receptive ecological niche for Machs, where they can readily move on to new conquests far enough afield from the last that their misdeeds never catch up with them.
Machs typically have tunnel-vision empathy: they can bring someone’s emotions into focus mainly when they wish to use that person for their own ends. Otherwise, Machs are generally poorer at empathic attunement than others.13 The coldness of the Mach seems to result from this core deficit in processing emotions—both in themselves and in others. They see the world in rational, probabilistic terms that are not only devoid of emotions but absent the ethical sense that flows from human concern. Hence their easy fall into villainy.
Lacking the full capacity to feel with others, Machs also cannot feel for them. Like that serial killer, a part of them has been turned off. Machs appear just as confused when it comes to their own emotions; at a moment of unease they may not know whether, as one expert put it, they are feeling “sad, tired, hungry or ill.”14 Machs appear to experience their emotionally dry inner world as rife with compelling primal needs for sex, money, or power. The Mach’s predicament comes down to how to fulfill those drives with an interpersonal toolkit that lacks a crucial range of emotional radar.
Even so, their selective capacity for sensing what someone might be thinking can be quite incisive, and they seem to rely on this social cunning to make their way in the world. Machs become astute students of an interpersonal world they can penetrate only at the surface; their shrewd social cognition notes nuances and figures out how people might react to a given situation. These abilities allow their legendary social slickness.
As we’ve seen, some current definitions of social intelligence, based mainly on such social savvy, would give Machs high marks. But while their head knows what to do, their heart remains clueless. Some see this combination of strength and weakness as a disability Machs overcome through self-serving cunning.15 Their manipulativeness, in this view, compensates for their blindness to the full range of emotion. That sorry adaptation poisons their relationships.
THE PSYCHOPATH: OTHER AS OBJECT
During a therapy group in a hospital, the discussion turned to the food in the cafeteria. Some mentioned how good the desserts were; others how fattening the food was. One just hoped there wouldn’t be the same old thing again.
But Peter’s thoughts went in another direction. He wondered how much money was in the cash register, how many staff might be between him and the exit, and how far he would have to get before he could find a chick and have a good time.16
Peter was in the hospital because of a court order that had been issued when he violated parole. Since his teen years Peter had abused drugs and alcohol, often becoming belligerent and physically threatening. His present conviction was for making harassing phone calls; before that he had been charged with damaging property and malicious injury. He freely admitted stealing from his family and friends.
Peter’s diagnosis was that of psychopath, or “antisocial personality disorder” as the psychiatric diagnostic manual labels the problem these days. “Sociopath” has also had its vogue as the term of choice. No matter the name, its hallmarks are deceit and a reckless disregard for others. A psychopath’s consistent irresponsibility begets no remorse—only indifference to the emotional pain others may suffer.
Peter, for example, found utterly foreign the idea that others could be hurt emotionally by what he did. In family conferences, when his mother talked about the anguish he had caused his family, Peter was surprised, becoming defensive, calling himself the “victim.” He could not see how he had used his family and friends for his own ends, nor recognize the pain he had caused them.
For psychopaths, other people are always an It, a mark to be duped, used, and discarded. This may sound familiar: some argue that the Dark Triad actually describes different points along the same continuum, from healthy narcissism to psychopathy. Indeed, the Mach and the psychopath seem particularly similar, and some argue that the Mach represents the subclinical (or nonimprisoned) version of the psyc
hopath.17 The main test for psychopathy includes a measure of “Machiavellian egocentricity,” such as agreeing with statements like “I always look out for my own interests before worrying about those of the other guy.”18
But unlike Machs and narcissists, psychopaths feel virtually no anxiety. Fear seems unknown to them; in assessments they disagree with statements like “Making a parachute jump would really frighten me.” They seem immune to stress, remaining calm in situations that would make many other people panic. The absence of apprehension in psychopaths has been found repeatedly in experiments where people wait to receive an electric shock.19 Ordinarily, people waiting to be shocked show high levels of sweating and a quickened heart rate, autonomic indicators of anxiety. But psychopaths do not.20
This coolheadedness means that psychopaths can be dangerous in ways rarely seen in Machs or narcissists. Because psychopaths feel no anticipatory fears, staying utterly calm under even the most intense pressure, they are virtually oblivious to the threat of punishment. This indifference to consequences that keep others law-abiding makes psychopaths the most likely candidates for prison among the Dark Triad.21
When it comes to empathy, psychopaths have none; they have special difficulty recognizing fear or sadness on people’s faces or in their voices. A brain imaging study with a group of criminal psychopaths suggests a deficit in circuitry centering on the amygdala, within a brain module essential for reading this particular range of emotions, and deficits in the prefrontal area that inhibits impulse.22
Looping ordinarily makes people feel within themselves the distress that another person expresses, but psychopaths fail to resonate in this way; their neural wiring deadens them to the range of emotions in the spectrum of suffering.23 Psychopaths’ cruelty appears truly “unfeeling” because they are literally numb in the face of distress, lacking the very radar for detecting human agony.24
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