Narcissism

By: Kim Packard

Wiki entry on narcissism
What is Narcissism? by Dr. Sam Vaknin
Narcissism, social rejection, aggression and high school shootings
Rousseau’s Narcissus or the Self-Admirer: A Comedy

Eve Harrington in “All About Eve”
The sorceress queen in “Snow White”
Ahab in “Moby Dick”
Gatsby in “The Great Gatsby”
Raskolnikov in “Crime and Punishment”

Why Rousseau Still Matters by Christopher Bertram
Question: Is amour de soi or amour-propre narcissistic? “Amour de soi is a passion or a drive that conduces to our preservation as natural creatures. So when we seek food for the sake of nutrition, or clothe ourselves to preserve our bodily heat, or seek shelter from a storm, or defend ourselves against the attack of a wild animal, we are, for Rousseau, directed by amour de soi. Amour propre is different. It is an irreducibly social sentiment which moves us to seek the good opinion of others and to value our status relative to others. Essentially it is concerned with what has come to be called, in the discourse of some modern political theory, “recognition”. Amour propre is both “very different” from amour de soi and an outgrowth of it. The drive to self-preservation that Rousseau has guiding us in our natural environment is transformed in a social environment into something else, perhaps not surprisingly, since the good opinion of others is now necessary both in itself but also for the securing of the goods (food, shelter, warmth) that amour de soi seeks.”

WHAT NARCISSISM MEANS TO ME (by Tony Hoagland )

There’s Socialism and Communism and Capitalism,
said Neal,
and there’s Feminism and Hedonism,
and there’s Catholicism and Bipedalism and Consumerism,

but I think Narcissism is the system
that means the most to me;

and Sylvia said that in Neal’s case
narcissism represented a heroic achievement in positive thinking.

And Ann,
who calls everybody Sweetie pie
whether she cares for them or not,

Ann lit a cigarette and said, Only miserable people will tell you
that love has to be deserved,

and when I heard that, a distant chime went off for me,

remembering a time when I believed
that I could simply live without it.

Neal had grilled the corn and sliced the onions
into thick white disks,
and piled the wet green pickles
up in stacks like coins
and his chef’s cap was leaning sideways like a mushroom cloud.

Then Ethan said that in his opinion,
if you’re going to mess around with self-love
you shouldn’t just rush into a relationship,

and Sylvia was weeping softly now, looking down
into her wine cooler and potato chips,

and then the hamburgers were done, just as
the sunset in the background started
cutting through the charcoal clouds

exposing their insides – black,
streaked dark red,
like a slab of scorched, rare steak,

delicious but unhealthy,
or, depending on your perspective,
unhealthy but delicious,

— the way that, deep inside the misery
of daily life,
love lies bleeding.