The Selfishness of Others: An Essay on the Fear of Narcissism
Author: Kristin Dombek
Rating: ā 5/5
Date Read: 2016/12/25
Pages: 150
I could easily make some comment about how Iām totally not a narcissist, then prattle off a bunch of personal anecdotes, then add a one-sentence platitude about how people should definitely read this book. But that would be trite, and my sense of grandiosity goes far beyond the exoteric.
In the tradition of Eula Bissās On Immunity, Kristin Dombek proffers a lyrical examination of the etiology of narcissism. Throughout the essay, she remains present, yet detached, scientific, skeptical. The result is a philosophical work that challenges the readers to think for themselves: I found myself repeatedly stopping to work my way through the implications of Dombekās ideas. To that end, Iāve come up with my own understanding of Dombekās book, which was likely the point, but does not necessarily reflect the views of Dombek herself. Namely, embroiling ourselves in self-aggrandizing omphaloskepsis while deriding the narcissism of others is the new solipsism. Which is also profoundly human.
Contemporary culture, particularly as it exists in hip urban locales including, but not limited to, Andersonville and Wicker Park in Chicago, Brooklyn, San Franciscoās Mission District, Portland, etc., values authenticity above all else. The operational definition of such authenticity varies, but prototypical exemplars are attending an intimate concert at a small bar years before the band is signed to a major label, crafting cocktails using classic techniques and the highest quality ingredients (usually featuring egg whites), not watching television, denouncing capitalism (āI donāt mean to seem like I care about material things like a social statusā) while revering the products of capitalism qua products (āI just want four walls and Adobe slabs for my girlsā), and venerating facial hair. To be real, one must create in oneself a museum, carefully curating an ever-changing collection of erudite musings and cultural artifacts and displaying those that present a cohesive retrospective of the type of person one wants to be today. All other experiences are carefully archived, hidden until they become relevant enough for one to triumphantly declare āI saw the potential in this from the beginning. I knew it all along.ā
In this milieu, the worst thing one can be in inauthentic, basic, fake. The essence of narcissism for the non-narcissists (and none of us are narcissists, just like weāre all great drivers with perfect political opinions) is in diagnosing a lack of self, an empty shell that exists for the pleasure of our own derision. We, the real people, could never be like them, the shells. We are better. They are not worthy.
My meditation practice seems to conspire with the universe to make me a better person, despite my natural predilections toward being sardonically judgmental. The thing is, compassion is the hardest choice. Itās not easy for me to wish joy and happiness towards douche bags, or people who disagree with me politically, or people who donāt like Joy Division. Diagnosing people I dislike with a personality disorder so that I feel justified in hating them is easier than recognizing that we are all cosmic beings worthy of love and happiness. Within this philosophical paradigm, calling someone else narcissistic is in itself an act of narcissism.
Anyway, this book has reminded me to actually delve into the experiential realities of others, rather than simply dismissing them. I also feel a strong desire to engage in some loving kindness meditation dedicated towards everyone I know. Youāre welcome, assholes.