Introduction by Corey Donovan
The best single book I’ve yet encountered on the whole topic of narcissism, gurus and cults is Prophetic Charisma: The Psychology of Revolutionary Religious Personalities (1997) by Len Oakes, an Australian psychologist.
Dr. Oakes was himself a member of a communal cult for three years in the early 70s, and returned at the invitation of that group’s charismatic leader to study the group at close hand over a period of years. He later studied a number of other charismatic religious and spiritual leaders in Australia and New Zealand, together with their followers, and his inquiry included administering short, standardized psychological tests to both leaders and followers. He has also read extensively about other historical charismatic figures worldwide. His insights based on this experiential and analytical work are, for me, quite powerful, and have helped me to come to a new understanding of what I experienced with Castaneda over the past several years.
One of those insights is the “missing link” I’ve been searching for in the dozens of books on narcissism I’ve looked at. I have felt there were elements in what I observed of Castaneda’s personality (and have had confirmed by other witnesses) that were well described by the material on narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). I also think that material pretty well “explains” the behavior of “Carol Tiggs” and “Nury Alexander” that I saw and/or have since learned about. In Castaneda’s case, however, it seemed there was something extra, something almost “supernatural” about the way he related to people and caused many of us to “shut off judgment” that was not fully explained by NPD theory. Dr. Oakes argues that charismatic “prophetic” figures are different, in a couple of key ways, from most people, and suggests ways in which their narcissism develops differently from that of the average narcissist.
Another insight from the book that I’ve found missing from most other treatments of the subject is the potential benefits to individuals that become involved with these charismatic figures. The one he suggests that has registered most deeply with me is the potential license followers are often given to experience their own “forgotten” narcissism.
One “problem” with Dr. Oakes’s book is that it is so full of insights, from a remarkably holistic and non-condemning perspective, and so intricately articulated, that I have found no way to effectively summarize or briefly excerpt it for this site. The following excerpt, however, taken from Chapter 2, explains the nature of charisma, describes shamans as charismatic figures, and introduces theories on the development of narcissism:
Chapter 2
Charisma
Charisma, the magnetic ability of some people to inspire and lead others, is an enigma that most of us have experienced yet find hard to explain. The concept seems inherently mysterious and indefinable, but the power of a Churchill or a Hitler to dominate others is obvious. What is this thing called charisma?
[T]he idea of a divinely inspired power or talent is as old as mankind. The oldest surviving work of fiction, the Epic of Gilgamesh, tells of a warrior-king, part god and part man, who quests for the secret of eternal life. He has many adventures in the lands of the gods, and even attains that which he seeks, only to have it torn from his grasp at the last moment. He returns home convinced of the futility of his quest and knowing that “the central fact of my life is my death” (Kopp 1972, 31; Heidel 1968).
The word “charisma” comes from the name of the Greek goddess Charis, who personified grace, beauty, purity, and altruism. Possession of these faculties came to be known as charisma. [Footnote: The Greek word is charizesthai, and it means favor or gift of divine origin. The Greeks do not seem to have associated this with the kind of demagogic and irrational leadership of which Plato wrote in his Gorgias, although they were well aware of the rhapsodic “Dionysian” aspect of life; Plato was a member of the Elysian mystery cult. For Aristotle the megalopsychos was the great man who dares to live alone in secret worship of his own soul. The Romans called the hero’s charismatic power facilitas and believed it was derived from the gods.] Later usages derive from St. Paul, who saw it as a gift of grace from God: “To one there is given through the spirit the message of wisdom, to another the message of knowledge by means of the same spirit, to another faith by the same spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy” (1 Corinthians 12:8-10).
The most primitive form of charisma occurs in shamanism. This is the religion of the small tribal unit and the witch doctor. The shaman– “one who is excited, moved, raised” (Lindholm 1990, 158)–becomes master of the “techniques of ecstasy” (Eliade 1964). Typically he (or she, for among the !Kung fully 1 0 percent of women become shamans; Lindholm 1990, 163) is identified early as one with a “shadowed heart.” The shaman is not psychotic but is disturbed in some way–the “disease of God,” as the Koreans put it (La Barre 1980, 58)–showing peculiar behaviors from birth and experiencing spirit possession, trance, and epileptic seizures while a youth. Such a youth is apprenticed to a senior shaman, who trains him in occult practices. After hearing a call from a god or a spirit, the trainee withdraws into the desert or the woods to meditate in solitude, often undergoing some kind of spiritual test, such as a journey to the underworld. This culminates in a spiritual rebirth from which the shaman emerges with an inner strength and an uncanny sensitivity, emotional intensity, and detachment. Transformed, the graduate shaman returns to the tribe to claim his place as tribal witch doctor (Kopp 1972, 31-32).
Thus the shaman is a “wounded healer” who has conquered a sickness and learned to use it as a vehicle for the benefit of others. He or she is able to explore sacred realms and mediate with the spirit world on behalf of the tribe (Ellwood and Partin 1988,12). Allied with this are the skills of psychopharmacology, healing, and the mastery of trance states. The shaman presides over the ceremonies, ritual functions, and crises of the tribe.
The shaman is unpredictable and fearless, holding office by virtue of personal spiritual attainment–his “psychological voltage” (La Barre 1980, 52)–and having mysterious, dangerous, supernatural powers. The shaman’s peculiar disturbance and training enable him to “pierce the vanity of the conventional wisdom of the group” (Kopp 1972, 5), to diagnose its ills and prescribe social cures for the members. Anthropologist Weston La Barre described “the eerily supernatural omniscience and compelling power of charisma, streaming from the shaman like irresistible magnetic mana,” and said that it comes from an ability to discern his clients’ unconscious wish-fantasies, adding that the shaman “is so unerringly right because he so pinpoints these wishes” (La Barre 1980, 275). It is this power that earns the shaman his place, for he is feared rather than loved.
Modern usage of the term “charisma” derives from Max Weber (1864-1920), one of the founders of sociology. [footnote omitted] Weber used both religious and economic factors to explain society. He saw Western civilization as moving toward greater and greater rationalization of all aspects of life. This, he feared, made modern life an “iron cage,” turning daily existence into an alienated, mechanical, meaningless routine. But Weber also believed that ideas–especially religious ideas–can profoundly influence society, and that they cannot simply be dismissed as a function of underlying social processes (Jones and Anservitz 1975, 1098). One source of new ideas is the periodic emergence of charismatic prophets.
Weber defined charisma as “a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is considered extraordinary and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers . . . [that] are regarded as of divine origin.” Weber added, however, that the leader’s disciples–those who see him as divine–are as much a source of his power as are his personal talents, for without them he is nothing (Weber 1968a, 241-42).
Describing the varieties of charismatic experience, Weber spoke of a continuum ranging from “pure” to “routinized” charisma. Pure charisma is rare (Weber 1968a, 1002) and is usually found only in the very beginning of a social movement when a “charismatic community” coalesces around a leader. This community is characterized by a belief in the special talents of its leader, an intense emotional bonding of the followers to him, financial support from sympathizers, rejection of normal work activities, and estrangement from the world as a whole (Schweitzer 1984, 18; Weber 1968a, 1121). Pure charisma thus is personal and is based on face-to-face contact and feelings of trust, duty, and love on the part of the followers (Schweitzer 1984, 33). It is creative and revolutionary, for “in its pure form charisma . . . may be said to exist only in the process of originating” (Weber 1964, 364). At the other end of the continuum, routinized charisma describes what happens when a leader’s charisma is thinly dispersed throughout the followers who act in the leader’s name, typically after he has died. It may survive many generations and underlie a stable social order, but it is conservative and is not a force for social change (Miyahara 1983, 370).
Along this continuum lie the variants of magical and prophetic charisma. Magical charisma is attached to the shaman or magician who is “permanently endowed with charisma” (Weber 1968a, 401). Such charisma is basically conservative, supporting the customs of the tribe. Prophetic charisma occurs in more complex societies and adheres to the prophet who proclaims a divine mission or radical political doctrine. This form of charisma leads to revolution and social change. Weber regarded the prophet as the prototype for other kinds of charismatic leaders (Schweitzer 1984, 32).
Weber added two crucial components to this. First, charisma is fundamentally a religious concept; although in his usage it need not involve a notion of the divine, nevertheless it remains a form of spiritual energy oriented to otherworldly ideals. Second, the charismatic process is one of intense emotional arousal and great pathos; charismatic belief revolutionizes people from within. In sum, charisma is a revolutionary spiritual power.
The charismatic prophet claims authority by sheer force of personality. He points to some mission outside or beyond his self that he embodies, and his mission involves the radical change of current values. Before receiving his calling, the leader must have some germ of charisma latent in him (Weber 1968a, 400), but later he maintains power solely by proving his strength in life; to be a prophet, he must perform miracles (Weber 1946, 248-49).
Weber wondered whether charisma might arise from some mental illness, but he rejected the notion (Weber 1968a, 499). Instead, he spoke of an “emotional seizure” that originates in the unconscious of the leader and results in three “extraordinary” emotions: ecstasy, euphoria, and political passions. These emotions arouse similar feelings in others, who become followers (Weber 1968b, 273-74); the greater the leader’s emotional depth and belief in his calling, the greater is his appeal and the more intense is his following (Weber 1968a, 539). Weber also associated a particular calling with each extraordinary emotion. The first involves two kinds of leaders–the shaman and the “exemplary” prophet–who use ecstasy as a tool of salvation and self-deification. To produce ecstasy they may use alcohol and other drugs, music and dance, sexuality, or some combination of these; in short, orgies (Weber 1968b, 273). They also may provoke hysterical or epileptoid seizures (Weber 1968b, 273). This may seem like a mental disturbance or possession.
The second calling is what Weber described as the “ethical” prophet. This figure uses milder forms of euphoria, such as dreamlike mystical illumination and religious conversion, to create a realm of blessedness upon the earth, purged of violence and hate, fear and need (Schweitzer 198.4, 35; Weber 1968a, 527; 1968b, 274). Such a prophet has a divine ethical mission, and powerful orgiastic release actually stands in the way of the systematic ethical remodeling of life that he requires (Weber 1968a, 274). For him, the goal of sanctification is ethical conduct oriented to the world beyond, and his aim is not to become like God but to become God’s instrument and to be spiritually suffused by the deity (Weber 1968b, 275).
The third calling is the politician, associated with political passions. Examples include Churchill, Gandhi, and Hitler. A charismatic politician is able to arouse the passions of the followers and to channel them toward good or evil ends.
In using charisma to explain social change and heroic leaders, Weber did not intend merely to invent a dry academic term. Rather, he saw charisma as representing the incarnate life force itself, “the thrust of the sap in the tree and the blood in the veins,” an elemental or daemonic power (Dow 1978). By linking charisma to ecstasy, Weber emphasized release from social, psychological, and economic restraint–being beyond reason and self-control. The leader is a model of release and the divine power that makes freedom possible. The followers surrender not to the person of the leader but to the power manifest in him, and they will desert him if his power fails. The followers attain freedom from routine and the commonplace by surrendering to the leader and–through him–to their own emotional depths. This is their Good, not in some ethical or conventional sense but in a primordial or instinctual way. Ecstasy comes from breaking down inhibitions, from the experience of carefree power, and from the abandonment of conventional morality. Charisma is an emotional life force opposed to the law, conformity, repression, and dreariness of an ordered life.
Weber thus comes close to Freud’s theory of society (Freud 1930), in which repression is seen as necessary for civilized life. To Freud’s basic scheme Weber adds the Dionysian element of charisma, most typically through a leader who calls the followers to a new life, a new vision, and a new freedom when society breaks down or becomes too repressive to bear. This tension between release and restraint, between the call of one’s deeper nature and the demands of one’s social group, is at the center of Weber’s theory. Charisma “rejects all external order,” “transforms all values,” and compels “the surrender of the faithful to the extraordinary and the unheard of, to what is alien to all regulation and tradition, and therefore is viewed as divine” (Weber 1968a, 1115-17). The smoldering passion for freedom, for release from all restraint–including the restraint of one’s own conscience–may lie latent in us all. But Weber did not celebrate charisma as a solution to the emotional emptiness of conformity. He saw its value as a tool for social progress, but he felt that it was too wild, irrational, and dangerous to lead to responsible leadership or a stable social order. Charisma could only be the revolutionary spark–the “process of originating”–and no more. In evaluating charisma he sought some way to combine the grace of charisma with an ethic of responsibility. He ended by inviting his students to test and explore their own ultimate values through engagement with it (Dow 1978).
Despite Weber’s work, charisma remained a mysterious, even mystical, concept until Heinz Kohut and other psychoanalytic theorists began to study it. In a series of articles and books published during the 1970s, described by one writer as “breathtakingly unreadable,” [footnote: Malcolm 1980, 136. See Kohut 1959, 1960, 1966, 1971, 1972, 1976, 1977, 1980, 1985. There are, of course, problems with Kohut’s theory, especially in the context of this study. For example, he uses the term “true religion,” which few theologians would accept and which he does not define. Further, Kohut’s metapsychology relies heavily on the reenactment of hypothetical early ego states (Hanty and Masson 1976). However, the actual observations Kohut made are no doubt accurate. Throughout his voluminous writings on narcissism he has described so many behaviors typical of charismatic leadership that the connection is virtually indisputable.] Kohut emerged as a leader of the psychoanalytic avant-garde that reshaped modem psychoanalysis (Sass 1988). His contribution has been said to “represent psychoanalysis catching up with ‘being and nothingness’, with the world of Sartre and Beckett, indeed, with the modern sensibility and the ‘crisis of authority’” (Little 1980, 15).
Kohut studied a difficult class of disturbed patients with what is known as narcissistic disorders. As he studied them, he noticed similarities between them and charismatic leaders. Kohut spoke of charismatic personalities rather than leaders because most of his patients were not leaders–indeed, some were barely able to function–but they possessed many of the traits of charismatic leaders.
What was it among his narcissistic patients that made Kohut think of charismatic leaders? He initially noticed that when they presented for therapy, they showed grandiose self-confidence and–unlike most patients–an extraordinary lack of self-doubt. Often they would be quite clear-headed and perceptive; Kohut recounts how one such patient accurately diagnosed his (Kohut’s) shortcomings while in therapy. In addition, they could be very persuasive and accusative. These obvious strengths made them quite distinctive as a group; they did not present in the demoralized, anxious manner of most patients.
However, in time this facade of competence became less stable. Their confidence began to give way to vain boasting and a naive sense of invincibility. Unrealistic, grandiose fantasies appeared in their conversations, along with a streak of exhibitionism. So “brittle” did their confidence and self-certainty become that they were sometimes unable to admit to a gap in their knowledge; their need to appear strong was so shallow as to render them unable to ask for information, assistance, or advice. They were reluctant to seek therapy but had been forced to do so because of having been compromised by various fraudulent or sexually perverse behaviors.
As therapy progressed, these patients became increasingly unrealistic, hypochondriacal, and self-pitying. The nearer Kohut approached to the core of their disturbance, the more catastrophic were their reactions. They were also revealed to have little or no conscience or sense of guilt. Their relations with others were characterized by a sense that others were merely extensions of their (the patients’) own egos. Sometimes these relationships were reduced to dominance of one individual who was all that was left in an otherwise empty reality.
In sum, these patients appeared to be both happy and healthy until one looked a little deeper. Then a profound emptiness was revealed, an emptiness that coexisted quite functionally with their superficial health and wisdom. They appeared to be able to accommodate this paradox–and other contradictions–because of an “all-or-nothing” quality of their personality that was so committed to an appearance of strength as to have split off all awareness of their deeper emptiness. Their extreme self-containment and self-absorption, along with their confident social manner, made them very appealing to others, who seemed to warm to some part of themselves that they recognized in these figures. This “mirroring” process in which a strong figure sees others as parts of his self, while the others see themselves in him, alerted Kohut to a narcissistic explanation of charisma.
Narcissism begins with the infant’s early attachment to the mother and the accompanying sense that they form a unified whole. This is a carryover from life in the womb, when baby and mother were one. In this early period of “oneness” (Mahler, Pine, and Bergman 1967), a dialogue of mutual cuing and empathy, of quiet gesture and molding, develops for both mother and infant. Through the mother’s holding and feeding the baby, a choreography develops in which their boundaries seem to melt away. It is as if the mother and child merge, the being of one dissolving into the being of the other (Kaplan 1979, 100).
At this time the child feels exalted in its mother’s eyes, omnipotent in its childish world, and grandiose in its uninhibited egoism. The baby is a conqueror who seemingly creates magic without understanding how or why. The rising nipple finds the hungry mouth, and a warm, yielding softness that feels and smells just like the child molds itself around him. From this comes the illusion that his feelings and gestures have created the nipple, the mother’s body, and the rest of the world (Kaplan 1979, 92). The child feels like “an angel baby held in the sumptuous lap of a saintly Madonna” (Kaplan 1979, 116), his love coming from a sense of shared perfection with the mother.
In normal development this “primary narcissism” (Freud 1914) soon gives way to the discovery that the world does not revolve around one’s ego, and painful adjustment must be made to accept reality. This means recognizing one’s aloneness and helplessness in the face of an indifferent universe, and rising to the challenge of reality. This occurs through “optimally failing parents” (Kohut 1977, 237) and optimal frustration of the infant in a secure family environment where the mother can coach her child toward separateness and autonomy. The gleam in her eye mirrors the infant’s exhibitionistic display, and her participation in the baby’s egotistical enjoyment confirms the child’s self-esteem, despite whatever painful encounters with the world occur. By gradually increasing the selectivity of her responses, the mother channels the baby’s behaviors in realistic directions and the sense of oneness slowly breaks down (Kohut 1977, 188). This in turn leads to the consolidation of the child’s self. The store of self confidence and self-esteem that sustains one through life derives from these early difficult but ultimately successful struggles (Kohut 1971, 116).
However, for some this development remains incomplete. This may happen when an extremely devoted and idealizing mother, whose “baby worship” (Kohut 1971, 124) has created a child with very high self-esteem, suddenly and unpredictably withdraws her empathy and support. If this is not so traumatic as to impair the child, and if the child is exceptionally talented and adaptable, he may compensate for the loss of the mother by taking on her “filter” mechanisms (my term) as part of his self (Kohut 1976,414). Normally the mother filters reality in such a way that the child is not exposed to dangers or unpleasant events beyond its capacity to cope. When painful or confusing events occur, she interprets and evaluates them for the child in a positive manner. Perhaps the narcissistic child learns to mimic the mother’s filter mechanisms when failures of rapport occur or when she isn’t around for protection. The child may adopt her strategies, incorporating them as part of its own self, and so, rather than falling from grace with her, blends closer (emotionally) with her and retains, or even increases, the sense of oneness.
Now, instead of surrendering his narcissism, the child draws on all his resources. He learns to charm, manipulate, bully, and calculate his way through situations that defeat others. Alone he denies his aloneness and defies the world, yet without understanding the significance of his actions. As one who refuses to grow up, the child somehow avoids the “reality principle”–compromise with an indifferent and dangerous world–and his egocentric view of life remains substantially intact. As part of this, Kohut says, he becomes “superempathic” with his self and with his own needs. [footnote: Kohut doesn’t go deeply into quite how this happens, but we can make some intelligent guesses. Personality is largely socially constructed, but if one regards the social world as merely an extension of one’s ego–a part of oneself–major areas of psychic functioning change their meanings drastically (e.g., defense mechanisms). What would such a person be defending himself against? Himself? We need not dwell on this point except to observe in passing that seeing the external world as a part of oneself changes utterly the inner relations of the psyche.] The result is a remarkable autonomy in which the narcissistic child asserts his own perfection yet uses others to regulate his self-esteem, demanding full control over them without regard for their rights as independent people. This leads to a severe reduction in the educational power of the environment (Kohut 1976, 414-15). The narcissistic child lives in a psychological world of his own creation, beyond or outside “normal” reality, and virtually unreachable at depth.
Such a person grows up behaving normally, for he has learned the appropriate behaviors to get rewards and avoid punishment. But deep down, he still views the world as an extension of his ego in the way he originally saw the mother, and his early relationship with her remains the model for all subsequent relationships. Perhaps we all do this to some extent, and have varying degrees of insight into ourselves, but for the narcissist these insights remain purely intellectual. Deep down, he “knows” the world revolves around him, and his adult life is an attempt to perpetuate his childish egocentrism.
Adult forms of narcissism vary, and sometimes there are pathological elements (Kohut [1976] spoke of Hitler as having a “healed-over psychosis”), but the result is a person who sees the world in a radically different way from others. He is likely to be enormously confident and fearless. (How can one be afraid of anything in a world that is merely an extension of oneself? It would be like being afraid of one’s leg.) He may seem, superficially, to be a product of the society he grew up in, but really he is his own universe and only his body, needs, thoughts, and feelings are experienced as truly real. Others are perceived intellectually but without emotional weight and color, without substance. Perhaps they are experienced in a manner analogous to how we experience our internal organs; we know they exist and are real, but we never actually encounter them.
Such a person is detached from the “real” world (although his world is real enough to him). By always being a little bit inside yet a little bit outside the world, he is well placed to diagnose its problems and devise solutions. His insights will seem to be profound truths to those who share his values and background. The talents he has developed in order to survive with his narcissistic worldview intact now give him an uncanny resonance with his times and with those who will become his followers. In addition, other key traits associated with childhood (to be discussed in the next chapter) are developed to an extreme. Perhaps this really does give the prophet a “truth” that others lack.
Eventually the successful adult narcissist stands ready for the call to leadership. He fits in well with those who seek a new life or are in crisis. In return for their love and devotion, he leads them to the promised land, and in so doing he re-creates the ego-reflecting universe he knew as a child. The followers appreciate his vision and wisdom because he keeps his head in a crisis; he is above the fray (which is why narcissistic patients are so hard to treat–they can’t be reached).
Kohut gives us two images of the charismatic personality. In the first and less flattering, he discusses Wilhelm Fliess’s relationship with Sigmund Freud (Kohut 1976). During Freud’s most creative period–his self-analysis that preceded The Interpretation of Dreams in 1900–he became weak and needy in the throes of a supreme creative act. Many thinkers and artists need support during periods of intense creativity, especially when their creativity leads them into lonely areas not previously explored by others. Such isolation may prove terrifying because it repeats an early traumatic childhood fear of being alone and abandoned. At such times even a genius like Freud may attach himself to someone whom he sees as wise and all-powerful, with whom he temporarily bonds in order to draw support (Kohut 1976, 404). Fliess and others like him, with their unshakable self-confidence and certainty, lend themselves to this role (Kohut 1971, 316).
The Fliess type is similar to charismatic leaders like Hitler and Napoleon (Strozier 1980, 403), who have enormous yet brittle self-esteem. Lacking self-doubts, they set themselves up as leaders. Their absolute certainty makes possible great leadership but also risks total failure, for such people lack flexibility and have an all-or-nothing quality with only two options: success through strength, or destruction through defeat, suicide, or psychosis (Kohut 1976, 404; Strozier 1980, 403). Such leaders may be quite paranoid, but what fits them for their role is the fact that their self-esteem depends on their incessant use of certain mental functions. They continually judge others and point out their moral flaws, then–without shame or hesitation–they set themselves up as leaders and demand obedience. Yet they depend on their followers; Freud took up with Fliess when he needed him but dropped him soon afterward. Some of Kohut’s patients behaved similarly (Kohut 1976, 404). Kohut insists that although such relationships are opportunistic, they are not pathological. Anyone who is in need of support will tend to be drawn to charisma (Kohut 1971, 317; 1976; 1980, 393, 493; 1985, 219).
Charismatic personalities come in all shades and degrees. A few are almost psychotic–dogmatic, blind fanatics possessing only an unusual cunning–yet others are quite different. To illustrate this, Kohut discusses Winston Churchill.
Churchill and other leaders of his type seem to have transformed their primary narcissism into a “cosmic narcissism” that is basically pro-social. In addition to his talent for inspirational leadership, Churchill was capable of wit and wisdom, qualities that Kohut argues are rare in charismatic personalities. Yet Churchill also had an inflated sense of his self. Kohut speculated that he may have retained the infantile delusion that he could fly; some passages in his autobiography, certain childhood escapades, his escape during the Boer war, and his leadership of Britain during World War II suggest this. [Footnote: “Dreams of flying are an extension of the aspirations of man’s grandiose self, the carrier and instigator of his ambitions” (Kohut 1977,113).”]
Between the extremes of Fliess and Churchill there are many possible types of charismatic personalities. Their common features are extreme narcissism in which they identify others–and perhaps the entire universe–as parts of their own ego, an unshakable conviction of their own rightness and virtue, and a stunted empathy for others. Such traits may be expressed in a pro-or antisocial manner.
An important difference between charismatic personalities and ordinary folk is that most people attempt to fulfill their ambitions in a realistic way–that is, they take account of the needs and feelings of others. And normal people accept their limitations, their flawed yet “near enough” approximations of success in their attempts to live up to their ideals. For most of us, our ideals and values are mere direction-setting standards that we try to live up to. We feel good when we measure up and we feel bad when we fall short. Empathy with others shows us that nobody is perfect, and this prevents the development of a sense of absolute moral superiority. Hence no unrealistic feeling develops that we are perfect while others are corrupt. The charismatic, however, lacks empathy. He identifies totally with his ideals and no longer measures his behavior against them. He and his God are one, and there can be no half measures (Kohut 1976).
Such leaders pay a price. Their relationships are shallow because they have a double standard of reality; they relate with genuine concern to others at the same time as they see them as objects to manipulate. Further, the leader’s ego-reflecting worldview is always under threat because people behave differently from how he wills them to behave. Although this difference can be excused—one’s stomach sometimes behaves differently from how one wills it–the logical implication is that the leader is not really in control, that there is an objective reality beyond his ego. But to recognize this is to admit the original trauma that produced the flight into narcissism. This is avoided at all cost.
What the charismatic leader most lacks is a sense of the humanity of other people. He may accurately diagnose their problems and brilliantly solve them, he may even genuinely love the followers–loving them quite literally as he loves himself–yet they remain unreal to him because he must not acknowledge what it means to be a fellow sufferer, to feel alone and to have to adjust to an indifferent world, to have to reach out in trust to another for help. He may have actually been alone and had to trust and adjust, but he is rigidly fortified against the meanings of such events. They occur to him as strange, inexplicable interludes on a continuum of mastery and dominance, of self-sufficiency and control; he is “phobic” about recognizing any emotional vulnerability. Any outright opposition is countered with vociferous energy–what Kohut calls “narcissistic rage”–a rage that shows by its extremity and persistence that he is more deeply wounded by injuries to his worldview than by any physical injury (Kohut 1972). Hence he is fondest of the true believers who enthusiastically mirror his ego; those who don’t are resented. Despite the leader’s wisdom, his acceptance of others exists only as long as his own needs are being fulfilled. When they behave contrary to his wishes, he may respond with incomprehension or even paranoia. For what he really empathizes with is shades of himself, and he attracts only those who are in tune with him. He is unable to empathize with people who are indifferent to him, whose needs do not mesh with his own. His inability to experience himself as vulnerable is like a chasm between himself and others. For vulnerability is a vital part of human reality–we are not gods–and anyone who cannot experience it remains fundamentally out of rapport with ordinary people, no matter how successful his manipulations and wisdom may appear. Because of this lack the leader is not a great man; he is a great actor playing the role of a great man.
As for the followers, Kohut suggests that they are attempting to draw strength from a powerful figure in order to perform some profound creative change. This may take the form of a regressive psychic merger with an evil Hitler figure, in which case the relationship is based as much on shared hates as on mutual love. Or it may, as in the case of Freud’s relationship with Fliess, be an opportunistic and temporary relationship aimed at discovering some deep truth about oneself or the world. It may involve aspects of the parent-child relationship, as well as “regression in the service of the ego,” that is, creative acts that can seem bizarre or dangerous to outsiders (Kris 1952). Invariably courage is needed in order to give up the defenses and illusions carried over from childhood, and to surrender to the leader (Kohut 1976, 424).
One well-studied example of such a relationship is that between analyst and analysand. Kohut has written of the patient’s temporary need to identify with the analyst (Kohut 1985, 47), and has argued that the key to understanding such relationships lies in creativity. The follower or analysand is seeking to fulfill some aspect of his or her self, while the leader or analyst is seeking to shape the world closer to his or her needs. The follower helps the leader to realize his or her vision while using the leader for his or her own personal transformation. But it is something of a hit-and-miss, blind-following-the-blind process. Just as a charismatic analyst with a quasi-religious fervor may cure a patient with love (albeit a somewhat narcissistic love; Kohut 1971, 222- 23), so the prophet may help the followers yet be blindly unaware of their true needs. Perhaps neither ever really encounters the other. There may be pathological factors in both the follower’s and the leader’s creative efforts (Kohut 1985, 7, 249), but these need not detract from their worth. Despite even severe disturbance, many creative people manage to live fulfilling and significant lives, perhaps more so than most “normals” who, despite the absence of neurosis, often seem to lead empty, shallow, narrow existences (Kohut 1985, 48).
Both Weber and Kohut distinguished two kinds of leaders. Weber began by noting three main features that distinguish the prophet from other figures: (a) prophets do not receive their mission from any human authority–they simply seize it; (b) the prophet has a “vital emotional preaching” typical of prophecy; and (c) the prophet proclaims a path of salvation through personal revelation (Weber 1968b, 258-61). Weber then distinguished between “ethical” and “exemplary” prophets. The ethical prophet, as typified by Moses, believes he is an instrument of God. Such figures arise where there is belief in a personal, transcendent, ethical God. Preaching as one who has received a commission from God, the ethical prophet demands obedience as an ethical duty (Weber 1968b, 263). The exemplary prophet arises where belief in superdivine, impersonal forces and the concept of a rationally regulated world dominates. Teaching by example in the manner of Jesus and Buddha, he shows the way of salvation. His example appeals to those who crave salvation, recommending to them the same path he has traversed (Weber 1968b, 263-64).
Kohut distinguished between messianic and charismatic personalities, but added that mixed cases are likely to be most common (Kohut 1976, 415). He speculated freely about these constructs (Kohut 1976) and provided several practical distinctions. The messianic personality identifies its self with what Kohut calls the “idealized superego”–in effect, God or one’s ultimate concern. Because the superego has “object qualities”–that is, it seems to be an entity of some sort–the messianic leader can envisage and describe, and even enter into a (dissociated) dialogue with, this God. Because of the nature of his early conflicts, he experiences this God as outside and above, and he receives his revelation from this heavenly external source. Thus he is led by his ideals in the manner of Moses or Muhammad (Kohut 1966, 250). Kohut suggests that a particular fantasy may sustain him–an unconscious belief that “You [the mother, parent, primary caregiver, or deity] are perfect and I am part of you.” Thus there is a fundamental shifting aside of the self and a subsequent identification and union with God.
The charismatic personality, on the other hand, identifies with what Kohut calls the “grandiose self” in the form of some symbol of onmnipotence–God–located within the self. Unlike the idealized superego, the grandiose self is not perceived by the mind as an object. Kohut likens it to the eye, a part of the organism that is involved in perception and hence cannot perceive itself; the grandiose self is the most primitive and essential “organ” of being and cannot apprehend or observe itself. Thus the charismatic prophet senses his God more vaguely, as a peculiar sensation within his being, a pressure coming from below, and he is driven by his ambitions rather than pulled by his ideals (Kohut 1966, 250). Kohut suggests that the unconscious fantasy sustaining this type is “I am God” (or perhaps “I and the mother [or father] are one”; Hanly and Masson 1976). In sum, the messianic prophet gazes up in awe at his God, whom he tries to emulate and follow, whereas the charismatic prophet feels God stirring within and tries to express and get recognition for his deity.
In concluding this brief overview of Kohut’s theory, it is important to clarify some technical points in order to avoid misconceptions. In his account of the development of the infant, Kohut argues that the self is “bipolar,” that it has two extremities–the “grandiose self” and the “idealized superego.” The grandiose self is nurtured by the “mirroring self-object” and the idealized superego is nourished by the “idealizing self-object.” In some discussions (typically in Kohut’s case studies) the term “mirroring self-object” is loosely translated as “mother,” for in the external world it is most often the mother who performs this function. Further, regardless of who the mirroring self- object is, the child’s grandiose self will develop, for better or for worse, in response not just to the actual deeds of an external mother (or father) but also in response to the perceived and felt deeds of an internalized image of this person, and in accordance with how the infant construes these deeds, images, feelings, and perceptions. Kohut is emphasizing psychological processes within the child in response to actions by external agents, rather than the actions and external agents in themselves. This is because in the child’s mind, its parents are not experienced as wholly external. Hence Kohut’s coining of the term “self-object”–the mother (or father) is an object all right, but remains identified as part of the child’s self. Similarly, in the external world the father often performs the functions of the idealizing self-object. If the real father is absent, the developmental process of construing an idealizing self-object and developing an idealized superego goes on.
In this book some modifications to Kohut’s jargon are necessary, and they result from a stark choice. His precise terms are so unwieldy that even his fellow analysts have, on occasion, had difficulty understanding him. Yet to substitute “mother” and “father” annihilates the accuracy of his technical meanings. The justification for doing so is to retain a thread–a connection–with ordinary experience. No unwarranted assumptions about gender, or about the roles of mothers or fathers in narcissistic development, are intended. It is the psychological,”mother”–the mirroring self-object–and the psychological “father”–the idealizing self-object–entities in the developing infant’s mind, that are intended, even though actual mothers and fathers usually correspond to these entities. Nevertheless, the child remains the agent of his own processes, and may construe neglectful, abusive, or even absent parents as positive self-objects if driven to do so by the needs of the developing self.
In presenting the theory of prophetic development proposed herein, Kohut’s term “self-object” will sometimes be used to designate a psychological parent or caregiver in the child’s mind (the idealizing and mirroring self-object”), and sometimes to indicate actual parents (the mother or the father) or caregivers in the child’s external world when it is useful to do so. This both simplifies and distorts the subtleties and complexities of Kohut’s theory, but it allows for an easier discussion of the main issues. The terms “mother,” “father,” “carer,” and “primary caregiver” will also be used in case studies and when traditional roles and relationships are likely to be involved. The more cumbersome technical jargon will be avoided wherever possible. In sum, these labels will be used as much for their convenience as for their technical accuracy.
To add to Weber and Kohut, Erich Fromm distinguishes between two kinds of narcissism–benign and malign. In the benign form–corresponding to Weber’s ethical prophet and Kohut’s messianic personality–the goal of the leader’s efforts is something he produces, achieves, or does; that is, it is something external to himself. For the messianic prophet this includes doing God’s will by saving souls, building up the church, serving others, preaching the gospel, or whatever. Consequently this form of narcissism is self-checking. To do God’s work, the prophet must be related to reality; this constantly curbs his narcissism and keeps it within bounds (Fromm 1964, 77). In contrast, the goal of malignant narcissism–corresponding to Weber’s exemplary prophet and Kohut’s charismatic personality–is not something the prophet does or produces, but something he has or is. He draws closer to God not because of something he achieves but because of some inner quality. In maintaining this belief he does not need to be related to anyone or anything. Such figures may remove themselves more and more from reality and inflate their delusions to huge proportions in order to avoid discovering that their divinity is merely a product of their imagination. Thus malignant narcissism lacks the corrective element that is present in the benign form. It is not self- limiting but is crudely solipsistic and xenophobic (Fromm 1964, 77).
Combining the relevant components of Weber’s, Kohut’s, and Fromm’s theories, we may achieve a fairly useful description of the two types of prophets. This description is outlined in Chapter 10. However, the picture remains complex. What is needed is to fit these theories together in some systematic way. This can be done by describing the developmental stages through which prophets progress. In doing this, we find that Weber’s and Kohut’s theories best describe different stages in this sequence, while Fromm’s comments furnish useful background. This “natural history” of the prophet may be described as a five-stage sequence.1. Early narcissism. Some process similar to, if not identical with, Heinz Kohut’s description of the early life experiences of the charismatic personality must occur. To spend time with prophets is to discover that there really is something different about how they see the world. This “something” seems at first hard to define, and an attempt to locate its infantile origins has to be a speculative exercise. Chapter 3 will attempt to describe it and to retrace its likely development.
2. Incubation. This covers a period roughly following the onset of puberty and leading up to the adoption of the prophetic role. It is a time of struggle and uncertainty for the narcissistic personality as he attempts to reconcile his uniqueness with the demands of adult life. If he can negotiate this period safely, he is led to the discovery that he can never live as other people do, either because of some special truth he must express or because God has called him.
3. Awakening. This signals the adoption of the prophetic role. It may be a dramatic mystical experience or a more mundane realization of some important truth. There may also be several minor awakenings and false starts. In all, there is most likely to be a series of events culminating in some kind of crisis in the life of the developing narcissistic adult that is solved by taking on the role of the prophetic leader.4. Mission. It is here that Max Weber’s theory is most applicable. At this point the prophet heads an organization dedicated to supporting him and spreading his truth. However, it is also during this stage that the prophet interacts with the world on a grander scale than before, and many of his actions are responses to situations arising within his movement or from his leadership. Hence, in order to understand his behavior, we need to understand the unique features of his context and his movement, and the needs of his followers, as well as his own agenda.
5. Decline or fall. Some prophets grow old gracefully, and these tend to be messianic types. Those who fall from grace in the eyes of their followers and end their days in disgrace, or who are destroyed by external forces, tend to be charismatic personalities. These latter are more often unstable, power-seeking, and antisocial. This last stage in the natural history of the prophet enables us to evaluate his life–and to identify more clearly the processes that drove him–in the light of Weber’s and Kohut’s theories.
In sum, charisma was traditionally seen as a supernatural phenomenon, a gift from God. However, Max Weber argued that while charisma may rest on some attribute of a leader, it needs to be recognized by others in order to be effective. In this study charisma is defined as an attribute of one whom we associate with our ultimate concern or, if we ourselves do not, others do. This definition substitutes the phrase “ultimate concern” for God in the manner suggested by theologian Paul Tillich (Tillich 1949), but some problems remain. Weber speaks about three social roles–the shaman, the politician and the prophet–while Kohut speaks of two personality types–the messianic and the charismatic. Both treat the prophet as a prototype for other kinds of charismatic leaders, and agree that psychology alone cannot explain why some people become leaders and others do not.
The following chapters describe the natural history of prophets and attempt to explain their charisma. Because of the complexity of the subject, this account has to be somewhat selective, focusing at times more on messianic or charismatic personality types, though as both Weber and Kohut note, pure types are seldom found. The hope is that we may develop the tools to unravel the particular blend of factors that have combined to create the charisma of a specific individual.
©️ 2024 by Richard Jennings or other author, as indicated, all rights reserved
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