Are we all narcissists now?

Friday night was a break from the usual fare in London for me. I was invited to a Philosophy meetup by a trusted colleague of mine.

The topic was on the role narcissism has in our lives today, looking in particular at how the modern sense of self is constructed in cyberspace and asking "are we all narcissists now"? Being completely self-absorbed, I was sure this topic was all about me.

I've seen some feedback since from people commenting there was too much psychological theory and wasn't enough philosophy, but I really enjoyed it. I will readily admit I didn't understand all of the psychoanalytic theory about childhood development, but was mainly interested in how narcissism relates to cyberspace.

After the talk, there was a Q&A which quite quickly turned into group discussion -- the discussion was meant to follow afterwards, but I think after a couple of glasses of wine some people couldn't help themselves.

What was interesting to me was that earlier that day I had interviewed for a new job in an online PR and social marketing role -- if only the interview had followed the talk, I could have had some interesting points to raise. In particular, what fascinated me on the night was how people of my parents' generation view the internet and social media.

Of course, there was the usual line "young people spend too much time in front of computers and don't get out enough", and some discussion sparked by a man who said his nieces post endless pictures of themselves on Facebook -- pictures in which they are rarely doing anything at all. Was this young people emulating celebrities who are constantly being "papped"? Was it just them copying their peers?

What made me think was the suggestion that Facebook "friends" are not an indication of real life friends, as one woman described it these people won't come round and make you a cup of tea if you have the flu. To be honest, I don't think anyone I know offline, with the exception of the girl -- would ever make me hot drinks or bring me soup if I was sick. Maybe if I had come out of hospital, or had a serious illness, but other than that I doubt anyone much would notice. However, I think that many people I know online if they knew I wasn't well would at least offer sympathy.

To suggest that online friendships are somehow inferior to people we know physically, in person, in real life, I think is a fallacy. The girl recently spent a week making a quilt for a fellow blogger's new baby. I have personally exchanged greeting cards with many bloggers and sent them postcards when I have been away, yet don't do the same for some real life friends. I think not having met someone doesn't make them in any way less of a friendship. Before the internet, I was nerdy enough to have penpals. Although I have long since lost touch with all of them, I still think at the time it was reasonable to call at least some of them friends.

I don't know the statistic for online friends and how many you can actually actively sustain. Granted, not everyone I know on Facebook I would call a friend -- but they all pass the "pub test": if they asked me, would I be willing to meet them in real life for a friendly drink. At least once. If the answer is no, they don't make the list. So there's an old boss of mine, who gave me work when I really needed it -- and probably still would now. There's guys I snowboarded with in France one year. There are people with whom my only connection is I have read their blog and they have possibly visited mine, out of politeness. But I still think every one of them counts as a real connection.

Blogging is essentially narcissistic. Even if you aren't a personal blogger, you are either presuming that anyone else would want to read what you write, or you are gazing into it -- like narcissus into a pond, perhaps.

I am no better than anyone else, and possibly slightly worse than most. I am incredibly self involved. I have been writing online since I was 18 -- that will be 12 years this summer. And even -- like with this blog -- I get almost no encouragement to keep writing, I still do it. I can't maintain a paper diary on a regular basis, but on the internet I pour my heart out for decades at a time.

Oddly, though, I have such terrible self image issues I can hardly bear to see myself -- literally, see pictures of myself. I almost never post pictures of myself here, not out of privacy concerns but because I hate the sight of myself. I will often "untag" pictures people post of me on Facebook, and some days I can hardly stand to see my own reflection -- which is worse than a photograph, since it looks at me with disgust or contempt.

Despite this, if I can't see myself I am incredibly vain. I text messages to the radio station while I am cooking -- just to have whatever fake name I use mentioned on air. They usually don't read the message out, but it's satisfaction enough to know if it amuses the DJ.

Maybe the internet is worse for giving people unrealistic expectations. It used to be, ordinary people would only ever be spotted in the street to be a model or maybe actor -- or very occasionally heard singing and given a record deal. Now you can get a book deal by Tweeting shit your Dad says (which usually amuses me), or a record deal based on songs recorded in your bedroom and posted on MySpace. You can get a book deal from your blog. So many people are chasing these dreams, and taking it personally when it doesn't happen to them.

Does cyberspace make us all narcissists? I don't think it does. I don't think "young people" who post pictures of themselves are doing it because they love themselves, and I don't necessarily think the more friends (or readers/followers) you have online necessarily equals a higher ego. Just more connections.

If anyone reads this -- I'd love to hear your thoughts, but to give you some idea on what, I guess some questions would be helpful:
1) Are "online" friends lesser than "real life" friends? Why, or why not?
2) Since you're on the internet, are you a narcissist?
3)Does cyberspace make us all narcissists?

The future is quite different to the present. One thing we have in common with the present is we still call it the present, even though it's the future.

I mentioned in the last post how I was rereading The Time Traveller's Wife, and as usual it's got me thinking about our past and future selves.  I've thought, and probably written about, a lot the idea of what we might say to our past selves, given a chance.  My main advice for my self would usually boil down to don't worry so much, and let things go.  Which is sound advice at any time.

But recently I got to thinking -- what if we were to meet our future selves on a regular basis?  I'm less interested in any tips for the future or any particular words of wisdom on how to deal with our present, but more in the personal relationship between our selves.

My main thought is really: would we like ourselves?  It is widely accepted that the traits we admire in others are the things we like about ourselves, and conversely the things that we dislike and the things that annoy us in other people are those that we dislike about ourselves.  With this in mind, would we by default like these future selves because they have all of the qualities we like?

Even if we can't be objective about our own personality and achievements, would meeting ourself as another person be far enough removed for us to like "them", or would we see all of our flaws?  What would it be like if there was mutual animosity with ourselves whenever we met?

What would you say?  "You need to be nicer to me?" 

Maybe such a meeting would be all we need to get a sense of perspective.  If we had no trouble being objective about this future self that we meet, being able to see that they try their hardest and have good intentions even if things don't always work out would we then be able to put into practice when thinking about ourselves?

It seems counter-intuitive to imagine that we could ever be hostile to a visiting future self.  If they turned up on our doorstep at 3am, naked and shivering with cold, and needing to be let in could we turn them away, knowing that it will literally be us that need that help in the future?  It might seem to detached from us, too hard to accept that it really would be us.  It's unlike if a future self met our present in need, since then they would remember their own kindness -- it is almost like you have to pay it forward, you do the right thing so that it comes back to you when you need it.

There's no real conclusion to be made -- but I'm interested to hear others thoughts on the idea, if it even makes any sense.  Do you like who you are?  Do you think if you met yourself you would like them, or would you seem them embodying all your insecurities?

Oh my goodness, oh my soul

Over Christmas, I dreamed I was possessed by an evil demon.

It might sound funny, but it was quite distressing, at the time. The girl is always concerned when I have bad dreams, and I think she thought me a little strange when I asked her to reassure me the next morning that she didn't think I was possessed. The lovely, obliging girl indulged me, but with a bit of a strange look. I guess it's like dreaming you're a penguin, then asking your partner to confirm they don't think you're a penguin. Or something fictional, like a unicorn -- since to me those are about as real as demons.

It would be slightly inaccurate to say I grew up in a Catholic household. I didn't. My parents sent me to a Catholic school, and attended church weekly -- although with decreasing frequency as my brother and I got older. But I don't think they ever believed it themselves, they were just repeating their own upbringings. Just the same, I was quite a literal child and always expected God to speak to me. I expected to physically hear God's voice, out loud, and I remember slight puzzlement that it never came. A lot of the parables I heard at school I took completely literally and on face value, so I think in some ways their messages were slightly lost on me.

I'm sure that my own Dad became entwined with God in my developing mind, as it must do with so many others (except with their own Fathers, it would be creepy if everyone associated mine with God) -- something I strongly disagree with.

As I got older, I stopped expecting to hear the voice of God. But in my teens I became convinced on a number of occasions that God was telling me things. I didn't hear a voice and believe it was God's, but I had thoughts or ideas and I believed them to be divinely inspired. Which is weird, since I had a very on-off relationship with any sort of belief. I would believe that God wanted me to do things like go to war-torn former-Yugoslavia to do aid work (thankfully not missionary work), or sometimes that I should go without food, or that I should hurt myself.

There were other times when ideas would come to me -- such completely abhorrent things -- that would seem so completely outside of my own thought processes, that I wondered if there really could be something outside of myself, giving me these thoughts. I wonder now how quickly a doctor would have put me on anti-psychotic medications if I had thought to tell them. Or anyone.

It worked the other way, too -- I have always felt as if anything creative came from outside of myself, short story writing sometimes felt more like automatic writing, I had no idea what was going to be written until I wrote it. The mind is a curious and mysterious thing.

I was left feeling distinctly uneasy following my dream of demonic possession. I didn't like to see my reflection, the dark circles under my eyes reminded me of my own evil reflection I had seen. At least if you dreamed you were a penguin someone could give you a mirror and a picture of a penguin, and leave you to work it out for yourself from there.

Many people still do believe literally in demonic possession -- feel that things like alcoholism or depression or self harm or drug abuse or murderous rages are all caused by an evil spirit, hitchhiking on our souls. My friend Jon was one of those people, to an extent -- until he abruptly lost his faith last year. His family's bookshelves contained modern day accounts of exorcisms and possessions -- you'll be glad to know I never felt compelled to read any of them. I'd be interested to know what he makes of them all now.

I watched an exorcism live on TV once. It was broadcast late one night on Channel 4, and had been debated and vilified in the press for weeks. A man suffering from various problems and who had been exorcised before (in part, it seems he had a lot of uninvited guests) was going to be 'cured' right before your eyes. It spent ages building up, then cut to an ad break. Before it restarted after the break, there was a warning that the following could contain distressing scenes, people of sensitive dispositions should turn off, all that kind of thing.

The exorcism itself lasted perhaps 30 seconds, and was less distressing than most kids' tv programmes. In fact, nothing appeared to happen. Words were said, hands laid on, then it was over -- "Do you feel better now?" "Yes thanks, I'll get my coat" was essentially it. Even the presenters were left a bit not knowing what to do next. All that was left was to try and fill the remaining time with debate and scientific analysis -- an EEG analysis of his brain was looked at closely, and a small spike of activity was identified as the exact point that the evil spirit left him.

I think they'd been hoping for screaming and spitting and shouting and...other things beginning with the letter S. The sufferer admitted that, yes, it was quick and uneventful, but that previous exorcisms he'd had were much more exciting...

You'd have thought he could have at least put on a bit of a show.