Narcissist: psychoanalytic term for the person who loves himself

When Thomas Szasz wrote, “Narcissist: psychoanalytic term for the person who loves himself more than his analyst; considered to be the manifestation of a dire mental disease whose successful treatment depends on the patient learning to love the analyst more and himself less,” he was not merely crafting a definition — he was wielding irony as a sword against the pretensions of modern psychology. Beneath his biting humor lies a profound critique of how the human soul has been pathologized by science. Szasz, a fierce defender of individual freedom and one of the most controversial thinkers in psychiatry, used this statement to expose the hypocrisy of an age that condemns self-love as illness while glorifying dependence on authority. His words echo like the voice of a philosopher from the ancient world — warning us that when the self is no longer sacred, the human spirit becomes enslaved.

In this quote, Szasz strikes at the heart of psychoanalysis, the field that rose under Sigmund Freud’s shadow and redefined the language of emotion and desire. To call someone a narcissist — to brand them as one who loves themselves too much — was to declare them diseased, to say that their devotion to the self had crossed the boundary into madness. Yet Szasz, ever the iconoclast, saw in this label a form of manipulation. For if the cure to such “madness” was to make the patient love the analyst more — to surrender their confidence and individuality to the expert — then psychoanalysis was not healing but domestication of the soul. His irony unmasks the power dynamic within the therapist’s chair: the transformation of spiritual struggle into professional control.

In the style of the ancients, this teaching resonates with the warnings of the old philosophers — men like Diogenes and Epictetus, who told their students that wisdom means freedom from false masters. To them, the man who knows himself is already well, and the man who depends on others to define his worth is the true captive. Szasz’s satire speaks the same truth: that self-knowledge — even when imperfect — is a higher virtue than submission to authority disguised as enlightenment. To call a man sick for loving himself, Szasz implies, is to call autonomy a disease and obedience a cure.

Consider the story of Socrates, who was condemned by his society for “corrupting the youth.” What was his corruption? Teaching young men to question the gods of the city, to think for themselves, and to examine their own souls. Like the so-called narcissist, Socrates turned the gaze inward — he told men to “know thyself.” For this, he was accused of arrogance and moral subversion. And so it is through history: every age invents new ways to punish those who turn inward. In Szasz’s time, it was not hemlock that silenced the questioner, but the clinical diagnosis. The man who loves himself too deeply, who resists the authority of doctors, priests, or governments, becomes labeled as unwell — a narcissist, in need of correction.

Szasz’s insight also reminds us that love of self is not the enemy of love for others. The ancients taught that balance was the essence of virtue. To love oneself rightly — to honor one’s worth, to care for one’s mind and dignity — is not vanity, but strength. But the modern world, Szasz warns, has lost this understanding. It teaches dependence, not mastery; guilt, not freedom. It condemns self-love because a person who truly loves himself cannot be controlled. A man who respects his own judgment is dangerous to those who profit from his submission. Thus, society has learned to cloak obedience in the language of therapy, to turn the language of health into a tool of conformity.

And yet, Szasz’s wisdom is not cynical; it is liberating. He does not mock learning, or even therapy itself, but calls us back to sovereignty of the soul. He reminds us that while teachers and healers may guide, the self must never be surrendered. True learning and healing begin not in worshiping another, but in listening to the voice within. His irony hides a message of courage: that every man and woman must reclaim ownership of their mind, even when others call that act rebellion or madness. To love oneself is not sin — it is the foundation of sanity.

So, the lesson of this quote is both fierce and freeing: guard your selfhood as sacred. Do not mistake the approval of others for truth, nor trade your independence for comfort. Seek counsel, but never servitude. Love others deeply, but never at the cost of your own integrity. For if you lose your self-respect in the name of being “healed,” you have not been healed — you have been conquered.

Let this be remembered as an ancient commandment in modern form: Know thyself — and dare to love what you find. For in that love lies the strength to stand alone, the wisdom to discern truth from illusion, and the freedom to live as a whole and unbroken soul, even in an age that calls self-knowledge a disease.