The mirror of illusion
Philosophical perspectives on covert narcissism
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Introduction – Why philosophy Is needed to understand covert narcissism
Covert narcissism resists being captured in a single definition. Psychologically, it is described as a form of narcissism less visible than the overt variant: not loud grandiosity, but quiet manipulation, subtle distortions of reality and the playing out of victimhood. Yet this description falls short of grasping the true depth of the phenomenon.
For covert narcissism is not only a clinical pattern. It is also an existential strategy, an ethical denial and a relational game in which the other is never truly allowed to appear as other. It is living within a carefully constructed illusion — an illusion so vital for the self-image that it must be protected at all costs, even at the expense of the reality of others.
Psychology can teach us how this structure works; philosophy can help us understand what it means. What is at stake when a person is unable to take responsibility, because acknowledging truth feels like self-annihilation? What happens to relationships, ethics and identity when illusion is preserved as the highest good?
To explore these questions, I have turned to eight thinkers. Each of them illuminates a different facet of covert narcissism: from the ethics of encounter (Buber, Levinas) to the mask and self-falsification (Nietzsche, Jung), from the rewriting of reality (Baudrillard, Ricoeur) to the denial of responsibility (Arendt, de Beauvoir). Together, they do not provide a conclusive answer, but a mosaic of perspectives that brings us closer to the core of this human and societal impasse.
Hannah Arendt – The Banality of Evil
Hannah Arendt became world-famous with her report on the trial of Adolf Eichmann, in which she introduced the term the banality of evil. By this she meant that evil does not always stem from demonic wickedness, but often from thoughtlessness: the inability or refusal to make moral judgments and to hold oneself responsible for the consequences of one’s actions.
In covert narcissism we see a related dynamic. It is not malevolence in the classical sense, but a structural evasion of moral responsibility. The covert narcissist rarely sees themselves as perpetrator, but rather as victim or misunderstood figure. This self-perception is carefully guarded, so that the moral dimension of their actions disappears from view — for themselves and for those around them.
Arendt emphasized that thoughtlessness is dangerous because it shuts out moral reflection. In covert narcissism, something similar happens: acknowledging one’s own role in pain and destruction is avoided, not only out of fear of guilt, but because the illusion of innocence is the very foundation of the self-image. As a result, harm can be inflicted without the narcissist ever perceiving themselves as its cause.
The outcome is a paradox Arendt would have recognized: a person who in their own perception is innocent, yet whose behavior systematically produces destruction. And because this behavior often appears socially acceptable — charming, helpful, articulate — the true nature remains hidden, precisely as the narcissist intends.
Martin Buber – I-Thou and I-It
In his major work I and Thou, Martin Buber argues that there are two fundamental ways in which people relate to one another. In an I-Thou relationship, we encounter the other as a full, unique being, in reciprocity and openness. In an I-It relationship, by contrast, we reduce the other to an object, a means, or a function — something to be used or manipulated.
Covert narcissism can almost exclusively function within I-It relationships. The other is approached as an extension of the self: as a source of affirmation, a mirror for one’s own image or a means of maintaining control. Truly seeing the other as an autonomous, inwardly free being — the essence of I-Thou — is threatening, because it implies equality and opens up the possibility that the illusion might be broken.
Buber emphasized that I-Thou relationships are fragile: they require presence without masks. Precisely this is impossible for the covert narcissist. The mask — the carefully constructed persona — cannot be taken off, because behind it lies a self-image that feels fragile and unsafe. The encounter therefore always remains at a distance, filtered through role, narrative, and strategy. You will never truly be able to meet the self behind the mask.
Thus, an interaction arises that may outwardly appear warm or engaged, but in essence is transactional. Whatever is given always serves the function of getting something in return: admiration, pity, loyalty or control. In Buber’s terms, the relationship remains trapped in I-It, making genuine connectedness impossible — no matter how intimate or long-lasting the relationship may seem on the surface.
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Emmanuel Levinas – The Other as ethical appeal
For Emmanuel Levinas, ethics does not begin with rules or laws, but with the encounter with the face of the Other. That face — literally and figuratively — addresses us, calls us to responsibility, even before we choose whether we are willing. It is a summons that draws us out of ourselves, confronting us with the fact that the other has an irreducible existence of their own that demands recognition.
In covert narcissism this ethical appeal is structurally warded off. The gaze of the other is not admitted as a moral challenge, but transformed into something manageable. The other is absorbed into the narcissist’s script: not as an autonomous being, but as a role in their self-narrative. This is not passive blindness, but an active rewriting of the relationship so that it poses no threat to the fragile self-image.
Levinas would see this as a fundamental ethical failure: the refusal to be truly affected by the other. Where the face normally reveals vulnerability and makes the other into a subject, the covert narcissist sees primarily a mirror — or worse, a screen onto which their own projections can be cast.
In this way, responsibility is turned into control and recognition into use. The Other loses their uniqueness and is instrumentalized in service of preserving the illusion. In Levinas’s terms, this means that the basis of the human — the willingness to be addressed — is undermined, leaving every relationship essentially asymmetrical.
Jean Baudrillard – Simulacra and Hyperreality
Jean Baudrillard described how, in the postmodern world, the boundary between reality and representation becomes blurred. His concept of simulacra refers to copies without an original — images, stories and symbols that no longer have a direct link to factual reality. In hyperreality, this construction is not only believed but also experienced as more real than the real.
In covert narcissism, the illusion functions in precisely this way. The narcissist’s self-image is not a direct reflection of who they truly are, but a carefully constructed representation presented as truth. This narcissistic self is a simulacrum: it appears authentic but is wholly composed of roles, selective memories and strategic narratives.
In the hyperreality of covert narcissism, fiction can no longer be distinguished from fact — not by the person with narcissism and often not by those around them. The rewriting of events, the subtle shifting of responsibilities and the reinterpretation of emotions are applied so consistently that the new version of reality becomes the only version that counts.
The danger here is twofold. For the narcissist, it means there is no longer a bridge back to a shared reality, for that has been replaced by the internal truth of the simulacrum. For those around them, it means that their own experiences come increasingly under pressure: doubt, confusion and self-denial become the norm.
Baudrillard’s analysis makes clear that in this dynamic it is not about lies in the traditional sense, but about a total replacement of reality. In such a world, the illusion is not a veil over the facts — the illusion has become the fact.
Friedrich Nietzsche – Masks, ressentiment and self-falsification
Nietzsche understood better than anyone that people wear masks, and he argued that “everything that is deep loves a mask.” For him, the mask was not a superficial disguise but a necessary protection of the inner self — and at times an instrument of power. In covert narcissism, the mask is not a choice but a condition of existence: without the carefully constructed image, the fragile self would collapse.
Central to Nietzsche’s analysis is ressentiment: a deep-rooted resentment born of powerlessness, expressed through moral inversion. What one cannot have or be is devalued or subtly undermined. In covert narcissism, this manifests in relational games, covert criticism or undermining others under the guise of care or humor. It is a form of exercising power that is not frontal, but all the more effective because it remains invisible.
Nietzsche also warned of self-falsification — the moment when the lie you tell the world has been repeated so often that it becomes truth for yourself. For the covert narcissist, this is daily reality. The mask is no longer experienced as artificial but as the actual face. Removing it would feel like being unmasked in the most radical sense: the loss of identity and control in one blow.
Thus Nietzsche shows us that covert narcissism is not only about protecting a weak self-image, but also about power, resentment and the deliberate maintenance of a construct that traps both the other and the narcissist’s own self-image. The mask becomes the truth — and everything that threatens that mask is experienced as hostile.
Simone de Beauvoir – The Other as mirror
In The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir analyzed how identity is often shaped in relation to the other, and how this other can be reduced to a mirror of the self. In patriarchal structures, she observed how women were seen as the Other— not as autonomous subjects, but as reflections of the male self-image.
In covert narcissism, a similar reduction occurs, regardless of gender: the other is not seen in their own uniqueness, but functions as a mirror in which the narcissistic self recognizes and affirms itself. The relationship is therefore never truly reciprocal; the value of the other is determined by the extent to which they support the narcissist’s desired self-image.
De Beauvoir emphasized that an authentic relationship is only possible when both parties recognize each other as free, self-determining beings. For the covert narcissist, such recognition is threatening, because it means the other might hold a truth of their own that does not align with the illusion. To prevent this, the other is subtly influenced or restricted in their freedom — sometimes through emotional manipulation, sometimes through steering narratives and perspectives.
Thus, an asymmetrical relationship emerges in which the other may exist, but only within the contours of the narcissistic self-projection. This makes it nearly impossible for the other to maintain an independent sense of self, especially in long-term or intimate relationships. De Beauvoir’s analysis reveals the silent denial of the other as subject, which lies at the very heart of covert narcissism.
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Carl Jung – Persona and Shadow
Carl Jung distinguished two core concepts that are particularly relevant for understanding covert narcissism: the persona and the shadow.
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The persona is the social mask we wear to adapt to the expectations of the outside world. It is not necessarily negative — we all have roles that help us function in social contexts. But in covert narcissism, the persona ceases to be a flexible interface and becomes a rigid armor. The mask is so carefully constructed that it seems to be the only face that exists.
The shadow, on the other hand, contains all the traits, emotions and impulses that the conscious self-image cannot accept. In the person with covert narcissism, the shadow is often extensive, filled with feelings of inferiority, shame, anger and envy. Because these aspects of the self are unbearable, they are actively denied and projected onto others.
This projection mechanism is crucial: qualities the narcissist cannot acknowledge in themselves are sought, found and then condemned in the other. In this way, the narcissist can continue to feel innocent, while the burden of the shadow is carried by someone else. In relationships, this creates a distorted reality in which the other becomes not only the mirror of the desired self-image (persona), but also the bearer of everything that is rejected (shadow).
Jung would say that healing is only possible when the mask is taken off and the shadow is integrated. But precisely this is nearly impossible in covert narcissism: the persona has become the core of identity, and allowing in the shadow feels like existential self-destruction.
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Paul Ricoeur – Narrative as identity
Paul Ricoeur argued that our identity is largely formed by the stories we tell about ourselves. These narratives connect past, present and future into a coherent whole, enabling us to understand ourselves as the same person across time. But, Ricoeur warned, this process is always interpretive: we select, rearrange and color events.
In covert narcissism, this hermeneutic process is not only used to create meaning, but above all to protect the self-image. The story becomes a strategic instrument: facts are rearranged, responsibilities shifted and painful moments rewritten or erased. This rewriting is not merely a conscious lie; often it also becomes the new truth for the narcissist.
Ricoeur distinguished between idem-identity (the traits that remain constant) and ipse-identity (the embodied promise to remain faithful to oneself and to the other). Covert narcissism undermines this ipse-identity most of all: there is no genuine fidelity to the other, because narrative continuity is more important than factual truth. What matters is that the story holds within the illusion, not that it aligns with shared reality.
Thus, identity does not arise from authentic self-reflection, but from ongoing narrative control. For the narcissist, preserving this story is a form of survival — but for those around them, it means that their experiences, memories and truths are continually subordinated to a plot in which they are merely supporting characters.
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Conclusion — The ethics of truth in a world of illusions
What the eight thinkers together show us is that covert narcissism is not merely a psychological pattern, but an existential position: a way of being in the world that is at once protective and destructive.
From Arendt we learn that destruction does not always arise from conscious malice, but from the exclusion of moral judgment. Buber shows us how the other is reduced to an object, while Levinas confronts us with the ethical appeal that is structurally warded off.
Baudrillard makes clear that, for the narcissist, illusion is not a veil over reality but reality itself. And Nietzsche reveals how masks, resentment and self-falsification combine to form an impenetrable identity. De Beauvoir portrays the other as mirror, stripped of uniqueness, while Jung helps us understand the mechanism of persona and shadow. Finally, Ricoeur shows how the self-story becomes a survival strategy, with truth subordinated to narrative coherence.
Together, these perspectives form a mosaic that exposes the heart of the deadlock: there can be no real change without the death of the illusion, but for the covert narcissist the death of that illusion feels like the death of the self. The walls of this prison are invisible, yet all the stronger because they are built from stories, projections, social roles and relational strategies.
For those around them, this often means carrying the burden of the impossibility of change. The roles of partners, children, parents and friends are rewritten in the narcissist’s story without their consent. Many eventually seek help themselves, in order to restore their reality, trust and sense of self.
The ethics of truth here demands something almost inhumanly difficult: to keep seeing what is real, even when the other constantly rewrites that reality. It demands boundaries, self-care, and sometimes the relinquishing of the illusion that you can free the other.
For the key to this prison lies in the hands of the one most afraid to use it.
