Winterling, A. (2011) | References | Narcissus and the Child

What This Biography Reveals

Aloys Winterling's Caligula: A Biography represents a fundamental reexamination of one of history's most notorious figures. Where previous accounts treated Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus—Caligula—as simply insane, Winterling reveals a young man shaped by unimaginable trauma who used absolute power to wage psychological warfare against the aristocracy complicit in his suffering. This revisionist biography illuminates how narcissistic pathology develops from childhood adversity and manifests when freed from all constraint.

The traumatic origins: Winterling documents Caligula's childhood as a case study in developmental trauma. Born in 12 CE to the celebrated general Germanicus and the formidable Agrippina the Elder, young Gaius spent his infancy in military camps along the German frontier—his nickname "Caligula" ("Little Boots") came from the miniature soldier's uniform his parents dressed him in to amuse the troops. The mirroring he received was for his performance as imperial mascot, not for his authentic self.

His father Germanicus died when Caligula was seven—possibly poisoned on Emperor Tiberius's orders. His mother, consumed by grief and political struggle, had little capacity for attuned caregiving. She was eventually arrested on charges of treason and starved herself to death in exile. Two of Caligula's brothers were executed or driven to suicide. By adolescence, he was an orphan whose entire immediate family had been destroyed by the very power structure he would inherit.

Survival through false self: Winterling traces how the young Caligula was then forced to live at the court of Tiberius—the man he believed responsible for his family's destruction—and to show only gratitude and compliance. For years, his survival depended on perfect performance: any display of grief, anger, or accusation would have been fatal. The ancient biographer Suetonius records that observers marvelled at Caligula's self-control: "Never was there a better slave or a worse master."

This enforced compliance represents precisely the conditions that produce what Winnicott called the false self—the defensive structure that develops when authentic expression is met not with attunement but with mortal threat. The child learns to present what the environment demands rather than what they genuinely feel. When this false self becomes rigid enough to ensure survival but blocks access to authentic emotions, the foundation for narcissistic personality disorder is laid.

Power as revelation: When Tiberius died in 37 CE, the twenty-four-year-old Caligula suddenly possessed absolute power over everyone who had threatened him. Winterling documents the initial months of his reign: generosity, clemency, popularity. Ancient sources describe collective euphoria—the tyrannical Tiberius was dead, replaced by the son of beloved Germanicus.

Then, approximately seven months in, Caligula fell gravely ill. When he recovered, his personality had transformed. Winterling explores various explanations but emphasises that what collapsed was likely the false-self structure that had maintained compliance during Tiberius's reign. No longer needing to survive through submission, the fury accumulated over two decades could finally express itself.

Calculated provocation: Winterling's most controversial argument is that Caligula's infamous behaviours—claiming divinity, humiliating senators, threatening to make his horse consul—were not random insanity but calculated performances. Roman emperors occupied an impossible position: functionally absolute rulers in a system that maintained republican rhetoric. Augustus had navigated this contradiction through modest self-presentation. Caligula, who had learned at terrible cost to see through pretence, instead exposed the system's hypocrisy.

By demanding worship as a living god, he forced aristocrats to enact openly what they practised covertly: absolute submission. By humiliating senators, he demonstrated that their republican dignity existed only at the emperor's pleasure. By proposing his horse for consul, he declared that traditional markers of achievement meant nothing—only imperial favour mattered.

This interpretation doesn't excuse the grandiosity but contextualises it: the traumatised child who survived by perceiving others' masks used his power to strip away everyone else's pretences too.

How This Biography Is Used in the Book

Narcissus and the Child draws extensively on Winterling's biography to illuminate how narcissistic pathology manifests in positions of power. In Chapter 12: The Historical Narcissus, Caligula serves as a paradigmatic case study:

"Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Caligula to history, ruled Rome for less than four years (37–41 CE), yet his reign exemplifies how narcissistic pathology manifests when freed from all constraint. Modern analysis of historical sources reveals documented behaviours consistent with the criteria for malignant narcissism: grandiosity, lack of empathy, exploitativeness, paranoia, sadism, and ultimately a complete break with shared reality."

The book traces Caligula's developmental history as illustrating the configurations that produce narcissistic personality disorder:

"From a developmental perspective, this history produces predictable configurations. The child who witnesses his family's systematic destruction learns that attachment figures are unreliable and that survival requires hypervigilance. The boy who is valued only as symbol—little soldier, heir, political pawn—never receives mirroring for his authentic needs and feelings."

Winterling's account of Caligula's transformation after illness illuminates how defensive structures collapse:

"Some historians speculate encephalitis or another neurological insult; others see the illness as psychological crisis, perhaps the collapse of the false-self structure that had maintained compliance during Tiberius's reign. From the perspective of the developmental framework, what likely collapsed was the defensive structure that had contained his rage. No longer needing to survive through compliance, the fury accumulated over two decades of persecution could finally express itself."

The biography's evidence supports understanding Caligula's grandiose projects as displaying the narcissist's characteristic reality distortion:

"His grandiose projects displayed the narcissist's disregard for practical constraints... He attempted to extend his palace to the Temple of Castor and Pollux, claiming the divine twins as his doorkeepers. He planned a bridge of boats across the Bay of Naples simply to prove wrong a prophecy that he had no more chance of becoming emperor than of riding a horse across the bay."

Why This Matters for Survivors

If you experienced narcissistic abuse, Winterling's biography of Caligula offers unexpected insights into the dynamics you encountered—not because your abuser was an emperor, but because the psychological patterns transcend historical period.

Trauma shapes the abuser too. This is perhaps the most difficult insight for survivors: the person who hurt you was also shaped by forces beyond their control. Caligula's childhood—the destruction of his family, the years of survival through compliance, the complete absence of safe attachment—represents an extreme version of the developmental conditions that produce narcissistic pathology. Understanding this doesn't excuse abuse or require forgiveness. It does help explain why narcissists behave as they do: they are enacting patterns laid down in their own traumatic histories, patterns they likely cannot perceive or choose to change.

False-self survival has costs. Winterling's account of Caligula's years at Tiberius's court illuminates how survival through false-self construction exacts its price. The boy who survived by suppressing all authentic response—grief for his murdered family, rage at his persecutor, terror at his own precarious position—lost access to those authentic responses permanently. When the threat passed, what remained was not a person capable of genuine feeling and connection but a grandiose structure defending against unbearable emptiness. Survivors may recognise this pattern in their abusers: the apparent lack of genuine emotion, the performance without substance beneath.

Power reveals rather than creates. Winterling demonstrates that Caligula's pathology existed before his reign—it was the removal of constraints, not the acquisition of power, that allowed full expression. This pattern appears in narcissistic abuse at every scale: the narcissist whose behaviour worsens after marriage (when their partner is more committed), after children are born (when leaving becomes harder), after professional advancement (when their authority increases). Power doesn't create the pathology; it removes the limitations that previously contained it.

The narcissist's perception is genuinely distorted. Winterling's interpretation of Caligula's provocations as calculated—designed to expose aristocratic hypocrisy—reveals something important about narcissistic cognition. Caligula genuinely perceived the world differently: he saw through social performances to the power dynamics beneath, but he could not perceive the human costs of his own actions. His final words—"I am still alive!"—capture the grandiose self's fundamental inability to accept that reality applies to them. Survivors may recognise this selective perception: the narcissist who accurately reads others' vulnerabilities while remaining blind to their own impact.

Narcissistic systems are unstable. Caligula ruled for less than four years before his own guards assassinated him. The paranoia that saw threats everywhere created actual threats; the cruelty that eliminated perceived enemies created real enemies. While this provides cold comfort—the timeline of narcissistic collapse may not align with survivors' needs—it does illuminate a fundamental truth: narcissistic systems contain the seeds of their own destruction. The disconnection from reality that characterises narcissistic personality disorder eventually produces consequences, even for those with absolute power.

Clinical Implications

For psychiatrists, psychologists, and trauma-informed clinicians, Winterling's biography offers valuable case material for understanding severe narcissistic pathology.

Developmental pathway documentation: Winterling provides unusually detailed documentation of the childhood conditions that precede narcissistic personality development: the traumatic loss of attachment figures, the conditional survival based on false-self presentation, the complete absence of attuned mirroring for authentic needs. Clinicians can use this historical case to illustrate developmental principles to patients—both those recovering from narcissistic abuse and (rarely) those recognising narcissistic patterns in themselves.

The false-self collapse: Caligula's transformation following his illness represents a clinically recognisable pattern: the collapse of defensive structures that had maintained adaptation. Clinicians working with personality-disordered patients may witness similar decompensations when life circumstances change, when defensive strategies no longer work, or when therapeutic work destabilises long-standing patterns. Understanding that what follows such collapse may be worse than what preceded it helps calibrate treatment expectations.

Malignant narcissism presentation: Winterling's account documents the full syndrome of malignant narcissism: the core narcissistic features (grandiosity, entitlement, need for admiration) combined with antisocial behaviour (disregard for others' rights, exploitation without remorse), paranoid traits (suspicion of betrayal, perception of threats everywhere), and sadism (pleasure derived from others' suffering). This clinical picture—Kernberg's most severe personality pathology—appears across cultures and historical periods, supporting its validity as a distinct diagnostic entity.

The supply-seeking mechanism: Winterling's interpretation of Caligula's spectacles—showering gold on crowds, forcing attendance at his performances, demanding divine honours—illuminates narcissistic supply seeking at imperial scale. The same mechanism operates in clinical populations: the desperate need for external validation that reflects not vanity but the structural absence of internal resources for self-regulation. Patients cannot simply choose to need less validation; the need emerges from developmental failures in building stable self-esteem.

Countertransference considerations: Clinicians working with survivors of narcissistic abuse may find their own reactions illuminated by Winterling's account. The difficulty maintaining empathy for Caligula—the pull toward simple condemnation of his cruelty—mirrors the countertransference challenges when hearing patients describe their abusers. Understanding the developmental origins of narcissistic pathology helps maintain the therapeutic stance: neither excusing abuse nor losing sight of the human being behind the pathological behaviour.

The Case Study of Power and Pathology

Winterling's biography provides the most detailed available case study of what happens when narcissistic pathology encounters unlimited power. Several patterns emerge that illuminate narcissistic dynamics at any scale.

Trauma as Origin, Not Excuse

Winterling's developmental account demonstrates that Caligula's pathology had identifiable origins in childhood adversity. The systematic destruction of his family, the years of survival through compliance, the complete absence of secure attachment—these conditions reliably produce narcissistic personality structure. Understanding this does not excuse the suffering Caligula caused; his victims' pain was real regardless of its origins in his own trauma. But it does illuminate how the cycle of abuse perpetuates across generations: the traumatised child becomes the traumatising adult, not through conscious choice but through the unconscious reproduction of internalised patterns.

This insight applies directly to survivors' experience. The narcissist who hurt you was almost certainly shaped by their own history of adverse childhood experience: cold or hostile caregiving, conditional love, traumatic loss, or the kind of survival-through-performance that Caligula mastered. Understanding this may help with the cognitive work of recovery—recognising that the abuse was not about your worth but about patterns laid down before you entered the narcissist's life. It does not require forgiveness or continued relationship; it simply places the abuse in developmental context.

The Grandiose Self Under Stress

Winterling's account of Caligula's illness and subsequent transformation illuminates how narcissistic defences operate and fail. For years, Caligula's false self had maintained adaptation: he survived Tiberius's court by perfect performance of gratitude and compliance. This adaptation required enormous psychological energy to maintain—and when physical illness depleted those resources, the structure collapsed.

What emerged was not a healthier, more authentic person but the grandiose self in its rawest form: the accumulated rage of two decades, the entitlement of one who had suffered unjustly and now possessed the power to retaliate, the paranoid perception that saw threats and hypocrisy everywhere. The illness didn't create pathology; it removed the constraints that had contained pathology's expression.

Clinicians may recognise this pattern in narcissistic patients who decompensate under stress: life changes, health crises, or relationship disruptions that deplete the resources maintaining defensive structures. What follows such decompensations often appears as personality change—the controlled, even charming presentation gives way to the underlying grandiosity, rage, and entitlement. Partners and family members describe feeling they're suddenly living with "a different person," though what they're witnessing is not a new personality but the emergence of what was always there, previously contained.

Reality Distortion and Consequences

Caligula's final recorded words—"I am still alive!"—capture the fundamental reality distortion of narcissistic pathology. Even as conspirators' blades fell, the grandiose self could not accept that mortal limitation applied. This disconnection from reality characterises narcissistic personality disorder at every level: the inability to perceive that actions have consequences, that others possess agency, that the world does not rearrange itself around the narcissist's needs.

Winterling documents how this reality distortion produced Caligula's downfall. His paranoid purges created the very conspiracies he feared. His humiliation of the senatorial class united enemies against him. His cruelty to his own guards—the men responsible for his safety—ensured that when assassination came, no one intervened. The grandiose self's blindness to the reality of others' experience proved fatal.

This pattern appears in narcissistic abuse at every scale. The narcissist's behaviour eventually produces consequences—estrangement from children, divorce, professional failure, loss of supply sources—yet they typically cannot perceive their own role in creating these outcomes. The splitting that characterises narcissistic cognition—all-good self versus all-bad others—prevents the integration that would allow learning from experience. Each consequence is attributed to others' betrayal, confirming the narcissist's persecution narrative rather than prompting self-examination.

The Complicity of Systems

Winterling's account raises uncomfortable questions about collective complicity in narcissistic systems. The senators who competed to flatter Caligula, the crowds who attended his spectacles, the courtiers who enabled his pretensions—all participated in maintaining a system they knew was destructive. Some participated from fear, some from self-interest, some from simple inertia. The result was the same: a system where pathology flourished because no one effectively opposed it.

This dynamic appears in narcissistic family systems, workplaces, and organisations. The non-narcissistic parent who fails to protect children, the colleagues who enable narcissistic leaders, the communities that look away from obvious abuse—all participate in systems that allow narcissistic harm to continue. Understanding this systemic dimension helps survivors recognise that others' failure to intervene does not validate the abuse. The complicity reflects the power dynamics that narcissistic systems create, not the acceptability of the behaviour itself.

The Intergenerational Pattern

Winterling's developmental account places Caligula within a broader pattern of intergenerational trauma in the Julio-Claudian dynasty. Augustus's ruthless rise to power created a court culture of conditional survival. Tiberius's persecution of potential rivals—including Caligula's parents and brothers—created the traumatic childhood that shaped Caligula. Caligula's reign, had it produced heirs, would likely have transmitted similar patterns to another generation.

This intergenerational dimension illuminates patterns in narcissistic families today. The narcissistic parent almost certainly has their own trauma history—often their own experience of narcissistic parenting. The patterns transmit across generations not through conscious choice but through the unconscious reproduction of internalised relational templates. Breaking the cycle requires conscious work: recognising inherited patterns, processing the trauma that created them, and making deliberate choices to parent differently than one was parented.

Limitations and Source Criticism

Winterling's biography, like all historical work, has limitations that readers should consider.

The problem of sources: Our knowledge of Caligula derives primarily from ancient sources—Suetonius, Tacitus, Cassius Dio, Philo of Alexandria—who wrote decades after his death with their own biases and political agendas. Winterling acknowledges this challenge and attempts to read between the lines, distinguishing probable fact from hostile embellishment. Still, confident claims about Caligula's inner psychology remain speculative; we know documented behaviours, not internal states.

The revisionist risk: Winterling's interpretation—that Caligula's provocations were calculated rather than insane—may over-rationalise behaviour that was genuinely disordered. The narcissist's actions often display a terrible logic that nonetheless emerges from pathological rather than healthy cognition. Caligula may have been both calculating and disturbed; the categories are not mutually exclusive.

Retrospective diagnosis limitations: We cannot diagnose the dead. Winterling never claims Caligula had narcissistic personality disorder in the clinical sense—that would require assessment impossible across two millennia. What we can observe is that his documented behaviours display patterns consistent with modern clinical descriptions of NPD and malignant narcissism. This observation illuminates how similar patterns manifest across history without claiming diagnostic precision.

Cultural translation: The concepts we use to understand narcissistic pathology—false self, grandiosity, narcissistic supply—derive from twentieth-century clinical observation. Applying them to a Roman emperor requires translation across cultural contexts. What Romans meant by divine honours, what senatorial humiliation signified in their status system, how cruelty functioned in their moral framework—all differ from modern equivalents in ways that affect interpretation.

Historical Significance

Winterling's Caligula represents a turning point in scholarly understanding of the Roman Empire's "mad emperors." By taking seriously the question of what logic—however disturbing—might explain Caligula's behaviour, Winterling opened new avenues for understanding how personality pathology manifests in positions of power.

The biography appeared during broader reassessment of how we understand historical figures who seemed to behave irrationally. Rather than treating their behaviour as incomprehensible madness, scholars increasingly asked what developmental, political, and psychological contexts might make such behaviour intelligible. This approach—understanding without excusing—proves essential for learning from historical examples.

For readers concerned with narcissistic abuse, Winterling's biography demonstrates that the patterns you encountered have ancient precedent. The grandiosity that demanded worship, the cruelty that treated others as objects, the paranoid destruction of perceived threats, the reality distortion that denied mortal limitation—these appeared in Rome two thousand years ago as they appear in abusive relationships today. The consistency across cultures and centuries suggests that narcissistic personality disorder describes a fundamental human pattern, not a culturally constructed category.

Understanding this historical dimension can support recovery: the behaviour you experienced was not unique to you or your abuser but represents patterns as old as recorded history. You were not specially chosen for mistreatment because of your failings. You encountered dynamics that have appeared wherever individuals with narcissistic traits gain power over others—whether that power is imperial authority or simply the intimate authority of family relationship.

Caligula: A Biography

APA Citation