“Aan attempt to overcome the attraction that fascism exerts on great nations forces us to recognize the role of psychological factors,” German-Jewish social psychologist Erich Fromm asserted in 1941. Such factors are not specifically German or, say, Italian, nor were they the manifestations of a unique historical era, now safely in the distant past. Not only can the malignant political-economic-ideological climate necessary for the flowering of fascism develop anywhere, its emotional dynamics are present in the psyche of most people.
“We each have a Nazi inside,” wrote Auschwitz survivor Edith Eger—which, in my observation, points to an almost universal reality. Many of us harbor the seeds of hatred, anger, fear, narcissistic self-esteem and contempt for others which, in their most toxic and extreme forms, are the dominant emotional currents whose confluence can feed the all-destructive current we call fascism, given enough provocation or encouragement.
All the more reason to understand the psychic sources of such tendencies, the ground and nature of which can be expressed in one word: trauma. In the case of fascism, severe trauma.
No one is born with raging hatred, unhinged rage, existential dread, or cold contempt permanently embedded in their minds or hearts. These fulminant emotions, when chronic, are responses to excruciating suffering endured at a time of extreme vulnerability, helplessness, and unrelieved threat: that is, in early childhood.
The human infant enters the world with the implicit expectation to be kept safe, seen, heard, physically protected and emotionally nurtured, her feelings welcomed, acknowledged, validated and reflected. Given such an “evolved nest,” in the apt phrase of psychologist Darcia Narvaez, we develop and maintain a strong connection with ourselves, a deep-rooted confidence in who we are, a confidence in innate goodness present in the world is and an openness to love within ourselves, as outside. Trauma represents a disconnection from these healthy tendencies, in extreme cases a defensive denial that they are too vulnerable to bear. And that is essentially what fascism is on the emotional level: a desperate escape from vulnerability.
If we look at the hideous demigod of fascism, Adolf Hitler, or at his modern-day caricature Donald Trump, who is often compared to him – including a few years ago through his current vice-president, JD Vance – we find many remarkable characteristic similarities: relentless self-hypnotizing deceit, mistrust bordering on paranoia, sly opportunism, a deep streak of cruelty, boundless grandeur, implacable impulsiveness, crushing contempt for the weak.
Both grew up in homes headed by abusive fathers, with mothers powerless to defend their children. In Hitler’s case, the clever and sensitive child endured merciless violence. Trump has been subjected to the relentless emotional dictatorship of a father, Fred Sr, who Mary, Donald’s psycho cousin, describes as a “sociopath”. “Donald Trump is a poster child for trauma,” leading trauma psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk told me.
In both cases, the anger and hatred represent outbursts of the forbidden and therefore repressed emotions of childhood and the compensation of a psyche that has been pulverized into insignificance. In turn, as biographer Volker Ullrich writes: “Hitler … gave the decisive signal for Germans to give free reign to their hatred and destructive desires.” He spoke and promised to redeem those masses in his nation who also felt threatened and insignificant – to “raise them again”, if you will.
“What they want,” he wrote, “is the victory of the stronger and the extermination or the unconditional surrender of the weaker.” This fascist urge to dominate is the unconscious rejection of the small child’s vulnerability and a defensive identification with the unassailable power of the abusive father.
What attracts people to such leaders? At the socio-economic level, their own sense of exclusion, disruption, grievance, marginalization, loss of place and meaning. On the emotional, psychological level, a trauma-induced absence of self-confidence and the drive to submit for protection to someone perceived as “strong”.
It is accompanied by an urge to flee responsibility by placing the blame on some vulnerable yet beastly and threatening “other” – a Jewish, Muslim, Hispanic or Slavic person, say – who serves as the target of ‘ one’s ingrained hostility, the true sources of which rest in the deep infantile unconscious.
American psychologist Michael Milburn has studied the childhood antecedents of right-wing ideological rigidity. His research confirms that the harsher the parenting atmosphere people are exposed to as young children, the more likely they are to support authoritarian or aggressive policies, such as foreign wars, penal laws and the death penalty.
“We used childhood corporal punishment as a marker of dysfunctional family environment,” Milburn said. “There was significantly more support for the death penalty, opposition to abortion and the use of military force, especially among men who had experienced high levels of physical punishment, especially if they had never had psychotherapy.” I was intrigued by that last finding.
“Psychotherapy,” Milburn said, “speaks to a potential for self-examination, for self-reflection.” Self-reflection, something the fascist mentality cannot tolerate, can soften the heart.
Neuroimaging studies have shown that the amygdala, the small almond-shaped brain structure that mediates fear, is larger in people with more right-wing views. It is more active in those who favor strong protective authority and harbor a suspicion of outsiders and of people who are different. This is a telling finding, because we know that the development of the circuits of the brain is decisively influenced by the child’s emotional environment in the early years.
“The monster Adolf Hitlermurderer of millions, master of destruction and organized madness, did not come into the world as a monster” – so writes the psychoanalyst Alice Miller. Fascism, in that sense, is an all-too-human phenomenon, an outcome of many influences that stand out, among which, on the personal scale, is the unspeakable suffering of the child.
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Gabor Maté is a public speaker and the author of five books published in 41 languages, most recently The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness and Healing in Toxic Culture
