Is God Narcissistic?
Yeah, I said it.
I know this is going to ruffle some feathers. Maybe even throw some people into full spiritual panic mode. But I want to talk about something that I think many of us feel, deep in our bones, but are terrified to name out loud:
What if the version of God we were taught to worship… was actually kind of a narcissist?
Before you clutch your pearls or start typing in all caps in my inbox, hear me out. I’m not saying all concepts of God are narcissistic. and I’m not trying to start a theological war.
I’m just saying; if we take the traits of narcissistic abuse and hold them up against the behaviours often attributed to God (especially in high-control religious systems), there’s an unsettling overlap. And for a lot of people, that realisation isn’t just intellectual, it’s trauma breaking through the surface.
So let’s talk about it. Gently. Honestly. And yeah, a bit provocatively.
First up—what even is narcissism?
Let’s get clear here. I’m not talking about the casual “ugh, he’s such a narcissist” kind of thing people throw around when someone’s being a bit self-absorbed. I’m talking about narcissism as a relational pattern; especially as it shows up in abusive dynamics.
Psychologically speaking, narcissistic traits often include:
- A constant need for admiration
- A lack of empathy for others’ feelings
- A belief that they are uniquely special or superior
- Entitlement to control or loyalty
- Manipulating others through fear, guilt, or shame
- Punishing or retaliating when they feel criticised or rejected
- Gaslighting—making others question their reality
- Surrounding themselves with a “chosen” group who validate their power
- And many other traits…
These traits don’t always show up loudly. Sometimes they come cloaked in charm, charisma, or even in care. But the impact? It’s destabilising. It leaves people doubting their instincts, blaming themselves for being hurt, and constantly striving to win the approval of someone who keeps moving the goalposts.
Sound familiar yet?
Now let’s talk about God.
Specifically, the version of God many of us were raised with in high-control Christianity. The God who knows your every thought, demands your loyalty, punishes disobedience, and calls it “love.”
Here’s what I mean:
1. God needs constant praise.
From the moment you can talk, you’re told to worship Him. Sing to Him. Tell Him how glorious and worthy and amazing He is.
Not just once. All the time. And not doing so? That’s see as rebellion, pride. and sin.
2. Disagreement = punishment.
Even asking the wrong questions can get you labelled as dangerous.
- Doubt? You’re “backsliding.”
- Deconstructing? You’re deceived.
Leaving the faith altogether? Well, enjoy eternal conscious torment. Narcissists don’t handle criticism well. Apparently, neither does God.
3. You must love Him more than your own family.
Literal Bible verse (that in reality many take literally): “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.” (Matthew 10:37)
That’s not love. That’s control.
4. You suffer for a reason—but you’re not allowed to understand it.
Narcissists twist pain into loyalty. So does this God. You’re told to trust that “God has a plan” while you’re actively drowning.
And if you question it? You don’t have enough faith.
5. You’re constantly the problem.
- Feeling distant from God? That’s your fault.
- Not hearing His voice? Maybe you’re in sin.
- Anxiety, depression, shame? Just pray harder.
Narcissists make you believe that your pain is your own doing. So does this God.
6. You’re chosen—but only if you follow the rules.
God “loves” you unconditionally…
- …unless you’re gay.
- …unless you’re a woman who speaks up.
- …unless you leave the church.
That’s not unconditional love. That’s coercion.
7. He demands loyalty—no matter the cost.
- Even if it means rejecting your own truth.
- Even if it means cutting off people you love.
- Even if it means denying who you are.
8. You must fear Him… and love Him. Simultaneously.
I don’t know about you, but that whiplash left me constantly performing, striving, masking. Desperately hoping I could be good enough to avoid punishment and bad enough to still be “relatable.”
Spoiler: I always felt like I was failing at both.
Also..we have just had Easter, so I don’t feel like we need to highlight that we were taught that God murdered someone and then told us it was our fault that it needed to happen.
When God acts like a narcissist, the damage runs deep.
For so many of us, leaving religion wasn’t just a change in beliefs. It was a full-on recovery from an emotionally abusive relationship. Except the “person” abusing us wasn’t always a person. It was God. Or at least, who we were told God was.
And that messes with your head in a way that’s hard to explain. Because how do you grieve a relationship that shaped your identity, your purpose, your worth, your eternity… and also made you feel like shit?
- How do you say “that wasn’t love” when you were told it was the highest form of love in existence?
- How do you make sense of a divine being who “loves” you, but would still burn you forever if you walk away?
It’s textbook narcissistic abuse. But because it’s labelled “holy,” we’re shamed for even noticing.
“But God is just!” (is He though?)
One of the most common pushbacks I get when I talk about this is:
“But God is just. You’re only seeing the harsh side because you don’t understand the full picture.”
Right. Cool.
Let me know how that works out when you tell a traumatised child that their suffering was part of God’s justice. Or when you explain to a queer teen kicked out of their home that God still loves them, but you know, conditionally.
When “justice” looks like eternal torture, and “love” looks like fear-based obedience, we’ve got a problem.
It’s okay to name it
This is the part I really want to drive home.
- You’re not wrong for noticing the red flags.
- You’re not ungrateful or bitter or rebellious for asking the hard questions.
If your gut ever whispered, “This doesn’t feel like love”; you can trust that.
- You don’t have to keep defending a version of God that hurt you.
- You don’t have to gaslight yourself into spiritual submission.
- You definitely don’t have to stay quiet just to keep other people comfortable.
Calling out divine narcissism in your own journey isn’t blasphemy. It’s healing.
So where does that leave us?
Honestly? It depends on the person.
- Some people reconstruct a new version of God that feels safer, more compassionate, less narcissistic.
- Some walk away from the whole idea altogether and find their peace in other spiritual spaces, or none at all.
- Some are still caught in the in-between, grieving and raging and rebuilding.
Wherever you land, just know this:
- You’re allowed to question the God you were taught.
- You’re allowed to get angry.
- You’re allowed to say, “That wasn’t love. That was abuse.”
And if that means breaking up with a narcissistic deity? So be it.
You deserve better. Always have.
If this piece stirred something in you, you’re not alone. You can reach out for therapy by contacting me here.
Come join the conversation over on Instagram or check out The Religious Trauma Collective for support, resources, and a whole community of people who get it.
Healing is messy. Questioning is brave. And you’re doing both beautifully.