The range at point Three includes responses showing a determined focus on success. These are hard-working, productive, ambitious, competitive,
charismatic characters who are always in the limelight. They exemplify a basic human
need for encouragement and affirmation that can become so exaggerated they’re
alienated from themselves. Instead of allowing “what I want,” their
attention goes to “what others expect of me.”
This drive to success is an effort to counter fears of failing, of not meeting others’ expectations. But characters at point Three dare not show insecurity, so they block off emotions while doing
whatever it takes to succeed. Thus, less healthy characters at this Enneagram point will slip from being successful to appearing to be successful, as they cut whatever corners are necessary to keep up appearances.
In life and in fiction, the transformational character arc at point Three involves releasing the relentless drive to be the best. These characters become
more authentic, with higher self-awareness, acting on their own values
and wishes instead of what will make them look good to others.
Does that mean readers only like novels and memoirs that show such a
positive, radical change? Of course not, and Veronica Sicoe has made a useful distinction
among Change, Growth, or Fall Arcs:
- Change Arc—protagonist is positively transformed by the end of the story.
- Growth or Shift Arc—protagonist changes but not necessarily for the better, just different, or overcomes an internal block and upgrades somewhat.
- Fall Arc—protagonist declines significantly, dooming self and/or others.
Representing the Change and Shift Arcs are a number of biographies about championship boxers, who—like Olympic gold medal winners—could be a natural fit with Enneagram point Three. This seems true of Lennox Lewis, who won the
world amateur junior boxing title, a Summer Olympics boxing gold medal,
and world heavyweight championship.
What clues suggest Lewis might represent point Three? In Lennox,
when biographer Melissa Mathison asks, “What got you interested in
boxing?” Lewis answers, “The trophies.” Mathison also describes Lewis as “one
great dresser,” which is characteristic in that looking good is
both metaphor and reality for this personality style.
Most pertinent, Lewis’ attention
is always turned toward winning. “I use visualization . . . mentally,
you have to be very focused.” His apparent lack of psychological self-knowledge is also typical at point Three. The pressure to keep up the image leads to a tendency to “do” feelings and adopt a role with a script to follow. When asked what he wants people to know about him, Lewis seems at a
loss: “That’s a difficult question. What would they want to know about
me? What do I feel they ought to know? . . . I represent a certain type of people.” The question was unexpected. He had no script to follow.
But aren’t all championship boxers great dressers? Aren’t they all
competitive? How do we distinguish among several aggressive types that
might be successful boxers? Here we see the nuance of character in
language used by other boxers at different Enneagram points:
- George Foreman has said, “Boxing is like jazz. The better it is, the less people appreciate it,” a use of metaphor more characteristic of point Seven.
- Mike Tyson, in contrast is all about expecting the worst (“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth”), sounding like point Six.
- And Muhammad Ali speaks from the gut like point Eight: “It’s just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.”
- In contrast, Lewis’ description of boxing has a success-oriented, competitive focus: “It’s me trying to outdo the other person . . . the highly skilled are the ones that are successful.”
The striving to impress others at point Three is a kind of self-deception to
counter any fears of being a failure. At the far negative end of this drive, characters may be ruthless opportunists who will resort to anything that saves them from
exposure. Here we have Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley.
After protagonist Tom Ripley befriends wealthy Dickie Greenleaf, he
envies the Greenleaf’s luxurious lifestyle and wants it for his own. He
eventually kills Dickie and assumes his identity, later resuming his own name and forging a will that makes him Dickie’s sole heir. Tom admits
his greatest talent is “Forging signatures, telling lies . . .
impersonating practically anybody.” When another character suggests he
must feel tormented, Tom replies, “Don’t you just take the past and put
it in a room in the basement, and lock the door and never go in there?
That’s what I do.”
Ripley’s path is definitely an example of a Fall Arc—a
decline into breaking all the rules to foster his desired image—more
evidence that a character arc does not have to be heroic to entrance
readers and sell books.
To extend this exploration, Joan Schenkar’s The Talented Miss Highsmith describes Patricia Highsmith’s fictional males, especially Tom Ripley, as versions of herself. Jeanette Winterson’s review
of Schenker’s biography summarizes: “Concealment was her game and her
way of life.” Highsmith traveled in search of fresh encounters and
forged, fabricated, or outright lied. Her diaries indicate she was only
six years old when she began to have “evil thoughts” about the “murder
of my stepfather . . . And learned to stifle also my more positive
emotions. In adolescence, therefore, I was oddly in command of myself.”
Hmmm. So, at some point you’ll consider what Enneagram point has held you most captive, to see how you’ve stamped your characters with a bit of
yourself and might have limited your point of view by not considering
other styles. If none of the three I’ve written about so far seems
familiar, you’re sure to recognize your image among the six more to
follow.
