A confidante describes him thus:
I think [he] knew that he had God-given talents that were extraordinary. He knows exactly how smart he is. . . . He knows how perceptive he is. He knows what a good reader of people he is. And he knows that he has the ability — the extraordinary, uncanny ability — to take a thousand different perspectives, digest them and make sense out of them, and I think that he has never really been challenged intellectually. . . . So what I sensed in him was not just a restless spirit but somebody with such extraordinary talents that had to be really taxed in order for him to be happy. . . . He’s been bored to death his whole life. He’s just too talented to do what ordinary people do.
He’s not as smart as he thinks he is—smart people don’t get bored.
He’s narcissistic, seeing himself as “too talented to do what ordinary people do.”
Anyone who knows exactly how smart, how perceptive, what a good reader of people he is suffers from the Dunning-Kruger Effect; competency is inversely proportional to certainty.
He’s got a messiah complex, likely to the point of sociopathy—the sociopath expects the world to do things for him (like challenge him intellectually) rather than doing them for himself.
Most importantly, he has surrounded himself with people who tell him these lovely stories about himself.
All in all, by his confidante’s description, how willing would you be to trust him with your credit cards? With your kids? With your dog?