Category: Finn Janning

The Wise Tadej Pogačar

Three weeks of watching the Tour from my sofa led me to one conclusion: Tadej Pogačar isn’t just a great cyclist. He’s becoming wise.

The Slovenian cyclist Tadej Pogačar, from the Alpine town of Komenda, has just won his fourth Tour de France out of six participations. In the two others, he finished second. Beyond his remarkable physical and physiological strength, this year he also revealed a new dimension: mental strength. I would argue that Pogačar has become wise.

Some background is helpful. Pogačar won his first Tour at just 21 years old, dramatically defeating fellow Slovenian Primož Roglič in the final time trial. That victory—young, bold, and unexpected—immediately thrust him into the spotlight. He won again the following year, but then lost the Tour in 2022, partly due to overconfidence, partly due to the rise of another extraordinary talent: Jonas Vingegaard. In 2023, an injury disrupted Pogačar’s preparation—a broken wrist—and he suffered another loss. Then, in 2024, he made a comeback. He was 25.

Psychology and Sports Performance

Psychology is a significant factor in determining performance in sports. It shapes how an athlete (and their team) prepare for, respond to, and recover from challenges. This year, Pogačar was mentally tested in new ways. He had to prove once again that he was the best. He lost his most crucial support rider, João Almeida, to a crash before the mountains. Then he was criticized for winning too much—and later, paradoxically, for not winning enough in the third week. “When you win, people start already to think about the next big win, or they say you’re winning too much,” he said. It echoed the Rolling Stones lyric: “You can’t always get what you want.”

Throughout the Tour, Pogačar responded with striking honesty—a rarity in a sporting world where athletes often say nothing or fall back on clichés about “good days” and “bad legs.” In interviews, he was introspective and emotionally open to the point of being vulnerable. This level of introspection is a key factor in his personal growth and is something the audience can relate to.

Early in the race, Pogačar was still his usual self—the young man who fears only one thing: not winning. In Stage 4, in Rouen, he earned his 100th careervictory. In the press room, he described it just like any of his other wins—with the intensity and drama you might expect from a manga hero: “There are so many good riders in the final, you are always a bit on the edge and nervous. You never know what is going to happen, and you never know until the final. Like today, you get this adrenaline and it is pure racing – I really enjoy it” (Cyclingnews).

Then came the Pyrenees. On the first day there, almost by accident, he sealed the Tour. At the foot of Hautacam, according to Carlos Arribas in El Pais, teammate Tim Wellens half-seriously suggested, “What if we do what we did in the Dauphiné and launch you from the bottom?” Another teammate, Jhonny Narváez, took it seriously and launched an attack. Pogačar, caught by surprise, had no choice but to follow—and in a moment of pure serendipity, he discovered that Vingegaard was struggling. The Dane cracked, losing 2 minutes and 14 seconds. Combined with earlier setbacks in the Caen time trial and on the Peyragudes climb, the Tour was effectively decided.

The younger, more aggressive Pogačar briefly reappeared on Peyresourde after his fourth stage win. As he put it in a post-stage interview: “I’m not here to make enemies, but it’s the Tour de France. You cannot just back off. The team pays you to win, not to give away. If there’s an opportunity, you go for it.” He added, “When I finish my career, I probably won’t talk to 99 percent of the peloton anyway. I’ll focus on my close friends and family” (Velo).

Could this be the first sign of wisdom?

Wisdom, Intelligence, and Intuition

Wisdom is not the same as intelligence. A person can be intelligent and still lack wisdom, especially if they use their intellect only to reinforce their own beliefs. True wisdom includes recognizing one’s own limitations—something Pogačar seemed to do during this Tour, while his rival Vingegaard often appeared to be convincing himself. Pogačar became more introspective—not robotically, as in Vingegaard’s stoic “It’s not over”—but in a way that felt alive, spontaneous. As if he were thinking out loud. You get the sense he’s actually reflecting—not performing a role.

Also, wisdom isn’t the same as intuition. It may draw on intuition, but it goes further: it adds critical thinking, emotional elasticity, and moral reflection. It’s a careful weighing—even of things that cannot be easily measured. As cognitive scientist John Vervaeke and others argue, wisdom blends two dimensions: cognitive and moral. It means being able to tolerate uncertainty, to grasp complexity, and to balance emotion with perspective. It involves putting the common good ahead of self-interest, knowing what can and can’t be changed, and remaining flexible—intellectually and emotionally. Above all, wisdom is not theoretical; it results in action.

And that’s what Pogačar did.

With the Tour essentially won, something shifted. He discovered the fear of losing it. A feeling not of youth, but of age. Young athletes—or young people in general—are rarely scared of losing, because they have little to lose. But this acknowledgment changed how he raced. On two stages, he rode defensively. Or wisely.

He showed vulnerability again at the top of the Tourmalet, saying, “At one point, I got pretty scared descending. I could only see Sivakov wrapped in white fog. I couldn’t even see the road” (Cyclingnews). Later, reflecting on what it all meant, he added: “What’s the point of anything? … I built my life around the bike. I met my closest friends and my fiancée through cycling. You just have to enjoy the moment – not just the victories” (L’Équipe).

The confession deepened a week later, after the dreaded Col de la Loze.

“I’ve reached a point where I wonder why I’m still here…” he said aloud. “It’s three very long weeks. You just count the kilometres to Paris, and yes, I can’t wait for it to be over so I can do some other nice stuff in my life as well” (Velo).

Alongside his extraordinary physical and physiological gifts—and a relentless will to train, prepare, and sacrifice—Tadej Pogačar has become wise. Wisdom comes along with doubt and vulnerability that then becomes an existential strength. He places his performance within the context of his life. He asks himself, “How do I want to live?” 

Perhaps, without knowing it, he passes that question on to us—the fans. “How do you want to spend your life?” It makes me recall Annie Dillard, who once wrote: “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives” (The Writing Life).

Wisdom is not necessarily flashy or marketable. It is often quiet, grounded in patience and self-awareness. It culminates in action, not just analysis. And that’s what Pogačar showed: not just brilliance, but balance. Not just ambition, but depth. Becoming wise at 26 adds a philosophical layer to his sporting performance—one that makes it all the more authentic, difficult to beat, but still easy to admire.

First published in Psychology Today.

The Practice of Ethical Reflection

Ludwig Wittgenstein was once asked, “What is your aim in philosophy?” His answer: “To show the fly the way out of the fly bottle.” The goal is not to provide more rules or better solutions, but to offer the kind of clarity that dissolves confusion, not by adding information, but by seeing the problem from a new angle.

Philosophical clarity is not stored in a drawer full of pre-made answers. It arises when we begin to question the foundation of what we initially perceive as a problem. Many ethical dilemmas — especially in therapeutic work or daily life — are not problems to be solved, but misunderstandings to be seen through. As with the fly, the way out is often the same in — but we must pause, turn, and shift our view to see it.

Read the rest in Psychology Today!

Krimigenren er altid dybt forankret i samfundets moral

I en tid, hvor det bliver stadig sværere at tale om retfærdighed – i et samfund, hvor ingen er helt lige, og hvor systemerne svigter – bliver detektivens blik en slags sidste bastion. Ikke for loven, men for opmærksomheden.

For mange er sommeren ikke blot sol, strand og blå himmel, men også litteratur. Især én genre egner sig til hængekøjen: krimien. Det er en genre, der ofte kritiseres for at være dårligt skrevet og skabelonsk, men som alligevel formår at holde os fanget – med sine forførende plots og moralske dilemmaer.

Men krimigenren har ikke blot underholdt os gennem årtier. Den har også ændret vores måde at forstå sandhed og opklaring på. Et af dens kendetegn er, at den altid er dybt forankret i samfundets moral. Franz Kafkas Processen er ikke en klassisk kriminalroman, men alligevel både mysterium, konspiration og en undersøgelse af tilværelsens mørke afkroge – elementer, som i dag præger mange krimier.

Krimien har spejlet kulturelle og eksistentielle forskydninger i vores syn på det onde, på retfærdighed og på sandhed – og dermed også på vores forståelse af os selv. Den moderne detektiv er ikke længere en kølig analytiker, men en figur, der bevæger sig i udkanten, hvor livets tråde vikler sig sammen, og hvor sprækker i virkeligheden afslører det, vi helst ikke vil se.

Det er netop i disse sprækker, sandheden anes – ikke som noget definitivt, men som noget, der kun viser sig i glimt. Ikke som et facit, men som følsomhed. Og i stigende grad: som mistro til forklaringer.

Læs resten af kroniken i Berlingske Tidende eller send mig en besked.

Every Damn Thing Matters

In an interview, the Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño once said: “The library is a metaphor for human beings or what’s best about human beings, the same way a concentration camp can be a metaphor for what is worst about them. A library is total generosity.”

This quote holds the key to Bolaño’s literary philosophy. He did not write to show off his intelligence or assert a worldview. He wrote it seems, to see – to pay attention – and to pass that attention on. And what he saw was everything.

Bolaño’s writing insists on the significance of the overlooked, the mundane, the forgotten, and the tragic. As readers, we are asked not simply to observe the world but to witness it. And in doing so, we confront a quietly radical insight: everything matters.

Read the rest in Psychology Today

The Myth of Instant Knowledge

For decades, economics has been about distributing scarce resources: first labor, then knowledge—both could be capitalized and turned into value. But what happens when knowledge is no longer scarce? When artificial intelligence, with a single click, offers answers to almost anything?

We are standing at the threshold of a new era—one that challenges not just the foundations of economics but also the role of time, creativity, and humanity itself. If everything can be answered instantly, what happens to the questions that require time, depth, and reflection?

AI is often celebrated as a catalyst for creativity and innovation. But in psyhotherapy, I frequently witness the opposite: clients losing touch with the patience and vulnerability required to think clearly, to heal, and to change. Even though AI may make us more knowledgeable, it does not make us wiser.

Instead, it amplifies the illusion of control and distances us from our very humanness, our vulnerability—that same vulnerability that reminds us of our mortality and opens the door to wisdom. Wisdom is born of experience, missteps, and the time it takes for insight to mature. It cannot be rushed—only lived and felt.

Ironically, artificial intelligence reveals an ancient truth: All intelligence is, in some sense, artificially crafted, shaped, and directed. Intelligence is not something we possess, but something we participate in. It’s not a static ability, but a dynamic process that unfolds through time, attention, and experience.

So, what can AI do, and what does it do to us?

AI can expand our horizons, but also reduce us to what the algorithm permits. Social media promises connection but often breeds division. It promises community, yet isolates us in echo chambers. Algorithms reflect our habits and emotions, reinforcing what we already know and closing us off to the unknown, the foreign, and the different.

The French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu called this habitus—the invisible structures that govern our dispositions and everyday choices. Algorithms intensify this mechanism, locking us deeper into our own patterns. When data takes over our emotions, we risk losing the freedom to think anew, feel differently, and act otherwise.

Here, philosophy offers an alternative: a poetic form of thinking that disrupts the obvious. Originally bound to poetry, philosophy generates the new. As Friedrich Nietzsche reminds us, the self is not a fixed core but an interpretation in constant motion. The poetic lies in the courage to challenge, in doubt, in the unexpected.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that therapy is a poetic practice—a sharing of what is not shared. Therapy, much like democracy, lives through difference, conflict, and creativity. But algorithms often reduce this beautiful complexity to predictability and profit. They undermine democracy (and mental health) not just by stripping us of the ability to reflect and choose but also by eroding the habits that once nurtured our freedom to doubt.

One of the greatest threats AI poses is not just its speed but also the loss of time that questions need to ripen.

British social psychologist Graham Wallas once described the stages of creativity: preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification. The second stage—incubation—is when a question or problem rests quietly in the dark. It grows beneath the surface unconsciously. But we live in a culture where everything must happen now, and patience has vanished.

AI gives us answers but doesn’t teach us to ask better questions, to live with uncertainty, or to trust the unknown. As a teacher, I see how students grow accustomed to every problem being solvable with a click. They’ve forgotten how to let a question simmer, to sit with doubt. More than once, I’ve seen students become paralyzed by uncertainty. For them, frustration is no longer a creative force but an unbearable discomfort.

Philosophy doesn’t aim to simplify or remove life’s complexity—it asks us to embrace it. It’s about learning from encounters with the unknown and the other. It’s about discovering wisdom in the courage to stand exposed, open, and vulnerable.

What Western philosophy has always sought to protect—like a newborn—is freedom. Simone de Beauvoir wrote in her  Ethics of Ambiguity: “Freedom is the source from which all meaning and value spring.” This freedom is the foundation of both love and creativity. Only free people can love. Only free people can resist AI’s directives, because they can imagine another answer.

Philosophy interrupts the habits that keep us locked in the status quo—and opens us to life’s chaos, richness, and plurality. Where algorithms create surfaces, poetry weaves connections. Philosophy is a poetic force transforming our way of being—how we think, feel, and act.

In the face of algorithmic control, we lack more efficiency and resistance. The ability to resist the ideals that govern us is crucial. Algorithms may shape our habits and predict our choices, but they prevent us from transforming ourselves and inventing new ways of living.

Philosophy does not advocate for a life without error or a world without friction. It insists on freedom to imagine, love, and grow. A society without freedom cannot love. So we must ask: Do algorithms use love as control or inspiration?

Philosophy is not a solution. It is a practice—a counterweight to algorithmic streamlining. It reminds us that what makes us human is not speed or efficiency but the ability to fail, doubt, and recreate ourselves—the ability to love despite everything.

How do we become worthy of what happens, especially when what happens is often… nothing?

And yet, before the silence of the end, we experience love and loss, the uncertainty of choice, and the fear of the unknown. We experience grief and joy, bodily sensations we will never fully understand unless we learn to trust our own judgment.

Who needs a step counter, a sleep tracker, or a heart rate monitor—if they’ve lost touch with themselves?

AI may know everything. But it will never understand death—and its silence. Love—and its radiant joy of living. That’s why we must remember: Intelligence without wisdom isn’t human. It’s only artificial.

And if we forget this, we risk losing what makes us human: the experience of being alive.

This reflections was first publihsed in Psychology Today.

References:

Janning, Finn (2025) “Poetic Philosophy and the Moralization of Social Networks,”Emancipations: A Journal of Critical Social Analysis: Vol. 4: Iss. 1, Article 2.

Inklusion må ikke betyde kapitulation

Når vi lever mere opmærksomt, opstår en erfaring af, at mennesker – ja, alt levende – hænger sammen. En medfølende samhørighed opstår, hvor andres velbefindende også bliver mit. Søren Kierkegaard kaldte det kærlighed eller næstekærlighed: at elske alle lige – ikke favorisere min race, religion eller seksualitet, skriver Finn Janning.

Jeg har i de seneste år undervist i diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI). Jeg har lært meget med hensyn til samtidens paradokser og blindgyder. Det store spørgsmål er ikke, om vi skal inkludere forskellighed – det skal vi – men hvordan vi gør det uden at miste det, vi forsøger at beskytte: retssikkerhed, seksuel frihed, respekt og lighed.

Læs resten af kronikken i Jyllands-Posten (eller send mig en besked).

Mellem Guldkampene

Guldkampen var en fodboldkamp spillet den 16. november 1980 foran mere end 20.000 tilskuere. Næstved mødte KB i en episk duel om det danske mesterskab.

I sommeren 1992 vinder det danske herrelandshold den ultimative guldkamp mod Tyskland og bliver Europamestre.

Guldkampen er også en roman – en fortælling, der udspiller sig mellem disse to historiske kampe. En roman om drømme, nederlag, vold og det spil, der altid er større end selve kampen.

En roman, hvor Preben Elkjær og Diego Maradona optræder side om side med Madonna og Guns N’ Roses.

Læs lektørudtalelsen her.

Poetic Philosophy vs Algorithmic Constraints

AI shapes how we experience the world—but does it help us become more? My latest paper explores how poetic philosophy can counteract the algorithmic constraints of social media, fostering creativity, connection, and freedom. Instead of more regulation, what if we embraced difference and unpredictability?

Read more here

Bruddet mellem USA og Europa

En kamp om frihed, kærlighed og opmærksomhed

Bruddet mellem USA og Europa kan tolkes politisk, økonomisk og historisk. Men måske afslører det noget dybere: en forskel i, hvad vi mener med frihed. Når noget går i stykker, ser vi ofte kun tabet. Men et brud kan også være en mulighed – en lejlighed til at se klart på det, vi tidligere tog for givet.

Frihed har længe været et fundamentalt begreb i både Europa og USA, men måden, vi forstår det på, er ikke ens. I USA har frihed traditionelt været knyttet til individets rettigheder og økonomisk succes, mens Europa har forbundet frihed med etisk ansvar og åbenhed mod verden.

Europas frihed: En åbenhed mod verden

Den vestlige filosofi er europæisk, født i det antikke Grækenland, hvor frie borgere – primært mænd – spekulerede over verdens beskaffenhed. Ja, der var undertrykkelse og slaveri, men der opstod også en radikal idé: At tænke frit var en værdi i sig selv.

Frihed er fundamentalt for den europæiske filosofi af to grunde:

  1. Frihed er en radikal åbenhed mod verden. Den frie ser uden filter, fordi han eller hun ikke er bundet af dogmer eller frygt. Det er frihed som et åndeligt rum, hvor vi kan udforske virkeligheden uden at blive begrænset af vore egne forudindtagede holdninger.
  2. Frihed er kærlighedens element. Kun den, der er fri, kan elske uden betingelser. Ikke romantisk kærlighed, men kærlighed til verden og sandheden. Det kristne begreb næstekærlighed er et eksempel på den form for kærlighed, der strækker sig ud mod andre. Eller som den irske filosof og forfatter Iris Murdoch skriver, er kærlighed “den svære erkendelse af, at noget andet end én selv er virkeligt.”

Opmærksomhed: At se klart uden illusioner

Opmærksomhed spiller en central rolle i den europæiske filosofiske tradition. For Aristoteles var sansning og tænkning vejen til selvbevidsthed. For Simone Weil var opmærksomhed en radikal etisk praksis – en måde at møde verden på uden forudindtagede holdninger eller egoistiske projekter.

Weil beskriver opmærksomhed som en form for tomhed – en evne til at lade sig gennemtrænge af virkeligheden uden straks at forsøge at forme den efter ens egne ønsker. Hun skriver: “Vi opnår ikke de mest værdifulde gaver ved at opsøge dem, men ved at vente på dem.”

Murdoch supplerer denne tanke ved at hævde, at etik ikke er et spørgsmål om vilje, men om at se klart. Hvis vi virkelig ser et andet menneske – uden at forvride det gennem vores egne behov eller begær – kan vi handle retfærdigt.

Den amerikanske illusion af frihed

Den moderne opfattelse af frihed, som vi ser den i USA – og særligt i tech-industrien – er noget helt andet. Når Elon Musk og Donald Trump taler om frihed, er det ikke frihed i Murdochs eller Weils forstand. Det er ikke en frihed, der åbner op for verden, men en afvisning af alle begrænsninger.

De ønsker frihed uden ansvar. Men denne angst for begrænsninger netop gør deres frihed indskrænket. De frygter det ukontrollerbare – det flertydige, det relationelle – og søger derfor at reducere frihed til dominans.

I de sociale medier, som Musk er med til at forme, ser vi en ekstrem forenkling af virkeligheden. Algoritmerne understøtter en binær tænkning: For eller imod; ven eller fjende; sort eller hvid.

Som Søren Kierkegaard allerede påpegede, er denne enten-eller tænkning en illusion, en forsvarsmekanisme mod angst – angst for friheden, for det åbne, for det ubekendte. Denne angst for friheden er en central drivkraft bag figurer som Musk og Trump. De har svært ved at rumme forskellighed, og de ser ikke nødvendigvis verden som en kompleks og sammenkoblet helhed, men som noget, der skal underlægges deres kontrol.

Hvad vi kan lære af bruddet

Bruddet mellem USA og Europa er ikke nødvendigvis en katastrofe. Tværtimod kan det være en anledning til at genoverveje, hvad der er unikt ved den europæiske tradition. Måske kan vi genfinde en filosofisk dybde, en opmærksomhed på verden, som den amerikanske effektivitet ofte overser.

Den tyske filosof Arthur Schopenhauer, inspireret af buddhismen, beskrev medfølelse som den eneste relevante etik. Når vi lever opmærksomt, begynder hjertet at fylde mere. Når hjertet – kærligheden, venligheden og omsorgen – opleves som noget virkeligt, hænger det sammen med, at vi mennesker er forbundne. Mit velbefindende afhænger af de andres.

Forskellen mellem den europæiske filosofi og den amerikanske mentalitet ligger her:

Inderst inde i den vise europæer findes alle de andre mennesker og hele verden. Inderst inde i Trump, Musk og deres ligesindede findes kun en lille narcissistisk figur.

Derfor behøver bruddet med USA ikke være så slemt. I stedet for at drukne i en frihed, der blot er en jagt på magt, kan vi genopdage friheden som en øvelse i opmærksomhed, ansvar og kærlighed.

Den europæiske filosofi tilbyder ikke enkle løsninger, men den insisterer på vigtigheden af at se klart. At tage sig tid. At lade sig berøre af virkeligheden. At give plads til de andre. Og at forstå, at kærlighed og frihed ikke kun er ideer – de er noget, der leves, og det kræver opmærksomhed.

Måske er det netop denne tankegang, vi har brug for i en verden, der alt for ofte forveksler hastighed med sandhed – eller er så optaget af militær magt, at vi glemmer, hvad der reelt er værd at kæmpe for. For i sidste ende kan frihed og kærlighed ikke beskyttes med våben. De kan kun overleve ved at blive levet.

Kampen er eksistentiel.

Opmærksomhedens filosofi

Hvordan vi kan etablere en mere kærlig forbindelse med verden og hinanden

Ved ph.d. Finn Janning

Opmærksomhed er forudsætningen for enhver erkendelse. Men det kan være vanskeligt at give en fremstilling af begrebet opmærksomhed, for uanset om vi vælger et videnskabeligt, et metafysisk, et etisk, et æstetisk eller et spirituelt aspekt, synes de at være forbundet. Vi har derfor brug for en filosofi om opmærksomheden, både den som retter sig indad mod selvet og den som retter sig udad mod verden (f.eks. Opmærksomhedens filosofi). 

Forelæsningerne introducerer til og diskuterer elementer af det, der i dag ofte omtales som ’mindfulness’ samt især to vestlige filosoffer, der har beskæftiget sig indgående med begrebet opmærksomhed: Franske Simone Weil og irske Iris Murdoch. De forstår begge opmærksomhed som en handling, der tilsidesætter vores ego og etablerer en ikkedømmende forbindelse med verden – ’unselfing’, som Murdoch kalder det.

Fundamentet for forelæsningerne er filosofisk, men de vil også indeholde eksempler fra sportens og kunstens verden. Og der vil blive foretaget enkelte korte opmærksomhedsøvelser.

Opmærksomhedsfilosofi handler grundlæggende om det simple ønske om at komme i berøring med virkeligheden for bedre at kunne engagere sig i verden. Når dette lykkes, vækkes en umiddelbar livslyst og glæde. Om det så vil lykkes henover disse to mandage, må tiden vise.

1. undervisningsgang
Mandag d. 24. februar 2025 Kl. 16:15 – 18:00

2. undervisningsgang
Mandag d. 3. marts 2025 Kl. 16:15 – 18:00

Tilmelding her

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