Byung-Chul Han

The French philosopher Gilles Deleuze once said: “There is no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.”

‘Weapons’ may give us the wrong associations, but what he refers to are concepts that, like a brick, can be used to destroy what is hindering the growth of our lives, and at the same time, help us build or create something sustainable.

The Burnout Society

The Korean philosopher Byung-Chul Han’s work can be seen a toolbox aimed at helping us understand our contemporary society, while also presenting us with concrete ideas, thoughts or ‘weapons’ that might help us overcome or resist our own weak desires and vanities.

Han was born in Seoul, South Korea in 1959. He studied metallurgy in Korea before moving to Germany in his early twenties to study philosophy, German and theology. Today, Han is a professor at the University der Künste in Berlin. His initial fame sprang up with the publication of his book Müdigkeitsgesellschaft (2010), which, directly translated, means ‘the fatigue society.’ In English, this was cleverly translated to The Burnout Society (2015).

Han’s thesis is that today’s neoliberalism has made politics psychological or mental. The logic of neoliberalism has invaded our minds. It’s our ability to be present in our lives, to think and to love that is threatened by this invasion. Neoliberalism—for many, at least—has become an uninvited guest that refuses to leave our minds.

Han declares, in all of his work, that we have become narcissistic. For this reason, it’s time for citizens to care more about society’s welfare than their own egos. “Responsibility for the community defines citizens. Consumers lack responsibility, above all,” Han writes in his 2018 book, In the Swarm: Digital Prospects. The result of this narcissistic development is well-known: stress, burnout and depression. “Depression is a narcissistic malady,” Han states in The Agony of Eros (2017).

Eros or love is the only thing that may conquer our contemporary depression. As Han writes, “Depression represents the impossibility of love.”

Experiencing sublime beauty hurts

Still, it’s difficult to love, because we are not really free. It’s not just that society pressures us to fit in, perform faster and achieve more, but rather that we ourselves want this. We try to appear as positive, smooth and shiny in public as possible, as if our lives are all made up of ‘good vibes.’

In 2017’s Saving beauty, Han writes: “The smooth is the signature of the present time.” This kind of smoothness, he continues, “connects the sculptures of Jeff Koons, iPhones and Brazilian waxing.”

Today, smoothness and waxed bodies, quite sadly, are seen as the same thing as beauty. The morale behind this is clear: Smooth, smoother, smoothest = good, better, best. All that is strange, secret, or negative—in other words, all that passes through our thoughts—disappears, due to the ongoing repetition of sameness.

We lack a critical yet creative and life-affirming approach to overcoming this confinement. When we avoid the negative, the difficult and the painful, we amputate life. Our lives tend to circle around ourselves, making the circle smaller and smaller as we Google ourselves into unconsciousness.

To contrast this shallow development, Han turns to the writings of Plato, Kant, Hegel and Heidegger, in which there is no distinction between beauty and the sublime. Experiencing sublime beauty is not supposed to be pleasurable; rather, it hurts. It makes you fall and stumble. It is similar to falling in love, because you can lose yourself and act rather stupid.

“The sight of beauty does not cause pleasure, but shocks,” Han stresses in Saving beauty. It’s the matter of experiencing our own fragility that contemporary society minimizes. Art can shake us, make us see the world differently and help us perceive our own limitedness and flaws. “The longing for beauty,” Han says, “is ultimately the longing for a different mode of being, for another, altogether non-violent form of life.”

The strength of Han’s analysis lies in how he uses two guiding concepts in all his books: freedom and power. They both encapsulate the problem with contemporary society and can also open us up to alternative ways of living our lives.

Truth is freedom

Freedom is both a problem and a possibility. It is becoming, emphasizing that we become by combining courage to stand up against dominating ideals and norms with the belief that things could be different. Freedom is found in becoming whatever disobeying those ideals enables us to become. Real freedom is socially anchored, and as Han says in Psychopolitics: Neoliberalism and New Technologies of Power (2017): “Freedom is a synonym for the community that succeeds.”

By making freedom social, he tries to relate it with truth. Perhaps this is where Han shows how courageous he is, by reintroducing the problematic concept of truth in philosophy. In Saving beauty, he speaks about the need to save beauty. Why? Because, as he writes: “Beauty promises freedom and reconciliation,” and “truth is freedom.”

In other words, a world of smoothness is false. It’s a world of ‘post-truth.’ For Han, the beautiful is both true and good; it’s almost as though the Korean philosopher is turning Platonic. And he is—at least in the way that the French philosopher Alain Badiou is Platonic.

In both Saving beauty and The Agony of Eros, Han ends up advocating for Badiou’s idea that the task of philosophy is to be loyal or faithful towards whatever binds us together (what is true, in other words). Han distinguishes himself from Badiou when he more practically shows why or how we can show fidelity to what really takes place in our lives.

Fidelity is unconditional in that it presupposes commitment and awareness. That means we should try to become capable of matching all parts of life, instead of just doing so when life is pleasurable and smooth.

“The saving of beauty is the saving of that which commits us.” This loyal commitment or involvement is related to the kind of awareness that mindfulness cultivates, as a non-judgmental and kind approach to what is happening now and here.

Without humour, no freedom. Without freedom, no love.

Han also uses his Eastern roots in his philosophical thinking. Back in 2002, when he was still an unknown, he published a book called The Philosophy of Zen-Buddhism.

In this book, he illustrates that the Buddhist concept of ‘nothingness’—as the absence of an exclusive subjectivity—is what makes Buddhism pacifistic and non-violent, because there is no essence where power can be concentrated. Also, the concept of ‘emptiness’ is the reason why narcissism is something very un-Buddhist. There is no unchangeable ‘me’ in the mirror; rather, I am being formed by life.

The Korean thinker also illustrates that humour is something that links Western and Eastern philosophy. Nietzsche, for example, claimed that laughing was an expression of freedom. The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once said that “freedom is the element of love,” so it follows that without humour, there’s no freedom, and without freedom, there’s no love. Or to put it differently, it’s difficult to love people who never laugh, or take themselves too seriously.

In Buddhism, Han writes, there is no miracle, only hard daily work: Letting go of the past and not transcending or dreaming of a world beyond this one. He compares Buddhism with walking. Walking has no future, as you’re always in the midst of walking. To die means to walk, he says, emphasizing that we are always dying. Similarly, Michel de Montaigne said that to philosophize is to die.

‘Dying’ means always walking, philosophizing, exploring and experimenting with life, not as a way of meeting a specific objective, but as a way of being grounded in the here and now. Western and Eastern philosophy, I believe, share this humble approach to life. We never philosophize or meditate to conquer the world, but to praise its beauty.

Listening as an art of breathing

Many Eastern ideas are reflected in Han’s suggestions for how to overcome today’s stress, burnout, exhaustion and ever-growing narcissism. For instance, in The Burnout Society, he encourages us to stop, sit down and take a break. Philosophy is here defined as ‘an intervening time,’ ‘a time of ‘non-doing,’ ‘a peace time,’ as he calls it.

The concept of ‘non-doing’ resembles elements of Buddhism and mindfulness in that it stresses that we don’t need to be doing things constantly, Rather, non-doing allows things to unfold at their own pace.

Similarly, in The Transparency Society (2015), Han proposes that although we are forced or coerced into participating in an ongoing style of positive communication—declaring, “I like,” over and over, again and again—we don’t have to like everything. It’s not more communication that is needed, but creative or alternative approaches to living a richer life. To be creative, a person needs to stop and allow themselves to be formed or touched by what is happening as it happens, in the here and now, without judging it according to some predefined ideal.

A last example is provided in Psychopolitics, in which Han he reawakens the ‘philosophical idiot’ as a way out of today’s malady. The idiot doesn’t belong to a specific network or alliances, so he or she is free to choose. The idiot doesn’t communicate; instead, he or she facilitates a space of silence and loneliness, where they only say what deserves to be said. The idiot listens, as a generous way of stepping aside to give room to the others.

“The art of listening takes place as an art of breathing,” Han writes in The Expulsion of the Other: Society, Perception and Communication Today (2018).

For non-philosophers alike

Han’s work is accessible for non-philosophers, and is a good guide to understanding and navigating oneself through today’s demanding, achievement-based society. He encourages us to Relax. Do nothing. Become no one. See time as something peaceful.

Time passes, whether we want it or not. Then it returns and changes everything. Let go. Listen. Embrace moments of non-communication. And breathe.

Rethinking Ethics in Psychology

Ethics is always about values. In psychology, as in most professions, students are often taught to approach ethics through three frameworks: 

  1. Virtue ethics (What kind of person should I be?)
  2. Deontology (What duties must I follow?)
  3. Utilitarianism (What outcome will maximize the good?)

Each offers a way of defining “the good.” These approaches remain useful, helping psychologists clarify responsibilities, make difficult decisions, and justify their reasoning. Yet each framework risks being used as a strategic, rhetorical tool to back a predetermined position. The same action can be rationalized as duty, optimal outcome, or virtue, shifting the focus from genuine ethics to self-justification. 

What if we made attention—the genuine act of perceiving and staying present in situations—the starting point of ethics, rather than rules or outcomes?

Ethics as Attention

The philosopher Simone Weil wrote, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” For Weil, paying attention is already an ethical act. It means suspending assumptions long enough to notice what is truly happening. This matters as much in the consulting room as in the classroom. 

A psychologist who pays close attention can tell when silence means something, when irritation masks fear, or when something important goes unsaid. No code of ethics tells you how to respond in these moments. Paying attention is the ethical act. In contrast, when we rely too heavily on abstract frameworks, we risk skipping over this important stage of perception. We rush to categorize, justify, or resolve. Ethics then becomes about defending an action rather than sensing what a situation is calling for. 

To clarify the distinction: morality is about judgment—applying universal principles consistently. Ethics, as I am proposing, focuses on responsiveness—actively perceiving a specific situation and considering how best to respond. Morality asks, “What should I do in general?” Ethics asks, “What is happening here, and how can I respond now?” This shift seems small, but it is significant. Morality gives answers and often shuts down possibilities. Ethics, as attention, keeps things open and starts with not knowing. Psychologists need this, because much of their work happens in situations without easy answers.

The Problem of Comparison

Professional psychology education often focuses on outcomes and comparisons: Who has the most clients? Whose intervention is “evidence-based”? Who secures the most funding? Accountability matters, but this culture of comparison can narrow our focus. We start to value what is visible, measurable, and ranked. This comes at the expense of the subtler textures of human life. In therapy, this pressure can lead clinicians to measure “progress” only by symptom checklists. They may miss the more fragile forms of growth—such as trust, presence, and shared silence—that defy easy measurement. When ethics becomes only compliance or output, it grows too thin. It cannot handle the complexity of real psychological life.

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Small Practices of Ethical Attention

What might it look like to cultivate ethics as attention in psychology? Here are some simple practices:

  • Reflective journaling: After sessions, clinicians can note what was said, what they felt, what they avoided, or what unsettled them. Attention grows by noticing what escapes immediate explanation.
  • Naming subtle ruptures: Instead of ignoring the slight withdrawal of a client or the tension in a supervision meeting, name it gently: “I noticed some silence after I said that—what was it like for you?”
  • Suspending judgment: Rather than deciding too quickly what a behavior “means,” stay with the ambiguity: “Something feels important here, but I’m not sure yet what it is.”

These are not alternatives to ethical codes. They are complements. Codes set the minimum. Attention sustains the depth.

Becoming Present

For psychologists, ethics means more than preventing harm or avoiding misconduct. It means being present with the people and situations you face. It means noticing when something matters, even if no rule was broken. 

Ethics is about more than compliance; it is about who we are becoming. It challenges us to ask not just “What should I do?” but “Who am I becoming through my actions?”

Læsegruppe: Tusind plateauer af Gilles Deleuze & Félix Guattari

Start: tirsdag 30. september 2025
Tid: 16.30–18.00
Varighed: 10 sessioner (med to pauser undervejs)
Pris: 950 kr.
Underviser: Finn Janning

Hvorfor læse Tusind plateauer?

Deleuze & Guattaris Tusind plateauer (1980) er en af det 20. århundredes mest radikale og udfordrende filosofiske værker. Teksten bevæger sig på tværs af filosofi, politik, psykologi, kunst og biologi – og insisterer på at tænke i bevægelse, i netværk, i forbindelser.

At læse den alene kan være overvældende. At læse den i fællesskab åbner for samtale, fortolkning og nye måder at forbinde sig til teksten på.

Struktur og form

  • Hver session begynder med et kort oplæg af Finn Janning, der introducerer dagens plateau.
  • Derefter arbejder vi i fællesskab – først evt. i mindre grupper, siden samlet.
  • Målet er ikke at nå til en endegyldig forståelse, men at åbne teksten, finde forbindelser og tænke på kryds og tværs.
  • Sessionerne optages, så du kan se eller gense, hvis du går glip af en aften.

Program

Session 1 – 30. september
Introduktion til Deleuze & Guattari + Plateau 1: Rhizome
(fri uge 7. oktober – læsetid)

Session 2 – 14. oktober
Plateau 2: 1914: En enkelt ulv eller flere
Plateau 3: 10.000 f.Kr.: Moralens geologi
(fri uge 21. oktober – læsetid)

Session 3 – 28. oktober
Plateau 4: 20 november 1923 — Lingvistikkens postulater
Plateau 5: 587 f.Kr.– Om nogle tegnregimer

Session 4 – 4. november
Plateau 6: November 28, 1947 – Hvordan laver man sig et legeme uden organer?
Plateau 7: År 0: Ansigtsmæssighed

Session 5 – 11. november
Plateau 8: 1874: Tre noveller eller ‘Hvad er der sket?´
Plateau 9: 1933: Mikropolitik og segmentaritet

Session 6 – 18. november
Plateau 10: 1730: Intensblivelse, dyreblivelse, uopfatteligblivelse!

Session 7 – 25. november
Plateau 11: 1837: Om omkvædet

Session 8 – 2. december
Plateau 12: 1227: Afhandling om nomadologi: Krisgmaskinen

Session 9 – 9. december
Plateau 13: 7000 f.Kr.: Opfangelsesapparat
Plateau 14: Det glatte og det stribede

Session 10 – 16. december
Plateau 15: Konklusion: Konkrete regler og abstrakte maskiner

  • opsamling og fælles samtale

Praktisk

  • Pris: 950 kr. for hele forløbet.
  • Tidspunkt: tirsdage kl. 16.30–18.00.
  • Sted: Via zoom.
  • Vi anvender Niels Lyngsøs oversættelse fra 2005, udgivet af Det Kongelige Danske Kunstakademi Billedkunstskoler.
  • Tilmelding: via kontaktform nedenfor

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Vulnerability, Calmness, and Nordic Leadership

New Paper: Vulnerability, Calmness, and Nordic Leadership

I am pleased to share my latest paper, which argues that calmness, concentration, and a touch of coldness, when combined, cultivate a vulnerable leadership style that fosters trust and resilience.

In much of today’s leadership discourse, vulnerability is praised but often vaguely defined—sometimes confused with oversharing or weakness. My paper challenges this, contending that calmness, focus, and emotional coolness—although frequently underestimated—are essential to creating openness and psychological flexibility in leaders. Drawing from Nordic leadership traditions, I clarify how these qualities can empower leaders rather than hinder them.

Using a phenomenological lens, I weave a personal anecdote with leadership theory and psychological research. This offers a new perspective on how these understated qualities allow leaders to be both vulnerable and resilient, attentive and adaptive.

The paper suggests that calmness, concentration, and coldness are not barriers to connection but qualities that help leaders hold space for others, nurture trust, and strengthen teams. They form the backbone of trust-based leadership, which balances vulnerability and steadiness, ultimately benefiting both individuals and organizations.

You can read it here

Frigørende samtaler

Hvis noget kendetegner det menneskelige liv i dag, er det – generelt set – forvirring, fravær af engagement og højere værdier, tilsidesættelse af tilværelsens dybere mening og en udbredt ensomhed. Alt dette ledsages af de velkendte konsekvenser: angst, depression, uro, stress, neuroser og det øvrige psykologiske landskab, vi allerede kender til.

Derfor – hvis du …

  • føler dig fortabt,
  • lider af angst eller uro,
  • har eksistentielle spørgsmål eller tvivl, du ikke kan finde svar på,
  • er fanget i en afhængighed og ikke forstår, hvad den dækker over,
  • kæmper med søvnløshed, frygt eller oplever et vist kaos i dit liv,
  • bærer på en diffus skyldfølelse,
  • lever i et hjem med hyppige konflikter,
  • ikke ved præcis, hvad der sker med dig, men føler dig fanget i utilfredshed eller vrede,
  • er i tvivl om din rolle eller identitet, fx i forhold til køn eller de krav, som det moderne liv stiller,
  • føler dig trist, umotiveret og følelsesmæssigt belastet.

Kort sagt: Hvis du føler, at du har brug for at forstå eller frigøre dig fra noget, der forhindrer dig i at leve et liv, der er værd at leve med en rimelig grad af autencitet og frihed, er jeg overbevist om, at jeg kan hjælpe dig – ikke som endnu en almindelig psykoterapeut, men som en filosof med fokus på praktisk visdom.

Ofte er nogle få frigørende samtaler tilstrækkeligt. Hver session varer 50 minutter og koster 1000 kr. Jeg tilbyder udelukkende online samtaler, hvilket gør det enkelt og fleksibelt at skabe et nærværende og trygt rum – uanset hvor du befinder dig.

Hvis du er nysgerrig, så tag kontakt, og vi finder et tidspunkt, der passer dig 

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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.

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