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.

article continues after advertisement

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

Go back

Your message has been sent

Warning
Warning
Warning
Warning.

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.

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

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑