The managed human

“The ‘yes’ needs the ‘no’ in order to prevail over the ‘no.’” (Jürgen Habermas)

Germans don’t like conventional dialogues.

They prefer monologues—they remain silent and think to themselves—

or they discuss with others what moves them.

From this lack of debate arises a weakness in critical thinking

and from that, a lack of receptiveness to instruction.

Such a people—trained in silence—prefer to talk about

rather than with one another, excludes rather than includes, is more submissive

rather than humble, and aggressive rather than conciliatory; it strengthens appearances

rather than reality, and prefers to strengthen its armor rather than its morale.

Such a people—endowed with almost everything necessary

to make history—sets out to become history.

It is in its nature.

It is one of the peculiarities of our time that we follow major developments—and even what is presented to us as important—with great attention, yet ignore the small things from which they emerge, and even those that can have a significant impact on us. We are surrounded by news, assessments, and interpretations—and yet we increasingly rarely feel that we truly understand what is happening. Our time lacks not information, but interpretation: especially our own.

Geopolitical conflicts reach us with such density and uniformity that they leave little room for our own reflection. The war in Ukraine is quickly categorized, roles are assigned, and moral judgments are at the ready. The situation is similar with other conflicts—there, too, interpretations dominated by interest-driven narratives prevail, narratives intended to provide orientation but which do not invite deeper questioning to give them substance and sustainability.

At the same time, another layer is at work—one that is less obvious but no less effective. Public attention is captured by topics that stir emotions, polarize, or entertain. No sooner do they enter the public consciousness than they unleash a dynamic that sparks discussions, political reactions, and constant media coverage. The Epstein scandal, the deepfake debate—topics that generate outrage, legislative initiatives, and public mobilization within a very short time. Tittytainment is not a future project, but a lived reality designed to keep the population content and politically passive: a mixture of entertainment, outrage, and the fragmentation of attention that keeps individuals occupied and thus prevents them from grappling with fundamental problems.

Meanwhile, other developments fade into the background, even though they are more immediate and impact people’s lives within days. The war waged by the U.S. and Israel against Iran, in violation of international law, has triggered one of the greatest energy shocks in decades—with consequences that are already becoming apparent and will intensify in the coming months. Rising prices at gas stations, disrupted supply chains, and growing economic pressure are the first visible signs. Behind this lie developments that are less obvious but have far-reaching effects: shortages of gas, urea, helium, and sulfuric acid, which affect industrial processes as well as global food production. Production processes are coming under pressure due to the lack of raw materials; rising fertilizer prices are compounding an already fragile supply situation and driving inflation, calling into question the stability of entire markets.

However, the response to this has been marked by such apathy—amidst expressions of support for the war and declarations of intent to contribute to a “new order of peace and stability in the Middle East”—that even the Federal President feels compelled to call the Foreign Office to order and point out that this war violates international law—and that this must also be made clear. Nor is there much notice paid to the fact that the federal government is warning that, starting in late April, there could be problems obtaining gasoline and diesel at gas stations, and that an amendment to the Energy Industry Act (EnWG) gives gas network operators the option to shut down their networks if they no longer wish to offer natural gas in the future—in other words, consumers will have no right to gas in the future.

This creates a peculiar coexistence of constant sensory overload and, at the same time, growing indifference. Much is noticed, little is explored in depth. People take note without really taking a stand. They follow the prescribed lines without questioning them. The result is not an informed public, but a form of passive orientation. People know how to categorize something—but no longer why. And often no longer whether there might be other ways to categorize it.

In this state, attitudes toward political developments also shift. Rearmament becomes the logical consequence of a worldview that is scarcely questioned anymore. Conflicts appear inevitable, alternatives unrealistic. Agreement arises not necessarily from conviction, but from a combination of habituation, fatigue, and a lack of critical scrutiny. At the same time, there is a lack of insight into what underlies this behavior. For the social constitution that gives rise to such reactions— —in the first place. For the question of why a society that has access to so much information is increasingly less inclined to engage with it.

In the past, domination was made visible through prohibitions. Today, it presents itself in a friendlier manner: it guides. It recommends, protects, warns, prioritizes, and categorizes. Modern humans do not merely live within a political system: they live within a system of constant guidance. And the more intense this guidance becomes, the more what freedom once was fades away: the ability to examine reality on one’s own and to act on one’s own responsibility.

The managed human is the ideal of an era that values stability over maturity. They are to be informed, but not too thoroughly; outraged, but in the right direction; technically capable, but intellectually dependent. They are to function, but not to stand out. They may have an opinion, as long as it does not challenge the primary narratives.

AI will accelerate this development: not because machines are evil, but because they fit perfectly into a culture that prefers to delegate complexity rather than grapple with it. Those who grow accustomed to systems that read, write, sort, weigh, and decide for them gradually lose the muscle of their own judgment. Convenience is the elegant precursor to incapacitation.

Politically, this development is taking hold in a society that is simultaneously being militarized, moralized, and economically destabilized. The managed human is ideally suited to this. In times of doubt, they do not seek truth, but psychological relief. They mistake orientation for insight and repetition for certainty. This is precisely why they are so valuable to systems that no longer win consent creatively, but generate it atmospherically.

The loss begins in small ways. One says less than one thinks. One thinks less than one could. One examines less than would be necessary. And at some point, one comes to regard precisely that as reason. Thus, self-censorship becomes character, conformity becomes virtue, and intellectual dependence becomes normality. But a democracy that shields its citizens from the burden of their own sovereignty does not foster free people. It produces managed objects. The individually autonomous, community-oriented, creative subject remains an illusion of individuals who are treated like weeds in these cultivated monocultures and perish.

It is tempting to attribute the developments described to others—to those we view critically anyway: the media, politics, those who advocate for rearmament, or those who promote one-sided interpretations. Yet this distinction cannot stand up to reality. The notion that one’s own self—or the group to which one feels one belongs—is exempt from this proves, upon closer inspection, to be deceptive.

Even the alternatives to the establishment—setting aside those who cloak themselves in the guise of “alternative” to secure funding, business, or attention, yet ultimately dilute the very essence of the alternative—such as the peace movement, parties that present themselves as alternatives, alternative media, and those who denounce injustice or challenge prevailing narratives, often exhibit the same symptoms: A limited willingness to engage in comprehensive analysis, a quick certainty, and a narrow space for respect, truth, dissent, dialogue, and criticism. The content may differ, but systemically, nothing else happens. As long as each side assumes it is different—better—the view of what we have in common remains obscured by two aspects: the constitution from which the thoughts and actions of others, as well as one’s own, arise, and the fact that we are a people who have a future only together.

However people interact with one another, wherever they may be—in what they say and even more so in what they do not say—their impact unfolds: ever more rarely in genuine interaction that draws upon everything within everyone’s capacity, and thus, in that sense, only limited. Seemingly banal observations—the greeting that promises no benefit and is therefore not returned, the futile waiting for action regarding stated intentions, the silence in response to inquiries, the lack of dialogue, the lack of interest in the other person, the matter-of-factness with which other people are no longer perceived as such, but as a function, a disturbance, or a meaningless component of one’s own environment —are not merely a decline in manners, but upon closer inspection an expression of a deeper shift: a change in the relationship between human beings. Respect for everyone and everything, engagement with the diverse challenges of our time, and an absolute commitment to truth would be prerequisites for civilizational progress and effective as well as sustainable problem-solving. Yet these are lacking. Instead, other attitudes dominate.

First: Interaction with other people no longer stems from a fundamental respect, but from the question of their utility. People are no longer understood as independent counterparts who, precisely because of their differences, can also be extremely useful, but rather as means to a limited end—or as dispensable if such an end is not apparent.

Second: People avoid engaging with issues that do not directly affect them or that require significant effort to understand in their entirety. Complex interconnections, indirect effects, and long-term developments lose significance compared to what is immediately perceptible and emotionally accessible.

Third: Silence and lies take the place of truth. Not necessarily in their crude form, but in a subtle manifestation: through omission, through failure to contradict, through the deliberate avoidance of clarification.

These attitudes are not marginal phenomena. They are increasingly becoming the social norm and are of fundamental importance to the fabric of our society, for they lead to a crucial loss: the loss of meaningful discourse. Dialogue is more than mere argument. It is the prerequisite for making different perspectives visible, for recognizing errors, understanding connections, and developing viable solutions. It is—in the broadest sense—a condition for knowledge and thus also for freedom, for civilizational progress as a prerequisite for the economy of the future, and for the evolution of apes into humans.

When this engagement is absent, society changes at its core. Insight is replaced by confirmation. Differentiation is replaced by simplification. Consensus takes the place of truth. This consensus is not the result of a shared struggle for the best solution, but rather an expression of a tacit agreement to avoid conflict. Contradiction is no longer understood as a necessary component of knowledge, but is perceived as a disturbance.

Silence thus takes on a new quality. It is no longer merely the absence of speech, but a social principle. A principle that promises stability by avoiding friction while simultaneously undermining the prerequisites for insight. The consequences of this extend far beyond the interpersonal sphere. A society that is no longer capable of resolving issues through dialogue on a small scale loses this ability on a larger scale as well. It is increasingly unable to grasp complex interrelationships, penetrate them to their core, and, on this basis, influence them comprehensively and sustainably for the benefit of the community.

Instead, it resorts to simplified interpretive frameworks: friend and foe, good and evil, right and wrong. The complexity of the world is reduced to (im)morally charged categories that offer orientation but do not enable understanding. In the political and media spheres, such simplifications have a particular impact. They create narratives that are not primarily aimed at depicting reality in a nuanced way, but rather at generating consensus and suggesting the ability to act. For society, such narratives are appealing: they relieve people of the need to examine, question, and differentiate for themselves. They offer clarity where uncertainty actually prevails.

Yet this clarity is deceptive. For it goes hand in hand with a loss of analytical depth. Society feels oriented without actually being so. It is convinced that it understands the world—and at the same time loses the ability to penetrate it. In this state, the way conflicts are handled at the international level also changes. Complex geopolitical tensions are increasingly interpreted through simplified interpretive frameworks. Historical, cultural, economic, and power-political contexts recede into the background in favor of moral judgments that stem from self-serving and often invisible goals. Not least, this reduces the scope for diplomatic solutions. Where conflicts are interpreted primarily in moral terms, compromises quickly appear as weakness and differentiation as a relativization of one’s own position. Within such a logic, rearmament gains plausibility. It is no longer viewed as one of several possible political options, but as a necessary consequence of a worldview that no longer allows for alternatives.

At the same time, a second development is taking place that reinforces this dynamic. Technological progress is advancing at a rapid pace. Artificial intelligence, digital networking, automated decision-making processes, and new military technologies are expanding the scope of action available to states and societies to an unprecedented degree. Yet this technological progress is not accompanied to the same extent by civilizational progress. Civilizational progress is not evident in the development of technologies, but in the ability to live as a community in a humane manner at the level of technological progress and to shape the future in a humane way. The lack of respect for everyone and everything, the absence of critical engagement, and the neglect of truth are leading to a growing gap between technological capability and civilizational maturity—a gap that, the wider it becomes, not only robs future generations of the hope for a fulfilling life but can already bring one of humanity’s greatest evils to today’s generations: war.

A society that possesses increasingly powerful technologies but is simultaneously losing its capacity for critical engagement runs the risk of deploying its resources without sufficient reflection. It is capable of acting without being fully aware of the implications of its actions. In such a scenario, war is not inevitable—but it becomes more likely: not because it is actively sought—at this point, the Russophobic efforts of some are just as negligible as the fact that polls suggest broad support for rearmament—but because the social conditions are emerging that make it impossible to effectively prevent it. Because the capacity for nuanced analysis is dwindling, because sufficiently robust alternatives are no longer being developed or are being ignored, because dissent is absent where it would be necessary, and because alternative forces do not coalesce, as they spring from the same mindset.

Under these conditions, the preparation for war does not take place openly, but quietly. It unfolds in everyday life, in the way we interact with one another. It manifests itself in the acceptance of simplifications, in the habituation to silence, and in the creeping devaluation of truth. The question we face is therefore less a technological or military one: it is a civilizational one. Are we, as a society, still capable of engaging in the discourse necessary to understand complex challenges and act responsibly? Or have we already settled into a state in which we avoid the effort involved—and thereby laid the groundwork for decisions whose consequences we can no longer control and whose effects on us will be grave?

The answer to this question determines not only the quality of our social coexistence and our own lives: there is now much to suggest that it determines our very existence. This brings to mind a statement by someone whom we lack both the space and the expertise here to fully honor or critique in all its aspects, yet who deserves a place here with this single sentence, which springs from his ethics of discourse: Jürgen Habermas.

The “yes” needs the “no” in order to prevail against the “no.”

A society that forgets how to say “no” does not lose the conflict. It loses the ability to distinguish between right and wrong. It replaces questioning with conformity and mistakes this for stability. The managed human is an expression of this development. He no longer objects—not out of conviction, but out of habit. Because thinking has already been pre-structured and the act of categorization has been taken over. Yet a “yes” that no longer has to assert itself against a “no” is not an expression of strength. It is a sign that the ability to clarify has already been lost.

Consent derives its value not from itself, but from its ability to withstand contradiction. A “yes” that is not questioned remains untested. It need not justify itself, defend itself, or prove itself. In this sense, the “no” is not a disruption, but a prerequisite for insight. It is only in the encounter with the other that it becomes clear whether a conviction is genuine or merely adopted. Substance arises where arguments are examined in dialogue and withstand criticism. Without this possibility, judgment loses its rational core. It persists, but not because it is convincing, but because it is no longer questioned.

The implications are particularly evident at the societal level. Where the “no” loses its significance, it is not only the form of communication that changes, but also the quality of truth. Agreement becomes a habit rather than a conviction—dissent gives way to silent acceptance and, not infrequently, to co-optation. The “yes” remains—but it becomes empty. In this respect, the “no”—criticism—is of existential value to a society that must strengthen its human capital in order to master the challenges of our time: social, intellectual, and civilizational.

Yet the “yes” needs the “no” not only to critically question it and give it substance, but also to be able to stand up to the “no.” A substantial “yes”—one that has successfully withstood contradiction and is anchored in fundamental values—does not crumble when it encounters contradiction; rather, through the process it has already undergone, it treats the contradiction with respect, using its substance to strengthen itself—including by correcting itself when necessary. A society that forgets how to engage with contradiction therefore loses not only its capacity for insight but also its resilience: and with it, the ability to assert itself.

Lateral thinking is virtually predestined to encounter the “No.” Without the humility to question it again and again—through “respect for the ‘No,’” through constant self-reflection, through engagement with the complexity of our times—it cannot endure. Anyone who thinks they are open-minded but reacts defensively to criticism as soon as it disrupts the stability of their perception must question themselves in order to do justice to the “yes” to their openness.

A “yes” to life is inconceivable without a clear “no” to war. But when rearmament becomes the default response to affirm the “no” to war, the “no” leads to the question —we need the “no” to not simply accept this—whether it actually arises from a comprehensive consideration of all relevant aspects or from adopted interpretations, from fear, from enemy stereotypes—arising from interests in which one is merely an abused victim. The “yes” against rearmament, however, is not a “no” against defense, for it also takes into account the “yes” of others to life in the way Albert Schweitzer expressed it: I am life that wants to live, in the midst of life that wants to live.

With this statement, Jürgen Habermas opens the door to a path by which humans can free themselves from their immaturity: both that imposed upon them and that which they have chosen for themselves. However, there is a small problem: everyone must walk this path themselves, and the greatest challenge lies in taking the first steps.

If the bulk of the work is immaterial mental labor—that is, takes place in the realm of thought—and, as a result, a lack of knowledge and negative (evil) behaviors limit its impact, then the shortages of the sixth Kondratieff cycle are the virtues that are insufficiently anchored across the breadth of society. They must unfold in society in a sufficiently helpful manner. ...

Just as it was possible for early humans to gain a better overview of their surroundings through upright walking and to free their hands for other tasks, today we need to walk upright in the realm of thought in order to think and communicate more comprehensively. ...

Individual development—the individual willingness to sustainably change habitual patterns of thought and action—determines whether humanity progresses in its humanity.

I conclude with my now customary message of wishes for you and the new year. Let us work together to engage more deeply with ourselves and our weaknesses. For our own sake.

How do we do that? Not by tormenting ourselves, blaming ourselves, or holding others responsible. No. But by veering a little to the left and right of the path we have taken and taking the occasional detour. Not when it comes to things that come easily to us. On the contrary, we must engage with what is difficult for us, what is new to us, where our demons lurk, and what we have rejected so far. I can assure you from my own, now rather long, experience: This can be fulfilling, fun, bring relief, and take the pressure off.

For the path to somewhere,

no road yet for your thoughts and actions?

Don’t despair. Create a trail there

and walk it—no matter how bumpy it may be.

Tread it firmly by using it again and again.

So that you can then get from there to Somewhere or Somewhere.

Where these sources of new experiences and capabilities lie can be very different for each of us: perhaps making problems transparent, searching for solutions together, focusing on the benefit of others, or approaching supposed opponents openly . Every day we encounter situations in which we can practice this. It is perfectly normal if this is difficult at first. But this is the only way.

It is the engagement with the principle “Let man be noble, helpful, and good” that becomes the decisive momentum for developments toward humanity. Every opportunity is an opportunity to foster this development. If walking upright was a prerequisite for humans to gain new experiences by accustoming their hands to new activities, the question today is to what extent new thinking unfolds in the realm of the mind and new action in the real world, and how uprightly—or, succumbing to one’s own or others’ restrictions, how bently—life is lived.

The moral of this work is summed up in a quote from Pope Francis: “One must start at the very bottom.”

I see very clearly that what the Church needs today is the ability to heal wounds and warm people’s hearts—closeness and connection. I see the Church as a field hospital after a battle. You don’t ask a seriously wounded person about cholesterol or high blood sugar. You have to heal the wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, ... heal the wounds… You have to start at the very bottom.

Pope Francis (1936–2025), interview with Antonio Spadaro, S.J., on September 21, 2013

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