by Dr.Harald Wiesendanger– Klartext
What the mainstream media is hiding
In our psychologized society, people strive to talk about their innermost feelings in the same way as professionals do—and thus leave the responsibility for this to them. Does this make them healthier? If anything, it makes them more insecure. And it helps to destroy a millennia-old way of life in which people tended to trust their self-knowledge and empathy in everyday life rather than outside experts. Psycho-speak surrenders the mind and soul to an expertocracy. After all, this secures around 200,000 jobs in Germany. Can there be any dispute about its other benefits?
Who is still sad these days, either constantly or temporarily? Who still feels constant fear? Who is inattentive and fidgety? Permanently shaken? Introverted? Unbalanced? Disgruntled? Moody?
Of course, we still find ourselves in such states, just like our ancestors have for hundreds of thousands of years. We just don’t call them that anymore. Instead, we say we have depression, or at least a depressive episode. An anxiety disorder. ADHD. Post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD. We label each other as introverted, autistic, bipolar, and borderline. Gone are the days when we involuntarily remember something painful—now we are overcome by “flashbacks.” We are no longer in a bad mood, but “dysregulated.” A sudden change in our state of mind is not simply triggered—we are “triggered.” (1)
Until well into the last century, no one would have thought of applying such terms to themselves or others. They didn’t even exist. And no one missed them. No one had the impression that our language was poorer without them, that we lacked the means of expression. Among its 500,000 words, German offers around 2,000 for emotions alone. Dostoyevsky and Kafka, Marcel Proust and Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf and James Joyce, Thomas Mann and Hermann Hesse were masters of the art of eloquently dissecting torn psyches; none of them needed technical jargon to do so, as colloquial language offered them comprehensive means of expression. Their works present what is going on inside their characters in a more subtle, deeper, and more nuanced way than any psychological expert report. In contrast, typical medical histories, findings, and discharge reports from psychiatric practices and clinics read as insensitive, superficial, dry, and linguistically limited. To find the right words for the mind and soul, rather than pigeonholing them, it is better to look to literary prose than to textbooks and specialist journals.
Picked up from the ivory tower
How did psycho-speak become fashionable in the first place? We adopt it from that floor of the academic ivory tower where, it is said, people deal with us “scientifically.” The language game we have acquired in the process was foreign to our grandparents, as it was to all generations before them. It has only permeated and shaped everyday culture since the mid-20th century—since neurology left the insane asylums to become an increasingly commonplace, widely accepted, and quite lucrative, pharmaceutical-supported service: psychiatry for hard cases, psychotherapy for softer ones.
Does anyone still resist it? Those who parrot psycho-speak do so with their chests puffed out. They pretend to be scientific, imagine themselves to be educated. They demonstrate that they know certain terms and know how to use them, and impress others with this knowledge. Those who don’t have them at their fingertips in social situations are embarrassed. Follow the science – or what you think is science.
What happens in the process? Responsibilities shift. People have always been familiar with sadness. They expressed what was going on inside them in many different ways. They found words for it, words that fill novels. They understood, comforted, and encouraged each other, helping each other overcome disappointments and strokes of fate. No one knew better what it was like to be sad than the mourner himself. And no one could empathize with what was troubling them more than their loved ones, at least the empathetic ones. If a stranger had pretended to know someone better than their closest relatives, closest friends, or decades-long partners after having them check two dozen boxes on a questionnaire, they would have been laughed at.
But what happens to sadness when we start calling it “depression”? What happens to restlessness when we relabel it as ADHD? The deep shock that lingers, as PTSD? Brooding, as a “tendency to ruminate”? Heartbreak, as “affect regulation deficit”? It’s not just words that change. Competencies change. In this way, we leave it to experts to correctly name what is going on inside us and to deal with it appropriately – after all, it is their language.
From precision mania to expertocracy
Why have we let it come to this? The licensed psycho-expert seems to know more precisely than we do. Most of us have trouble describing what is going on inside ourselves and our fellow human beings; we find it difficult to define the terms we use; we are unsure whether others understand the same thing we do. The academically trained specialist, on the other hand, is able to clearly outline the semantics of depression using a list of characteristics and expressions that he agrees on with the vast majority of his colleagues. By counting them, he can determine whether depression is present and how severe it is. His approach to the result is impressive in its mathematical precision. And the more precise, the better: isn’t that obvious?
“Stand right here!” the photographer instructs his client, pointing his index finger to a spot in front of the screen. “Tilt your head slightly to the side. And please smile.” These instructions sound unambiguous, but strictly speaking, they are inaccurate. Should the customer stand 10, 20, or 30 centimeters in front of the screen? Would 9 centimeters be too little, 31 too much? Or only 35? Maybe only from 353 millimeters? Or already from 351? From 350.1? Wouldn’t it be necessary to specify the exact angle of the head tilt that is still considered “slight”? And how wide should the smile be? How many tenths of a millimeter should the corners of the mouth be from the position they occupy when the facial expression is neutral?
“People shake hands when they greet each other.” Isn’t that rather vague? How far away from the body should the hand be? What should the shaking frequency be? How much should the arm be bent? How long should the handshake last? How strong should it be, at a minimum and at a maximum? Specifications in fractions of a second, degrees of angle, and newtons per square centimeter would undoubtedly make the gesture of shaking hands much more precise. Quartz watches, joint goniometers, and hand grip strength meters could be used for monitoring.
What would everyday life look like if it were determined by this kind of optimized “accuracy”? Hollywood would find plenty of material for a science fiction comedy: everywhere in public spaces, but also in workplaces and private homes, there would be cabinets full of measuring devices to immediately eliminate any inaccuracies. Professional metrologists would be on hand at every corner to use such devices if the average person felt overwhelmed. Drones, video and AI systems, apps, and wearables could help. Consumer hotlines would provide information on all kinds of standards and measurement techniques.
Why does such a vision cause discomfort rather than enthusiasm in most of us? What would be wrong with welcoming this leap from the approximate and ambiguous to the unambiguous and exact? Why would we be alarmed by accusations of being “backward,” “unscientific,” and “technophobic” as long as we refuse to accept them?
Because we would find that the disadvantages outweigh the apparent benefits.
Our everyday lives would become horribly cumbersome, and social interaction even more difficult than it already is. Processes of all kinds would be slowed down and complicated enormously. The ideal of precision would not be worth that much to us, especially since we do not see that we were doing anything wrong before. Where language remains vague and blurred, it is by no means defective. “If I say to someone: ‘Stay roughly here!’ – can’t this explanation work perfectly well?“ asks Ludwig Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations, § 88. ”Imprecise“ does not mean ‘inferior’ and ”useless.“ There is no general ”ideal of precision” independent of purpose. In some contexts, “approximately” is exactly the right thing, not despite, but because it remains semantically blurred and leaves room for interpretation.
These very margins have been part of the human way of life since language came into existence.
The four pillars of psycho-profit
How is it, then, that we submit to an ideal of precision when it comes to our innermost selves? Of all things, in this area? Why do we tend to trust certified psycho-professionals more than ourselves to know about it? The human inner life is a wild garden—why do we assist in turning it into a managed green space?
We do it because we blindly believe what supposed experts promise us: that they can (1.) reliably recognize, (2.) plausibly explain, (3.) effectively treat, and (4.) accurately predict what is going on inside us—at least far better than laypeople like ourselves.
But none of this is self-evident:
(1.) The diagnostics used by psychological professionals are an arbitrary, harmful, and superfluous industrial product. More details 𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 »
(2.) Do professionals really understand us better? The embarrassing quality of psychological reports suggests that individual cases are fundamentally beyond the capabilities of experts—and that Freud was right when, in one of his rare moments of self-criticism, he suspected that soul experts like himself were guilty of “miserable botch jobs.” They do not fail because of temporary gaps in knowledge that scientific progress could eventually fill. They fail on principle: their scientific approach inevitably misses what makes us who we are. For humans are not ordinary research objects, but conscious subjects: beings with their own unique history, special circumstances, and a unique perspective on life. What motivates them can only be understood through empathy: a fabulous cultural technique that laypeople acquire from childhood, before and independently of a university education. This is the main reason why some amateurs can keep up with professionals. Academic training tends to impair empathetic understanding rather than improve it. More details 𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 »
(3.) How helpful, superior, and indispensable are psychological experts really when mental crises persist? How much good do they do for those affected? Largely unknown results from therapy research show that many laypeople help those suffering from mental stress at least as well. In truth, professional psychotherapy is far less effective than its practitioners would have us believe. To the extent that it is useful, this is by no means due to scientifically proven methods and theories, but rather to so-called “general factors,” which some amateurs handle excellently: these include attentive care, sympathy, appreciation, a friendly demeanor, credible commitment, skillful conversation, warmth, and empathy.
This is why several dozen therapy camps run by my foundation Auswege have proven successful for hundreds of people suffering from severe mental stress: it works without professionals—often even better. More details 𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 »
(4.) Do psychological experts really know more about our future than laypeople? Because they lack a general understanding of human behavior, they can only rely on statistical probabilities. While these allow for insightful predictions for larger groups, they inevitably miss the mark when it comes to individual cases. This is why psychological professionals are all too often horribly wrong when their predictions concern a specific person: in the courtroom, in the penal system, in youth and social welfare offices, in crime fighting, in the therapeutic field. They suffer from prognostic impotence – treatment-resistant, incurable. More details 𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 »
And that is why we may have prematurely submitted to psycho-expertocracy. We are paying too high a price for this.
The unhealthy psychological society
Our collective bowing down to professional know-it-alls has brought us nothing less than a new way of life. People are unlearning how to trust their own experiences; in order to be taken seriously, they must first legitimize them in “technical language.” In a world full of therapy believers, half of them burden themselves with learning about their own feelings. The other half makes a living from guiding them in this process. Belonging now comes in the form of ICD codes, and diagnosis becomes a status symbol. When something is considered a “higher truth” and testifies to deeper insight as soon as it is expressed in psychological terms, authority shifts from the subject to the interpreter.
Those who participate in this are worshipping a substitute religion. Shamans, oracles, and priests share the same insight as therapists: nothing is as it seems unless it is interpreted by an expert. While earlier generations believed in God, modern Homo reflectus is guided by his “inner healing journey.” Everything is pathologized: Monday, your partner, the color of your shirt, a slip of the tongue, the bus driver who doesn’t say hello. If you’re tired in the morning, it’s not because you didn’t get enough sleep, but because of a “latent exhaustion dynamic from childhood.” Anger is “integrated,” grief is “accompanied,” joy is “consciously allowed.” In the past, people simply had a bad day. Today, it’s a pattern. A conversation isn’t going well? “Communication block from childhood.” Problems at work? “Over-adapted pattern.”
The new “credo” is: I feel, therefore I am – but not without professional guidance. Only those who have learned to talk about their emotions are allowed to have them. The rest suffer irrationally.
Therapy is now a cultural technique. In the past, you received a rosary at your first communion; today, you can download a worksheet on your inner child: “Paint your needs in warm colors!”
Psychological terminology has spread through everyday language like a virus. Time and again, you hear that someone is “emotionally unavailable,” “toxic,” or “not in the flow.” In the past, this meant “he’s not interested in you.” But of course that sounded cruel. Today, a harmless text message is no longer enough. When waiting for a reply, people don’t think “maybe he’s busy,” but “maybe he’s afraid of intimacy, triggered by early childhood experiences of rejection.” And then: “I shouldn’t take it personally—it’s his process.”
Just as everything is a process today. Relationships, careers, even lunch breaks. No one just lives anymore; everyone is “working on themselves.” The world is a giant workshop of the self, and half-assembled personality fragments are lying around everywhere.
As it turns out, the average person is hopelessly overwhelmed by the complexity of the new psyche. In the past, a good conversation, maybe a hug after three beers, was enough. Today, it takes a professional. Empathy is too important to be left to amateurs.
“Tools” instead of comfort, labels instead of empathy
Confidence in one’s own empathy has been reliably destroyed. Instead of comfort, there are only ‘tools’; instead of understanding, there is “validating communication.” And no one listens to you simply because they like you—but because they had it as a module in their coaching training.
People become diagnosis carriers. This reduces empathy—even though it comes with the claim of empathy.
Grief, crises, boredom, loss of meaning, overwhelm—often understood as part of life in the past, today quickly promoted to a problem requiring treatment. Ordinary phases of life are pathologized. The tolerance for “normal misery” is shrinking. Any dissonance seems like a defect that needs to be “worked on.” Paradoxically, this lowers the hoped-for “resilience”: when every low point triggers alarm, existence becomes more fragile.
Today, closeness is something you train. People no longer open up spontaneously; they “communicate vulnerably.” Which is a poetic way of saying, “I had a preliminary discussion with my therapist about which topics I would like to share emotionally.”
Of course, all this psychologizing also serves a higher purpose: self-optimization, to become the best version of oneself. Behind every mindfulness exercise lurks a performance logic with incense sticks: I breathe completely centered in the here and now, so I perform better. You are supposed to apply “skills” and “activate resources” as if they were on a shelf next to the hole punch. Humans as apps: when things get bumpy, clear the cache, replace your beliefs, restart.
While everyone is “transforming their beliefs,” ADHD has become spiritual hypersensitivity, autism a case of “neurodiversity,” depression a badge of sensitivity. You can be anything—but please be reflective. Therapy and coaching logic tips over into a performance regime that demands constant “self-work” and a willingness to develop. You are supposed to constantly “improve,” “heal,” and “break your patterns.” The self becomes a project that is never finished.
Relationships turn into psychodynamic danger zones. One wrong word—and you’ve “crossed the line.” Agreement? “Not validated enough.” Disagreement? “Gaslighting!” A conversation can now be traumatic, even if you just wanted to talk about electricity prices.
This is how a new type of person is emerging: the masked narcissist who knows all the nuances of the inner world. Their conversations begin with “I perceive that you are currently…” and end with “But that’s part of your process, not mine.”
The internet has perfected psychologization. Entire communities consist of people who throw diagnoses at each other like Panini stickers: “You’re totally dissociative!” “I think you have an avoidance pattern!” Anyone who wants to collect likes inflationarily with a reel creates “space for my shadow parts” in it, tearfully.
What used to be chain letters are now diagnostic memes. And what Freud once suspected is confirmed on Instagram: the drives are alive and well, but this time with hashtags.
The selfie filter is the new mask of the “self.” You only see what you have just “integrated.” In reality, however, each story sets a new trauma to music, complete with an affiliate link to an online course: “Heal your inner child in just 30 days!”
The fascinating thing about psychologization is its perfect alliance with economics. There is hardly a product left that does not address our mental well-being. Smoothies are “mood boosters,” shampoos contain “mindfulness essences,” and even washing machines “work empathetically in eco mode.” Everything is designed to help you “get back to your center.” A place that apparently no one has ever found—but is tirelessly searching for, usually with a credit card. “Your authentic self” is available at an early bird rate with a payment plan. Emotional closeness is outsourced to coaches who will give you mindful hugs—barrier-free and with a feedback form.
Like any boom, this one also creates and secures plenty of jobs; in Germany alone, 100,000 psychologists make a living from it – 5,000 of them in research and teaching, 39,000 in private practice, 50,000 in companies, schools, clinics, counseling centers, and other institutions – 20,000 specialists in psychiatry and psychotherapy, 16,000 alternative practitioners for psychotherapy, and over 50,000 coaches.
Little psychologists strive to imitate the big ones
In the past, people were simply sad. Today, they first need assistance to find out whether this is still normal sadness or already a “depressive component with dysregulated affect.” Spontaneity has become suspicious, thoughtlessness almost pathological. “Boundary violations” are omnipresent, “self-care” is a priority. There are no longer simple feelings, only “inner parts with specific needs.” You don’t just say “no”—you “set a boundary.” Anyone who shirks the dishes is following a “maladaptive coping strategy.” When you’re angry, you’re supposed to “engage in dialogue with your anger.” But woe betide you if you ever bang on the table—then someone will call the trauma therapist.
We have become analysts of our own existence, hermeneutic monads in sweatpants. Instead of living, we interpret. And when life wants to tell us something, we turn it into a podcast.
Perhaps the real drama lies in this: we no longer believe in the authenticity of the immediate. Those who suffer must classify it. Those who love must reflect on it. And those who feel nothing at least have the certainty that it is “a reaction to old attachment patterns.”
The mistrust of one’s own feelings runs deep. Spontaneous comfort, a random joke, a careless word—all potentially sensitive, unprofessional, retraumatizing, triggering.
So we all become little psychologists, straining to imitate the big ones. Today, there is a bureaucracy of the inner self: standardized diagnostic systems, screening, psychometrics, evidence-based manuals, outcome measurement. Inner life is standardized, comparable, billable, documentable. Every feeling requires an application in triplicate.
Psychological interpretation is particularly risky when it comes across as irrefutable (“If you disagree, it’s defensiveness”), obscures power imbalances (“I’m just helping you to recognize yourself”), and individualizes structural problems (“You just need to work on yourself”).
Has psychologization made us mentally healthier? Constant self-reflection can prevent healing. Those who constantly look inward easily lose sight of what is happening outside. The world shrinks to one’s own state of mind, fellow human beings to mirrors of the self. Self-reference as a permanent task. Endless introspection instead of action. “Authenticity” as dogma.
Perhaps this society needs less self-knowledge, not more. Perhaps it would be healthier to not know exactly what we are feeling from time to time. Perhaps we should trust the fog that sometimes surrounds us again—without calling it pathological. Those who label every feeling with meta-concepts will eventually lose the feeling itself. If we only ever observe how we feel, we may stop living.
That is the paradoxical punchline: the psychologization that was supposed to heal us has made us more needy. Instead of making us more “resilient,” it makes us feel insecure. We are highly educated emotionally, but practically disoriented. The soul has become a project that can never be completed, certainly not on our own. That’s what experts are for.
Note
(1) Every year, the therapy camps run by my AUSWEGE Foundation bring this phenomenon to my attention. Over 80% of participants come to us with mental health issues. Almost all of them fill out the registration form with psychodiagnostic jargon when they indicate what brings them to us – in some cases even including an ICD code.