Why we get what we really, really want—and then blame other people for it

Invest 20 minutes to understand the story of your life. And to build world peace.

Responsibility is a good thing, isn’t it?

At least, that always seemed so obvious to me that I never thought about it. We need responsible parents, responsible leaders and responsible politicians.

When something is not working in a company, responsibilities need to be defined more clearly. When people do not make an effort, they should finally take responsibility. And when something goes wrong in society, we look for those responsible.

The opposite would be irresponsibility. And surely no one could seriously want that.

By now, I believe that the way we think about responsibility is one of the reasons we fail to create peace.

That is a bold claim. I know.

It is not where we started, either. We simply wanted to understand what responsibility would look like in a healthy organisation. A small question of architecture. Almost a little boring.

Then, somewhere along the way, we took a wrong turn and suddenly found ourselves talking about world peace. Or perhaps, for the first time, we took the right one.

An innocent question

In companies, you constantly hear: “Responsibilities need to be clearly defined.”

What does that actually mean?

Usually, someone has a goal, a wish or a problem. Tasks emerge from it. These are distributed down a hierarchy. Each person receives a part and becomes responsible for completing it. Afterwards, someone checks whether everything has been done.

That sounds normal. It is the basic structure of almost every organisation. But it is also the basic structure of feudalism.

The will originates at the top. Orders travel downwards. Whoever receives an assignment owes its fulfilment and is held liable for any deviation.

Of course, a modern company is not a medieval kingdom. Even so, the family resemblance is hard to miss:

Executive board, division head, department head, team lead, employees.

Today, the people at the bottom are more often allowed to decide for themselves how to fulfil someone else’s will. We call that empowerment. When they treat someone else’s assignment as if it were their own, we call it ownership. And when they organise themselves so that less direction is needed from above, we call it self-organisation.

All of this is friendlier than an open chain of command. But the direction often remains the same. Responsibility internalises the chain of command. The boss no longer needs to stand beside me. I already carry their expectant gaze within me.

This is not stupid

At this point, it is easy to fall into the next old trap and start looking for someone to blame. The evil managers. The patriarchy. Capitalism. Old white men. Or whichever group currently fits our explanation of the world.

But this architecture was not built because people were stupid. It was built in a world experienced as dangerous.

When resources are scarce, mistakes can be fatal and people do not trust one another, control is a sensible survival strategy. Someone decides. Someone executes. Someone monitors. And when something goes wrong, it must quickly become clear who is liable.

Responsibility is a coping architecture. It does not resolve fear. It organises life around it.

It is like the ultra-power-saving mode on a smartphone. When the battery is nearly empty, functions are switched off. Beauty, play, surprise and free agency no longer matter. The only thing that matters is keeping the system running somehow.

In survival mode, functioning is a success.

It becomes a problem only when we forget that we are living in ultra-power-saving mode. Then we keep optimizing which app is still allowed to run—and mistake that for life. But that’s the path to becoming a zombie. And that’s the most exciting decision we’ll ever make: to stay alive or become a zombie?

Responsibility begins with the problem

When we think in terms of responsibility, we usually begin with an unwanted state: Something is missing. Something is not working. Something must be done.

Then we look for a person to do it.

The person comes second. The problem comes first. Only then do we ask which person can be used to solve it.

We do this everywhere. In families, adults have an idea of what a child should become. The child must gradually take responsibility for conforming to that shape.

At school, what must be learned has already been decided. Students are responsible for absorbing the material and producing the expected results.

In companies, goals and tasks have already been defined. Employees are expected to take responsibility for delivering them.

And in society, we look for those responsible for poverty, crime, addiction, violence or climate damage.

When people resist, fail to function or become ill, we often increase the dose: more control, more rules, more pressure, more consequences and still more responsibility.

We treat the side effects of external control with more external control. It is a remarkably stable roundabout.

And then it became personal

Up to this point, it is wonderfully easy to talk about systems. That is comfortable, because a system does not look back at you.

At some point, however, I realised that I had built the same architecture in my own life. For a long time, I believed that my conscious mind was steering me. After all, I knew what I wanted. I had the information. I could analyse situations. I could even tell other people remarkably intelligent things about their patterns.

And yet, in my own life, I kept producing results that did not match my conscious goals at all.

Back then, I explained this through the other people. They had disappointed me. They had failed to grow. They had not understood what could have been possible. I had explained it all to them.

Essentially, I was waiting for a Disney ending. In the end, the other person suddenly understands everything. The music begins. The frog turns into a prince. The person whose visible programme has reliably hurt me recognises my significance at the last moment and becomes the person I had wanted to see in them from the beginning.

This happened surprisingly rarely.

And eventually, the uncomfortable question could no longer be avoided: Why did I choose people whose known programme would so reliably prevent my conscious goal?

We do not have just one goal

Let us take a completely unromantic example. My future depends on an important conversation. I absolutely must be on time. I do not have a car and need someone to drive me.

Of all people, I choose the person I have known for years and who has never once been punctual.

They arrive late. I miss the conversation. What happened?

My conscious goal was clear: I wanted to be on time. But the visible behavior of the system produced a different result: my familiar failure.

I can now say: It is the other person’s fault. They should have changed just this once. After all, they knew how important the appointment was.

That is not even entirely wrong. They made a commitment and then ran their familiar programme. But I made that programme a critical dependency for my wellbeing.

That was my architectural decision. The idea behind this is POSIWID: The Purpose Of a System Is What It Does.

The real purpose of a system is not revealed by its statement of intent. It is revealed by the result it reliably produces. This applies to people, too. Not as a moral judgement, but as a curious diagnosis:

What if my behaviour did not fail? What if it was highly successful—just in service of a goal I was not conscious of?

Our goal architecture

Apparently, we do not have just one goal, but an entire goal architecture.

At the top, clearly visible, is the official goal: I want to love. I want to live.
I want to be successful. I want to be connected.

Beneath it, there is often a protective goal: I must never be hurt like that again. I must not lose control. I have to be prepared. I must not make myself truly dependent.

And deeper still lies an operating goal: My world must remain familiar.
My self-image must remain intact. I need to keep knowing who I am and what people are like.

Perhaps that worldview says: I am not enough. I am too much. People leave me. Men are dangerous. Women use me. Closeness ends in pain. Anyone who truly sees me will reject me.

My conscious mind works on Goal 1. My entire protective system safeguards Goals 2 and 3.

And when these goals collide, the most beautiful one does not automatically win. Usually, the goal that feels like survival wins.

Why we choose the wrong people

This brings us to partner choice. We say we are looking for love, safety and connectedness. At the same time, we feel particularly drawn to people whose programme confirms our deeper story.

The emotionally unavailable person awakens longing. The unreliable person feels exciting. The controlling person initially creates a sense of stability. The person who does not truly see us seems mysterious. And someone who is available, caring and honest suddenly feels boring, too much or somehow suspicious.

From the outside, this is hard to understand. From the inside, it is perfectly logical. What is familiar feels safe, even when it hurts. What is alive feels dangerous when we do not know it.

One woman once described her choice of partners as “cutting for the soul.” It is harsh. But it captures something.

Sometimes, instead of using a razor blade, we use another person. We choose someone with a recognisable programme, tie our wellbeing to them and simultaneously hope that, for us of all people, they will abandon that programme.

When they do not, we receive two things: the familiar pain and proof of our worldview. Goals 2 and 3 have been fulfilled perfectly.

Only our official goal is lying on the floor again.

And suddenly men or women are to blame

At this point, the mutual hatred between the sexes that we are currently seeing on social media also fits into the story. People do not begin with hatred. They begin with hurt, disappointment and an enormous hunger for life.

They wanted to love and be loved. They wanted to be seen. They wanted, finally, to experience that they were enough.

Then they chose people who could serve their familiar protective goal. The man chooses women who confirm his belief that women will use him, control him or leave him for showing weakness.

The woman chooses men who confirm her belief that men are emotionally unavailable, dangerous or unreliable.

Both experience real hurt. Both can see the other person’s programme. Both hope for the Disney transformation. Both are convinced that they could be well if only the other person would finally change.

And both are disappointed when the person they selected remains exactly the person they selected.

Disappointment becomes blame. Blame becomes generalisation. It is no longer this man who hurt me. Men are like that. It is no longer this woman who used me. Women are like that.

Then we collect evidence. The internet helps. Within minutes, we can find a thousand stories that confirm our worldview. Each side points to the other’s violence and explains its own violence as an understandable reaction.

In the end, we compete over who has been hurt more and therefore has a greater right to hurt again. This is how a hunger for life becomes hatred.

Not because people did not want love. But because they could believe in it so little that they repeatedly needed people who would prove its opposite.

Thin ice

Of course, violence can also simply come from outside. People are attacked, abused, betrayed and hurt without having brought about those actions. Whoever crosses a boundary is the author of that violation.

We do not want to explain that away. But it is not the focus here. Even in those cases, however, there is still the question of what agency remains afterwards.

Several things can be true at the same time: Another person hurt me. My protective system was shaped by it. Later, I chose people, dependencies or situations in which my familiar world could be recreated.

And I used that repetition as proof that I had no other choice.

We do not need to build a new form of blame from this. Blame and shame merely send us back into ultra-power-saving mode. We protect our self-image, justify ourselves and fight the insight.

But excuses do not help either. If I am wet and hug you, you will get wet. It does not matter whether I was caught in the rain, pushed into the water or jumped in myself.

I am wet.

If I refuse to acknowledge that, I will make everyone who comes close to me wet. Perhaps I will then tell them that drying me off is their responsibility.

The Frame of Life does not ask who is to blame. It simply says: There are towels.

I can dry myself. I can ask for help. I can tell people beforehand that I am wet. Others are allowed to decline the hug. And together, we can look at why so many people are constantly left standing in the rain.

Where victim energy begins

For me, victim energy therefore does not begin only when something terrible happens to me. It begins when I architecturally make my wellbeing dependent on another person changing their programme: I can only be well if you finally understand me. I can only trust if you change. I can only begin to live once you feel remorse. I can only be on time if, just this once, you are reliable.

In doing so, I am not merely handing over a task. I am handing another person control over my inner state.

And then I wait. Sometimes for a very long time. Yet every person follows their own programme. The only programme I can directly examine and change is my own.

The alternative is not: I do not need anyone. That would merely be the next protective architecture.

The alternative is: I connect with you without making my wellbeing dependent on your transformation.

I see your programme. I believe its visible results. I am allowed to love you and still build my architecture around who you are today—not around who you are supposed to become in my Disney finale.

The good news

So far, this story has not been especially pleasant. We wanted to talk about responsibility and ended up with the possibility that we are far more actively involved in our unhappiness than we would like to believe.

But that is precisely where the good news lies.

If my behaviour helps produce the familiar world, I am not completely at its mercy. If I select people as building blocks for my repetition, I can learn to choose differently.

If my protective system places Goals 2 and 3 above my life goal, I can make this goal architecture visible.

Freedom does not begin with making the right decision. Freedom begins when more than one world becomes believable within us.

Because a theoretical alternative is not yet a real option. I can know everything about secure relationships and still feel attracted only to unsafe people. I can want connectedness and experience it as danger at the decisive moment.

Healing therefore does not simply mean: Just choose life.

Healing means experiencing life often enough, in doses small and safe enough, until it no longer feels more foreign than pain.

We expand the worldview. The zombie world does not disappear at once. But green land emerges beside it. First as a possibility, then as an experience and eventually as a realistic choice.

Everyone is allowed to choose their own unhappiness

This matters to me. We are not building a new world in which everyone has to be happy, connected and alive. That would be the same old violence in prettier words.

Everyone is allowed to keep functioning. Everyone is allowed to keep their protective patterns. Everyone is also allowed to choose their own unhappiness.

But it should be a real choice.

I need to be able to see the reward and the price of each option. I need to understand which goal my behaviour is actually serving. And I need at least one alternative that does not exist only on paper, but is emotionally and practically within reach.

If I then say: Yes, I want to keep the familiar safety, even if it costs me aliveness, that is a coherent decision.

I can be at peace with that.

It becomes difficult when my goal architecture demands two incompatible things at once: I want the familiar pain—but you are supposed to make it feel like love. I want to keep my protective world—but you are supposed to be alive within it. I want you exactly as you are, with your programme—but you are to blame when you follow it.

This incoherence creates suffering. In me and in everyone I use to sustain it.

Freedom therefore includes impact. I am allowed to choose my unhappiness. But I cannot quietly use other people as building blocks and then hold them responsible for the consequences.

What responsibility has to do with it

Now the circle closes. Our old way of thinking about responsibility is based on the same inner architecture. Someone wants a particular state. Other people are expected to produce it. If they fail to do so, they are held liable for the deviation.

In relationships, that means: You are responsible for making me feel loved.

In families: You are responsible for making me feel like a good mother or father.

In schools: You are responsible for making my lesson work.

In companies: You are responsible for achieving my goal.

In politics: This group is responsible for the fact that we are suffering.

And between states: You have to change so that we can feel safe.

This is how we try to build peace while constantly outsourcing responsibility for our condition.

On a small scale, we call it an argument. In companies, we call it a lack of ownership. Between social groups, we call it polarisation. Between states, it can become war.

The scale changes. The architecture remains remarkably similar.

What replaces responsibility

The alternative to responsibility is not irresponsibility. We reject responsibility as a concept of control and liability. But of course we still need agency, contribution, reliability, boundaries and repair.

Perhaps we need far more of them.

People do not want merely to consume. We want to have a presence in the world. We want to be seen. We want to experience that something comes into being through us that would not have existed without us.

We produce ideas, closeness, protection, beauty, clarity, food, humour, music, solutions and new possibilities.

Agency is not an irritating duty that people must be forced to perform. It is a basic human need.

When a person feels safe and connected, they want to express themselves. As soon as this agency enters into relationship with our shared life, it becomes contribution.

Then the direction of a system no longer begins with the problem: What needs to be done, and who is responsible for it?

It also begins with the person: Who is here? What does this person perceive? What wants to take shape in the world through them? How does it connect with our shared Purpose?

Encounter is production and consumption

Perhaps this is precisely what encounter is: the exchange of the production and consumption of our unique contributions. Seeing, hearing, understanding and touching one another.

I bring forth something that could only have emerged in exactly this form through me. You perceive it. It touches, nourishes, irritates or changes you. Your response comes back to me and, in turn, changes me.

Both produce. Both receive. Both remain subjects.

In the old system, one person produces what another has ordered. In a genuine encounter, no one fully knows beforehand what will emerge.

Perhaps this is why we want so urgently to be seen. A contribution that no one perceives does not reach the world. And a person whose agency is given no place for too long begins to disappear inside.

We become consumers, even though what we are truly hungry for is to contribute something. Then we try to satisfy that hunger with still more consumption. That, too, is coping.

A different architecture

A healthy family does not ask: How do I mould this child so that they will function later?

It asks: What surprise is arriving in our family with this person?

A healthy school does not ask: How do we make students responsible for the prescribed learning?

It asks: How can they participate in real life, discover their agency and experience that their contribution matters?

A healthy company does not begin by asking: Who is responsible for this outcome?

It asks: What do we want to bring about in the world together? What do our different people perceive? What contributions emerge from that? And what conditions do they need in order to have an impact?

A healthy society does not only ask: Who is responsible for violence, addiction, poverty and crime?

It asks: What goal architecture within our system reliably produces these outcomes? What injuries are we passing on? And what alternative can the people affected actually experience?

Not everyone has to give the same answer. But no one should remain trapped in a world simply because they have never experienced another one.

What we need to learn

The Frame of Life, the frame of aliveness, is not positive thinking. It requires concrete skills.

We need to learn to notice our inner state before it takes over our behaviour. We need to distinguish familiarity from safety. We need to recognise which people and situations we select as critical dependencies for our wellbeing. We need to take the effects of a programme seriously without hating the person for it. We need to learn to tolerate positive closeness without devaluing, testing or destroying it. We need to be able to set boundaries, leave, grieve and repair.

And we need to recognize the moment when we have become wet and are about to embrace the next person.

The capacity for peace is not a beautiful attitude. It is the ability to process hurt and tension without automatically passing them on through control, shame, withdrawal or violence.

Perhaps world peace begins right here

We invented responsibility because we could not trust one another.

Then we built systems that control, shame and make people dependent on one another. These systems produce resistance, withdrawal and hurt. We then treat those reactions as proof that people cannot function without control.

So we need even more responsibility. Even more pressure. Even more people to blame.

And around the roundabout we go once again.

Perhaps world peace does not begin with another grand appeal for everyone to finally take responsibility.

It begins in a small moment. I notice that I am hurt. I notice that I am looking for another person to restore my familiar world.

I see their programme and my own. And I do not pass the hurt on. Not because I am a better person, but because I now know a second possibility.

This is the Frame of Life: What happened to me explains my protective movements. It does not determine which world I continue to build today.

We do not have to force people into this world. Our Purpose can only be to make it something they can experience. Safely, concretely and often enough that people can truly choose.

And perhaps the decisive question for families, schools, companies and entire societies is therefore no longer: Is everything getting done?

But: What world does our behaviour reliably produce—and is it really the world we want to build together?

Der Beitrag Responsibility vs World Peace erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

Stray Cats are my heroes.

We had already some insights into the stray cats. Which are just a cute picture for avoidant people. Avoidant are the ones that ghost you or disappear in other forms.

While we looked in first into why we shouldn’t feed them, the second part was about what we do wrong. Or can do wrong. Most of the time co-dependent people love stray cats. And while it somehow feels nice for both of them, it will just deepen the pain.

Both sides stuck into trauma cycles. And the way out of it is true (unconditional) love.

So while avoidance and especially ghosting is nothing nice, stray cats are real heroes. Heroes in despair, which is the reason they do fucked up things, but are still heroes.

They are travelers between the worlds. They are the ones that want to change their worldview. And you must be courages for that!

But if they’re the heroes, then who, exactly, is the villain?

Trauma: Our Universal Villain

We come into the world with the potential for 100% safety. While babies are still granted that, from an early age—perhaps as young as 3—we’re told we need to prepare for the real world. The serious side of life. Life isn’t a wish list, a fairy tale, or a walk in the park. So better to face disappointment early on than to dream of a perfect world. This is where the fundamental transmission of worldview between generations takes place.

Parenting goal: Best to toughen up. Then you can take a beating and survive.

This is meant kindly. It is simply the maximum amount of love (and worldview) that these parents know and can imagine.

When we talk about abuse, we’re talking about the violation of basic needs. The violation of safety is always part of it.

It’s interesting to note that only about 10% of abuse stems from physical assault (regardless of the context). The much larger 90% involves deprivation.

It’s like with food: I can either overfeed someone or starve them. In between lies self-determination. And emotional starvation is common. Not because it’s meant maliciously, but because the parents (or whoever is in that position) don’t know any better themselves.

Then there’s also overprotection or control. Parents who shield their children from everything until they’re 23. They grow up with a worldview of entitlement and princess treatment. So it’s 100% a fairy-tale world, but there’s no safety, because that protection stems from fear.

Everyone lacks a sense of safety. They start out with the potential for safety, but that potential isn’t nurtured or developed. In fact, it’s actively undermined. Parents do this with the best of intentions. Because we automatically project our worldview onto our children.

My worldview is the upper limit of what I consider possible.

This gives us a good illustration of trauma: Trauma means that danger has been brought into the area defined as safe.

Dealing with Trauma

To help us deal with uncertainty more effectively, let’s use a simple scale from 0 to 10, or from 0 to 100%.

When we’re trapped in trauma, everything from 10 to 6 is gone. That doesn’t exist for me anymore. Right where I should feel safe, there’s no safety left. It doesn’t matter at all exactly how that happens—how that sense of safety is taken away and destroyed. Whether danger is actively experienced, whether insecurity is created by defense mechanisms, or whether safety is simply withheld. The result is always the same.

Coping means: feeling at ease in the face of danger (fear/pain/disappointment). It can also mean feigning security. We are at Level 3, but we act as if we were at Level 7. We cannot think our way to safety, yet we act as if we have it. Imitation. We act outwardly what is missing within. This also gives rise to the definition of culture:

Culture is the set of implicit shared tools and patterns
for dealing with emotional insecurity.

Healing means that I try to gradually regain security. When we talk about the Stray Cats (i.e., the whole avoidance theme) elsewhere, it’s about security. Some people want to remain in insecurity because they don’t believe in anything. And at that point, their toolbox for dealing with the world is already empty. (Except for “culture,” of course.)

The Unsung Heroes

But the Stray Cats are the unsung heroes. They have no safety, yet they still hold onto hope.

They don’t have any better circumstances than anyone else, yet they refuse to give up on life. They don’t want to be lost. They fight back against having their identity (“Hamster wheel”) or their diamond (3x Diamond) taken away.

So they set out on their journey. They don’t give up their resistance. That’s why they try it out. They want to increase their sense of security little by little, step by step.

“Depression is healthy behavior in an unhealthy environment.”

They build trust by carefully gathering information. Always ready to run.

Even though they may seem ambivalent on the surface, they’re braver than (almost) everyone else. So here’s another big shout-out to all the Stray Cats!

However, keep in mind: A Stray Cat is still in “usage mode” and hasn’t yet reached a place of connection. Just because they are brave and heroic doesn’t mean they are healed.

This is absolutely crucial to understand. Their system and their focus are still solely on themselves. Everything else is judged based on its usefulness.

The significant difference is this: Usefulness is no longer just about coping, but about the hope of healing.

Challenges for Stray Cats

Why is it so hard, and why do so many stray cats stop roaming as they get older? Or put another way: Why do so many roam when they’re young, and why is it such a tragedy that we render them helpless? Because even stray cats can give up if everyone tells them, “Just wait until you’re completely resigned (i.e., grown up).” That can really sap your courage.

I’ve seen many stray cats myself who eventually lost hope and chose to just cope. Then life is quickly missed.

So what are the hurdles? Through the brain’s developmental phases, the initial worldview is formed between the ages of 7 and 10–12. That is the crucial time for our view of the world. Then we are, in a sense, adults. That is why the initiation took place at that time.

After that, between the ages of 12 and 16, we have a good opportunity for an update. During this time, we should leave the family and explore new environments. There, we can test and update our assumptions about the world. It’s all about correction and updating, not about turning the world completely upside down.

The deeper purpose is that we can bring our new perspective into society. Because every generation has a new starting point and can thus “clear out” traditions. What no longer fits can go. Likewise, we need new answers for some questions.

We still see this to some extent: As people get older, they turn more toward their peer group. But since our culture keeps us in school and family (until age 18/20+), we usually miss the great opportunity that this time brings. This missed opportunity applies to every individual, but also to society.

That’s why most Stray-Cats are on the move until their mid-twenties at most. Nothing is impossible after that, but it becomes increasingly difficult and expensive. And since our brains want to conserve energy, these actions tend to be avoided.

So what now?

Celebrate all Stray Cats as heroes.

Stop invalidating other people (their thoughts and feelings) just to give yourselves a false sense of security.

Thank you

Der Beitrag Stray Cats are Heroes (Stray Cat Model 4) erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

But there’s nothing right about that, because we end up achieving the exact opposite.

For all new readers, I recommend “Hamster wheel”, 3x Diamond, and Two perspectives on the world—and little overlap as a starting point, since I don’t want to start completely from the beginning.

So why is it a mistake, or perhaps even a paradox or an oxymoron?

Let’s start briefly with our basic emotional and psychological needs: connection and self-expression. And from connectedness comes our emotional safety, self-worth, and self-determination, which then manifest in self-expression. So both basic needs are interconnected and serve the system. The system is the “pack” in which we live. The pack is meant to reach its optimal state. This happens when we can bring our uniqueness into the context of connectedness.

The starting point of a relationship is that we see, hear, understand, and touch one another. Which also means that we allow ourselves to be seen, heard, understood, and touched. We must reveal ourselves without filters, masks, or roles. Our true identity, not a curated version.

The “happily ever after” approach is more like ownership—essentially a contract. And once the contract is signed, the other person can’t get out. Then I show my true face. My real intention.

So we create a contractual arrangement to generate safety. This is true only insofar as we use the same word for two very different things. But what we mean here is not “emotional safety,” but rather a sense of safety in the external world—something I can enforce and control.

We confuse safety with control. We think that if we can control something—and thus also enforce it—then we have safety.

That is the opposite of closeness. And thus the opposite of a relationship, and therefore also the ultimate destroyer of true safety.

True (emotional or psychological) safety exists only in genuine connection. When we give each other a relationship. And the word “give” already makes it clear: as soon as I force it, it is no longer a gift. So the value lies in the fact that it is voluntary. In another person’s decision to say to me, “You are valuable, and your needs matter to me.”

We need this space where we can be seen, heard, understood, and touched.

A relationship is the reality of the here and now. I can’t build a relationship in advance. It’s the effort and care that we both put into it. A relationship can easily be destroyed by one person, but it can only be actively built and nurtured by both.

Safety comes from the experience of choosing, day after day, to invest in this relationship.

No instant-forever solution, but a daily miracle. A daily treasure. But as soon as we try to freeze this moment in time so it stays the same, the warmth dies.

Stay warm and alive.

Der Beitrag Why Marriage is a Scam erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

And a) off the top of my head, it’s often not easy to explain (it’s more of a feeling), and b) in the business world, we still don’t like to talk about love.

What exactly are intelligent systems?

That’s why I ask instead, “What’s best for the system?” or simply, “What are intelligent systems?”

Every person is a system, too. We’re illustrating this in terms of people right now, but the same principle applies to any kind of system. If we break it down very simply, life is the period of unfolding—from today to one’s potential. Starting today, it’s always just about the next small step. “Tomorrow is beyond today.”

The gap between where we are today and our potential is our inner conflict, our tension. The wider the gap, the more tense—and thus the less relaxed, and therefore the more stressed—we are.

How do we even end up in such a tense state? We already explained that in 3x Diamond. For now, it’s enough if you just read Model 1. It’s just a short bit of text and a picture.

Our “I’m not enough” or “I’m too much”—which stems from Diamond Model 1—is this tension. It is the tension we constantly try to numb (external emotional regulation). It is the perceived discrepancy between who we are and who we should be.

And that brings us to the title: Intelligent systems try to minimize this state because it costs an enormous amount of strength and energy. Everything we waste on this inner conflict cannot be used for anything else. That’s pretty silly.

Intelligent systems avoid this tension from the very beginning. In other words, intelligent systems optimize to ensure that the gap between “today” and “potential” never becomes large, rather than—as we saw above—first making this gap huge for no good reason and then laboriously trying to close it.

So what about love?

“Judgment is not an action, but an attitude.”

Love is about one’s fundamental attitude. It’s about moving toward one’s potential. When I’m operating from a worldview of love, I look toward the next step. Toward the movement.

We see this in the act of judgment. If I say, “You’re a narcissist,” that isn’t necessarily judgment. The statement alone doesn’t give me enough information. It could be judgment, or it could simply be an assessment of the situation.

If I say it to describe your nature—that is, if I use it as a shield to create distance and put up a defense, thereby cementing you in that state—then it is judgment.

However, if I say the same sentence to create movement—that is, to take the first step from there—then it is merely an assessment of where we stand and love. Because we need a clear assessment of where we stand in order to get moving.

We can keep this in mind: Everything that moves me and others toward our potential is love; everything that freezes us in place (whether it’s the common habit of “judging others” or self-deception and self-defense) is not love.

“Moving toward one’s potential is love; anything else is not.”

We call a thousand other things “love.” These are all about external emotional regulation, because what matters to us is how we feel. Often, we just want to evoke (familiar!) feelings within ourselves.

Why the self-deception?

If we haven’t learned to love ourselves, then we want to protect ourselves. To defend ourselves. Both as a substitute for true security. The resistance stems from shame. And the shame comes from the fact that we feel we have lost ourselves (and that there is no way back). And because we are convinced there is no way back, we don’t even set out. We think we’ve lost ourselves, our identity. We can learn even more roles, but we’re gone. And we’re ashamed of that. We’re gone and still not enough and not right. That’s why we try to convince ourselves and the world that everything is okay. That we’re living up to our potential.

Resistance as a Gift

“Resistance reveals everything we would never dare to ask.”

This applies to our own resistance as well as that of others. Whenever we encounter resistance (and it can take many forms), it is an opportunity to understand—to see and understand ourselves or others.

Some Faces of Resistance: Attack | Defense | Justification | Escape | Blockade | Distraction | Rejection | Condemnation | Defiance | Irony & Sarcasm | Victimization | Drama | Sabotage | Ghosting | …

And each one tells its own story. It serves as a guide.

And resistance primarily reveals the tension—that is, the gap between reality (today) and how we would like to be. Or how we think we should be.

The root of resistance is that we judge ourselves but want to hide it. So we can’t escape this dilemma as long as we judge ourselves. But we judge ourselves as long as we believe we aren’t good enough.

Is there a way out?

Now it’s time to finish reading 3x Diamond. Our worldview is just a picture. It isn’t real. We can, should, and are free to reshape it at any time.

And the quality of a model is always only as good as the scope for action it creates. The greater the scope for action, the more intelligent (better) the model.

So just relax—reduce the inner tension. It used to seem impossible, but it’s actually quite simple. And be patient with yourselves. At first, loving yourself feels unfamiliar.

Der Beitrag Smart systems are relaxed erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

All models are wrong. Some are useful. The original version of the diamond model or hamster wheel was meant to be nothing more than a metaphor for our inner world—to explain our potential, our inner pain, and the roles we play.

It does not describe reality, but rather presents something complex in a simplified, visual, and tangible way. And in that sense, this model is also a worldview. It can explain something, and depending on the quality of the explanation, it also provides room for action.

Let’s take a look at variations of the diamond model and see how the problem space and solution space (room for action) change.

Model 1:

We are our own raw diamond. That’s how we come into the world. That’s how we want to be seen and accepted.

And of course, we need a polishing process to turn us into a brilliant diamond one day.

But instead of polishing us, people go and say, “Look at what you just did/said/thought/felt—that’s wrong. Don’t be like that anymore.”

What happens then is that a piece breaks off our diamond and is replaced by a conformist piece of plastic.

Over and over again, until we’re nothing more than a plastic block, just like everyone else. We conform to the standard. Our identity has dissolved, and we’re now made up entirely of the standardized, conformist pieces we’ve been turned into.

And in some moments, we try to build up at least a little identity on the outside (clothes, car, hobbies, …).

But there’s no going back.

Model 2:

Here, too, we start with our raw diamond (as a baby). And it, too, wants to be seen and accepted. But sooner rather than later, we face rejection: “You’re wrong.” You’re not enough, or you’re too much.

Each of these rejections is as if our diamond were to fall into a huge pile of poop. That’s exactly how it feels. Then we pull the diamond out of the pile, but a crust of poop always remains around it. Layer by layer. And when we look inside ourselves, all we see is poop (in the image, the doubts).

But we’ve been told how we’re supposed to be. So every rejection is a form of programming: Don’t be yourself, but be like xyz.

The rejection is the crust of poop, and the instruction is a role we slip into. A decorative coat of paint we spray over the poop so that we at least look good on the outside. (The “PowerPoint of Life”—at least on the slides, i.e., on our social media—life looks good.)

This model is a bit more precise. We take a closer look at what’s really happening inside. And we know that with buckets and sponges, we can uncover the diamond again. It’s tedious and unpleasant because we have to wade through the crap all over again, but it’s possible.

And we also see that neither the crap nor the decorative layer is our identity. That lies in the diamond.

Model 3:

Here, too, we start out as raw diamonds and want to become brilliant gems in our lives. We seek belonging and acceptance. The fulfillment of our basic needs.

Here, too, we experience rejection. And the feeling of “I’m not good enough” arises.

But here, we take a closer look. What really happens in rejection? What role do we play?

What is missing in Model 2 is our consciousness. Our inner observer. We think (and feel) that our consciousness is our “I,” but in fact, it is only a small part. The area that we consciously perceive and control.

Depending on the source, 99.999% of data processing passes us by. It’s like a smartphone: our consciousness is just the user interface. We see what appears on the GUI. Everything else remains hidden from us. And most of it is handled for us in the background.

While as babies we still see the diamond on the user interface, with every rejection it becomes less and less visible. Other things (namely, how we’re supposed to be) push their way in. Our conscious thinking learns roles and the right answers. It’s like in the theater: We slip into the role, because every rejection contains the script for how we’re supposed to be.

So we emulate the “expected” persona, because everyone is supposed to think that’s who we are. And if our audience changes, we change the role. The main thing is to get applause.

So, much like in Model 2, we have the rejection that blocks our view, and the role we project to the outside world. But it’s not crusts of poop; rather, it’s walls or cardboard cutouts of piles of poop that stand between us as observers and the diamond.

And that’s the small part we see. Worldview means: What does my consciousness see, and how does my consciousness see the world?

Just because we’ve become blind to it doesn’t mean our diamond has disappeared. There are always situations where others can see and experience our diamond.

Beyond what we do to ourselves so that we can live in the absence of the diamond and the cardboard cutouts of turds, there is another, much greater reality. We see ourselves as in Model 2. But others can see much more of us.

There are even polishing processes taking place on our diamond that completely pass us by.

In this model, healing is above all a shift in perspective: our consciousness simply needs to change its vantage point. Everything can be present at the same time. Yes, we were rejected. Yes, we slipped into roles. Yes, our identity is there all the time and is also active.

And with this perspective, we can let the wounds remain as past experiences, but they hold no significance for the here and now. We don’t necessarily need the roles. We can decide if and when we want to play them. And we can observe and marvel at what our diamond is doing (and has been doing all along) without us having to worry about it.

The lesson in the models?

We can see that the models are becoming increasingly unwieldy and complicated. More layers and more perspectives.

But this also changes the space of solutions.

In Model 1, there’s no turning back. The diamond is lost, and we’re nothing but plastic now. A copy. No way back. So let’s just close our eyes and plunge ahead—we’ve wasted our lives. Zombie mode.

In Model 2, we have the option of using a bucket and a sponge to wash away the crusts of poop. They won’t disappear completely, but the diamond will be revealed. It’s hard work, it’s unpleasant, but we rediscover our lives.

Model 3 takes a completely different approach. So the rejection we’ve experienced is real. We don’t need to question that. But it’s actually meaningless. It hasn’t changed us. Our diamond is just as beautiful and radiant as before. Only that small part of us—our consciousness, the 0.001% of conscious data processing—has put on these “I’m not enough” glasses and is looking at us exactly the same way as the people who rejected us.

Important: Our inner critic sees us as no worse than the sum of all the rejection we have experienced.

That is not how other people see us.

Rejection stems from our own self-doubt. So our self-doubt is a collection of all the doubts held by the people we have encountered.

Those who saw the diamond within us that they had to suppress. So they wanted—in the spirit of painful fairness—for us to suppress it too.

But as soon as we take off the glasses and change our perspective (our point of view), we see ourselves clearly again. We don’t have to change anything within ourselves; we just have to see ourselves fully once more.

This allows the wounds to recede into the background. Faded memories of rejection. From people who themselves were always rejected and knew nothing else. But alongside that, everything else about us is there at the same time. Bigger, more alive, more present.

3 ways to see our inner selves. And different ways we deal with hurt.

Model 4: “Worldview in Progress”

And now let’s go back to the beginning. These are all just images. Neither right nor wrong. Each has its limitations. Each has its costs and benefits. You’ll likely recognize certain aspects in one of these images—moments when you think, “Yes, I know that.”

And since they’re just images, you can choose the one that fits you best—or, better yet, build one that fits. You now have some basic elements. You can leave out what doesn’t help you, or add elements that you’re missing.

Your model can change over time or be adapted to different situations. A “worldview in progress.” And the model should explain your story to you, allow you to make predictions about the future, but above all give you as much freedom of action as possible in the here and now.

Have fun with it.

(For more on its application, see “Intelligent Systems Are Relaxed.”)

Der Beitrag 3x Diamond erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

Now you’re probably thinking, “What about feudalism? That hasn’t existed for ages.”

And that’s true. The systems have changed, but the ways of thinking have remained the same. Much of what we consider to be “laws of nature” are simply habits. Things we’ve been doing in a certain way for so long that they’ve become part of our collective worldview, and we’ve forgotten that there are alternatives.

My criticism

Feudalism is, at its core, immoral and antisocial. That is its “strength,” its function, its defining characteristic. It is also important to understand this. After all, there is a difference between something being a central feature or an undesirable side effect.

In the context of an invasive approach (we saw this particularly well in European colonization of the world), it works great. If I want to overrun other peoples or cultures, then immoral (unscrupulous) behavior is useful.

For the purpose of a happy and stable society (“What is best for the system?”), it is unsuitable. We will see why.

How does it work, essentially?

Feudalism is based on the assumption that there are a select few and everyone else. The select few are allowed to rule over the others. There are those who hold power and those who must serve. Some make the decisions; others are exploited. This is the “divine order,” so it’s okay.

And strictly speaking, only the privileged were truly considered human. The others were something else.

For the nobility, this was based on birth; later, education or some other justification was added.

Violence was institutionalized

Before we start criticizing everything, we might as well look at the reasons why it’s so stable and functional.

In systems based on fear, violence, and insecurity, it’s beneficial to give violence a structure. Some are allowed to use violence, others are not. For Europe, we can say: about 1% were privileged. That is, 1% nobility. And they were allowed to use violence. They were supposed to maintain order. They devised and enforced the rules. (Then there was a small clergy and free citizens. But even there, a similar distinction can be made: a few rich people, and the majority had to enslave themselves.)

So we have 1–2% who benefit directly but also bear the responsibility (these are the “parents” of the system), and the other 98% are infantilized or legally treated more like animals (especially the serfs). It is thus a trade-off of freedom and value for order and a certain degree of protection.

But since they weren’t really valuable (as human beings), the protection was also rather abstract. (Yes, there is a bit of criticism implied here. Especially from the perspective of the Basic Law and our conception of freedom. But those didn’t exist back then.)

The habit of dehumanization

We can see that the key to success is dehumanization. I can only exploit others if I dehumanize them first.

And even though the form has changed completely in the meantime, patterns of thought that have remained stable for 70 or 90 generations persist for a long time.

And we find this dehumanization in various forms. In one instance, it involves denying people their worth based on misconduct, background, or stereotypes. This doesn’t even have to be an absolute loss of value, as we know it from feudalism or as we repeatedly read in some feminist posts. Currently, the subtle gradations in value are more critical. And often they stem from one’s own feelings or worldview.

The second is our constant struggle against “human nature.” For us, it is completely normal for rules to take precedence over physical and emotional needs. We have a deep-seated belief that our society will collapse if we do not work against our humanity and suppress it. This begins, at the latest, in school. We find it completely normal to follow the dubious rule of punctuality like machines. That’s just a simple example.

Relics

Wherever we still see these structures, we know that we still have these patterns of thought. They may be hidden behind a pleasant facade, but they are there.

In the military, we have officers and soldiers. And it’s all about obedience (orders). “You must do what I say, simply because I have power over you.”
In companies, we have the CxOs, who are also officers. We have management and the staff. And the idea of “disciplinary” superiors is feudalistic.

Take a look around you and you’ll see that we have feudal structures almost everywhere, even though we “supposedly” live in a democracy.
We find it in most families and even in schools and churches. Feudalism is a worldview. And the first thing that shapes it is which side I’m on. Do I experience someone having power over me?

To recognize feudal thinking, we can use our concept of power and violence as markers—as warning lights.

Power & Violence

“Power is the ability to impose one’s will even in the face of resistance.” (Max Weber) This is a neutral description. It does not yet contain any judgment as to whether this is good or bad.

“Power is present wherever behavior is influenced—often invisibly, through norms, expectations, and structures.” (Michel Foucault)

And when we look at it neurologically, emotionally, and socially, we find that power goes hand in hand with violence. So we can easily distinguish between two basic forms of coexistence: violence-based or not.

Now the first question: Does anyone know a word for this “not”? Do we know of any examples of it? Do we believe that such a thing can exist?

It should be clear where I’m going with this. Feudalist thinking has become the collective worldview. We no longer even realize that things can be different. (Even when people tried to build socialism and communism, they did so within the framework of feudalist thinking. What remained were systems of violence.)

So that we can learn a very useful definition of violence, let’s take a quick look at how these concepts build upon one another.

• Purpose, or our shared goal: “What is best for the system?” This goal (in its specific form) represents a global optimum (from the system’s perspective). In a functional system, individuals do not each seek their own personal optimum; rather, we seek the mutual optimum because we know that this is the best state for all of us. Furthermore, this purpose also defines the system’s boundaries. We need something that defines the inside and the outside.
• Once the goal is set, we should understand human (emotional, psychological, social) basic needs and shape our lives so that they are fulfilled. The basic needs are connectedness and self-expression. And unsurprisingly, we see that both are socially meaningful basic needs, because they promote community actualization—that is, the development of the system (the group, the pack) into its natural best state.
• Connection requires a genuine relationship, and a relationship requires trust. We need enough secure reference points—especially those moments when it really matters, when we find ourselves in challenging or stressful situations.
• Trust requires boundaries. In a feudal mindset, we often confuse boundaries with rules. Rules tell others what to do so that I feel good. Boundaries, on the other hand, are entirely my responsibility. I know what I want and what I don’t want. I have a clear picture of my safe space or room to grow. Others know this too, and my boundaries are defined in such a way that I can maintain them at all times without having to control others (i.e., no rules).

Borders: the same freedom for everyone.

Rules: the same violation for everyone.

• Violence occurs when I am prevented from protecting my boundaries. “Violence is a violation of my basic needs that I cannot avoid. I cannot protect my boundaries.” I define boundaries in such a way that I can enforce them at any time. If I am prevented from doing so, then violence begins. Example: I want to leave a situation and am being held back. (In contrast, saying “Stop annoying me now or I’ll hit you” is not a boundary. That is violence itself.)
  Note: Violence always comes in two forms. In one case, I can actively force someone; in the other, I can withhold something. In terms of food, this would be overfeeding or starving someone. We primarily see the active form, but it accounts for only about 10%. Ninety percent of abuse takes place through deprivation, withholding, avoidance, or protection. We are starving. It looks harmless because no one is “doing” anything, but the internal effect is the same. Often, it’s even worse.
• Social development (through relationships) occurs when the boundaries of two people come into contact. It is a process of polishing that transforms a raw diamond into a brilliant one (see 3x Diamond). Violence, therefore, is the violation or infringement of my boundaries, as opposed to testing, examining, and adjusting my boundaries through my relationships with others.

And that gives us the answer to the question above: We can build systems that are violence-based or relationship-based. In the triadic model of the brain, the violence-based system would be the Gecko (brainstem, reptilian brain), and the relationship-based system would be the Limbi (the limbic system, or rather its seven subsystems). This is because social intelligence resides in the Limbi. We have, so to speak, a brain that allows us to build functional systems. In violent environments, this part is suppressed and operates in the negative realm. Our limbic system does not disappear when it is suppressed; rather, it becomes destructive.

Tension is good

Let’s keep this in mind: Violence = any situation in which I cannot effectively protect my boundaries, and: A healthy relationship = the friction of boundaries that I can regulate myself. So boundaries are not absolute.

And contrary to current perceptions, not every tension is violence; rather, it is only a forced violation of boundaries with no room for maneuver.

On the contrary, tension is an important element: “Everyone has the right to the free development of their personality, provided they do not infringe upon the rights of others and do not violate the constitutional order or the moral code.” (German Basic Law, Article 2)
A relationship is a negotiation. A process of friction and adjustment, a learning experience. My boundaries and your boundaries. Everything is valid at the same time. And a relationship works when there is a common intersection. Perhaps not on the surface, but at a deeper level. At the core. Otherwise, we are not part of a system.

Our new model has three major strengths:

1. It is experience-based
   • We do not start from external categories (“legal/illegal”), but rather from: agency, self-protection, and autonomy. We are therefore closely attuned to people. (No longer opposed to people and humanity, but rather, we integrate the essence of what it means to be human.)
   • This brings to light things that are often overlooked: emotional dependence, subtle pressure, and structural constraints.
2. It automatically integrates the three forms of violence
   • We bring together what Johan Galtung distinguished in his definition of violence: direct violence → I am being held back; structural violence → I am effectively unable to leave; cultural violence → I am not “allowed” to leave in my heart
   • In our model, all of these fall under the same category: prevented border security
3. It makes development understandable
   • The image of the “diamond” and the polishing process is interesting: development = boundaries clash, but remain manageable. This is quite close to modern psychological models: growth arises from tension + security, not from coercion

Challenge

Of course, a new model should also be viewed critically. We say: “I define my boundaries in such a way that I can uphold them at all times.” That’s a high standard. But we also want to expose feudalist thinking. So here are two questions to test that:

Question 1: Is that realistic in social systems?

In reality, there are always situations where boundaries cannot be fully controlled: children vs. parents; employees vs. employers; citizens vs. the state
If one takes the new definition strictly, then these systems would be inherently violent. That isn’t necessarily wrong—but it is a very strong statement.

Answer: Yes. Because in social systems, there is no “versus.” Either we are not part of the same system because we have different purposes, or we have a friction that we could utilize. Only in “asocial” systems is it about one side being right. The goal of this new definition of violence is to make exactly that visible. What we call feudalism or patriarchy are systems based on fear and violence because we are in a state of insecurity. But security comes only through relationships. Both systems are okay, but it must be clear where I stand. And there must be choices.

At the moment, society is structured in such a way that there is no alternative for people who do not want to live within systems of fear. We do not offer any alternatives or safe systems. If both options were available, then we would have a choice, and it would be interesting to see what happens.

Question 2: What about internal boundaries?

Often, boundaries are blocked not only externally but also internally: by fear, attachment, dependence, and conditioning. This raises the question: Is violence present even when I could act but am unable to do so internally? The new model tends to include this as well—and this makes it very far-reaching.

Answer: Absolutely yes. That is precisely the strength of the model. We also want to make this aspect visible. The cost of trauma lies precisely in the fact that it perpetuates violence over time. From this perspective, we can then determine what trauma truly is and have a vested interest in resolving it.

And it also becomes clear how and why trauma is often “imposed” from the outside. So if I impose my worldview, my trauma, on someone else based on laws, rules, norms, or morality, then that is violence. From this perspective, we can easily see that we have many defense mechanisms that exert violence.

What now?

It’s not easy to break 1,600 years of ingrained patterns. Things aren’t going to change overnight. What’s interesting is that, when we look more closely, we arrive at similar conclusions even though we start from different points: “Patriarchy is good”, Two perspectives on the world—and little overlap, Defensiveness – simply childish, So what is man really like? Good or evil?.

And, of course, everything about Gecko and Limbi.

At first, though, it’s all about you. It’s about realizing, “Hey, there’s an option. I’ve never experienced this before, but I feel that part of me wants it. And I realize there are some questions I’ve never asked because I thought, ‘That’s just the way the world is.’”

So ask those questions. Let’s ask questions together and try out alternatives.

(We’ve already touched on this topic in Feudalism: A Majority’s Perspective)

Der Beitrag Feudalism, Power, and Violence erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

Even though the scientific basis is limited, most of us can relate to the comfort zone model. There are various versions circulating online and in the literature; here, I’ll use the version that includes the comfort zone, the learning zone, and the panic zone that follows.

Comfort Zone Model 1.0

The idea behind this is simple and aligns quite well with Carol Dweck with her “Fixed vs. Growth Mindset”. If I stay only within my comfort zone, it shrinks. If I try to carefully expand my comfort zone, I repeatedly enter the learning zone (while avoiding the panic zone), and then both the comfort zone and the learning zone continue to grow.

This makes perfect neurological sense, because anything unfamiliar scares us (i.e., the gecko or panic zone). The more familiar it becomes, the more relaxed we are.

If we even learn how to learn, then learning itself (the change, or in this case, the expansion of the zones) becomes familiar, and we remain relaxed even as we explore.

Sounds cool, right?

And so incredibly simple. But why does it work for some things and not at all for others? Could it be that there’s another perspective—or another dimension—missing?

The Blind Spot: Limbi

If we look only at the neocortex—that is, if we view ourselves as intelligent machines—then this fits perfectly. But if we use a very simple model of the brain, one that already breaks it down into different functions, then the picture looks quite different.

This model is a bit outdated, but it’s perfectly adequate here and easier to understand than current neural network prediction models.

The basic idea is that the neocortex is responsible for rational thought—that is, all conscious thinking and decision-making. That’s great, and it’s the part that’s emphasized in education and training. The civilized view of humans is: Everything should be neocortex, and the rest should ideally be suppressed.

The second part—our Limbi or limbic system—is our emotional or social intelligence. This part of the brain is excellent for everything related to relationships or cohesion within a group. It’s about fulfilling basic emotional or psychological needs. Not just mine, but everyone’s in the group—in the system—because the fulfillment of basic needs can only succeed in a social context. Never alone, on one’s own.

In the civilized world, however, we want to suppress this because that part cannot be controlled or directed. It simply does its own thing. Just being social, which is directly opposing feudalism thoughts.

That is why, for many centuries in the civilized world, the greatest virtue has been to shut that part down. Traditionally, this has been even more so for men than for women. And even more so for the nobility than for the common people.

The problem: When Limbi is suppressed, he (or she) goes into resistance. Limbi keeps the reins in hand (because Limbi largely decides what information even reaches the neocortex), but he tends to work against our conscious decisions. We are torn.

And if our limbic system is rejected, then we don’t feel safe inside. We feel somehow wrong. So we live in fear. Our Gecko is also active all the time. We feel threatened everywhere, especially where we should actually be safe.

Model Update: Version 2.0

So when we factor in this worldview, we end up with a new model. Let’s break it down into three stages.

The first stage is “the world is hostile.” Danger lurks everywhere. Our lizard brain, the Gecko, is constantly on the move—always and everywhere. We’re in survival mode. The comfort zone isn’t safe; it’s just a familiar danger.

The basic assumption in this worldview is: If things are already this bad in my comfort zone, then they’re much worse everywhere else. And the outer edge is “coping.” So how can I numb or block out danger and everything unknown?

The second stage is based on a simple assumption: What if I was just unlucky (“the world is unfair”) and there was a disproportionate amount of danger in my “comfort zone”? I grew up in a place where there was danger, but there may be parts of the world that are much safer. This gives me the motivation to expand my comfort zone. I want to grow anyway, which is why the next zone is my growth zone.

When we make the real shift in our worldview in the third stage (from a hostile/dangerous world to a friendly one), that doesn’t mean we naively believe everything is a bed of roses. But we have a clear picture (and good tools) of where danger lurks and where it doesn’t. We can spot danger from a distance.

In the remaining areas, curiosity drives us. There is a large area that is familiar to us, an area where learning brings us joy (learning comes from joy, not from necessity), and the rest is adventure and discovery.

In this third stage, our limbic system is active and in balance. We are in life mode, not survival mode. This applies to about 2% of people.

But there is no reason why we cannot be among them.

Der Beitrag Comfort Zone 2.0 erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

Were you on the defensive or in a defensive stance? Was your first reaction to oppose it? Well, then you yourself are in protection mode, on the defensive. And that is neither right nor wrong, but rather the state that fits your life story.

That doesn’t mean, however, that things have to stay this way. You make that decision today.

To paraphrase a Chinese proverb, it would have been best 10 or 20 years ago, but the second-best time is now. So it’s great to have you here.

Let’s take a look at what patriarchy is—but also what it isn’t. And why we need better words for it.

A short story to explain: The 4-year-old sister was attacked by a dog. When he saw this, the 6-year-old brother stepped in. Both survived, but he also has severe bite wounds on his face. When asked why he did it, the boy says, “If one of us had to die, it should have been me.”

In all real-life stories, of course, these themes overlap. The willingness to sacrifice oneself is more about testosterone, but the response to danger—that is, protection—is the core of patriarchy.

Patriarchy describes our Gecko (brainstem), which is why the term is sexist and misleading. It encompasses all patterns of behavior, methods, techniques, and tools we use to protect and defend ourselves.

When we perceive or sense danger, we automatically switch to Gecko mode, to “patriarchy.” We protect ourselves, and in doing so, we also exert control over others. Everything else takes a back seat to the perceived danger.

Matriarchy is a different default state. It is the relationship mode. It is the connection, the trust, and the resulting sense of security within the pack.

Even though they may sound similar to us, protection and safety are actually opposites. From the perspective of a pack, they point in different directions. Protection is directed against external danger or threats. I safeguard the system. And safety is a state of peace and relaxation, of cohesion and a shared direction within the system.

When we demand safety (from the outside), we’re lost. We haven’t understood either side and are trapped in “patriarchy.” Whenever we try to impose something on others (people we don’t even know), we’re driven by fear and entrenched in patriarchy.

Outside the boundaries of our system, there can be no security. We cannot make any statements. If I have no data to calculate a probability, then I should assume a neutral environment. Often I do have data, in which case I adjust my assessment honestly.

Safety is calculated by our limbic system (our emotional/social intelligence). It is a probability function: How likely is it that I am safe in my current environment? This can range from 100% to 0%, though in practice it tends to fall between 87% and 13%. We rarely encounter the extremes.

Relationship and attachment mean that I have environments where I can make a very good assessment and, at the same time, feel a very high level of safety. In many families and environments we are forced into, we may have a lot of data, but a low level of safety. The basic idea of the pack is that both come together.

If you haven’t experienced a safe environment and want to force one out of desperation (instead of building it), you put yourself in a position of being controlled by others and create insecurity for everyone else. And all with the best of intentions.

If you see the statement “Patriarchy is good” as an attack and react defensively, then that statement has challenged a part of your worldview (or belief system). So you go into defense mode, into self-protection. In other words, you react with “patriarchy.”

In this situation, the Gecko isn’t really necessary. But it tells us another story.

If I write this so casually, it means there’s absolutely no danger to you. If you react anyway—if your Gecko is hyperactive—then that’s a warning sign. And that warning sign indicates a lack of safety.

Patriarchy (or the Gecko) is the emergency mode. Matriarchy (Limbi, or safety through connection) should be the default state.

Calling for “less patriarchy” completely misses the point. If we operate in protection mode internally, it’s because we lack a sense of safety. Protection mode is meant to fill the void left by that lack of safety.

If we want to feel less afraid, we need to build more safety. In other words, we need to develop and apply relationship skills.

I can’t get rid of darkness by simply saying, “Make it less dark.” The only way is to bring in more light. And it’s the same here. We have to actively build safety; then insecurity will disappear.

(More about the worldview in Two perspectives on the world—and little overlap)

Der Beitrag “Patriarchy is good” erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

(A sort of sequel to So what is man really like? Good or evil?)

When we observe how people interact with one another—in families, schools, workplaces, or even churches—a pattern emerges: people often act as if there were two fundamentally different kinds of worlds.

The first perspective assumes that the world is, at its core, dangerous or hostile. People must be controlled; otherwise, they make mistakes, take advantage of others, or act selfishly. Order is maintained through rules, control, and hierarchy.

The second perspective assumes that, at its core, the world is cooperative and capable of learning. People fundamentally want to contribute, learn, and act in a meaningful way when the environment is right. Order arises here not primarily through control, but through trust, a shared sense of direction, and responsibility.

These two worldviews are not abstract theories. They shape the way organizations operate every day.

The World of Management: Control Instead of Trust

The traditional management system is based on the assumption of a rather hostile world. If one assumes that people make mistakes, avoid responsibility, or act selfishly, then control seems logical. Decisions are made centrally, work is monitored, and rules are put in place to ensure that everything proceeds as intended.

In many organizations, this leads to a familiar pattern: people spend a large portion of their time on coordination, reporting, and seeking approval. In some projects, up to 60% of working hours are spent on coordination and reporting rather than on the actual work.

The problem here isn’t the intention. Most people act this way because they’re trying to reduce uncertainty. Control feels safer than trust.

But this logic has unintended consequences. It leads to political maneuvering, a fear of making mistakes, and a culture in which people become cautious. People are less likely to speak their minds and focus more on avoiding risks than on finding solutions.

The Other Perspective: Leadership as System Design

There is another way of looking at organizations. It starts with a simple observation: you can’t order people to work together. Trust, creativity, and commitment don’t arise simply because someone tells them to.

What you can do, however, is create an environment in which these things are more likely to happen.

From this perspective, leadership is not seen as control, but as the design of a system. The role of leadership is to provide clear direction—a shared purpose—and to create conditions in which people can use their abilities in a meaningful way.

This does not mean less structure. On the contrary: good systems are carefully designed. But they function in such a way that people can act as independently as possible.

A helpful analogy is the difference between traffic lights and roundabouts. Both regulate traffic, but in different ways. Traffic lights provide centralized control, while roundabouts create a system that is largely self-organizing.

Why psychological safety is key

When people are asked to work together in complex situations, they need a certain kind of environment. Researchers refer to this environment as psychological safety. The term describes a situation in which people do not have to fear,

• to be yourself
• to ask questions
• to contribute ideas
• or to question existing solutions.

Psychological safety does not mean that everything is pleasant or conflict-free. Rather, it means that conflicts are allowed to be constructive and that mistakes are viewed as part of the learning process.

This kind of safety develops in several stages.

First, people need to feel like they belong. Then they need the safety to be allowed to learn—that is, to ask questions and make mistakes. After that, they have the opportunity to contribute without their ideas being dismissed or appropriated. And only on this foundation does the fourth stage emerge: the freedom to question the status quo.

This final stage, in particular, is rare. While many organizations claim that criticism is welcome, in practice, few people actually dare to speak up.

Why genuine openness is so rare

There are several reasons why this kind of safety is difficult to achieve.

The first reason is power. In hierarchical systems, a gap automatically arises between those who make decisions and those who are affected by them. The wider this gap, the more cautious people become about offering criticism.

The second reason is status. People are social beings, and the loss of prestige or a sense of belonging can feel very threatening. That is why many people unconsciously weigh whether an honest opinion is worth the risk.

The third reason is group dynamics. Groups prefer harmony. Even when someone realizes that a decision is problematic, people often remain silent to avoid conflict.

These dynamics explain why genuine openness does not simply emerge just because it is officially permitted.

Collaboration thrives in networks, not in hierarchies

Another important insight concerns the structure of organizations.

Traditionally, teams are envisioned as having a leader who maintains relationships with all members, and these relationships are thought to hold the team together.

In reality, organizations function more like networks. People are more closely connected to a few individuals and less so to others. Information, trust, and collaboration flow along these relationships.

Therefore, the performance of a system depends less on individual people than on the quality of the network of relationships.

A single severely dysfunctional relationship can have a greater impact than many healthy ones. That is why, in social systems, it is often the outliers that matter—not the average.

The Role of Trust and Truth

In well-functioning systems, two factors play a particularly important role: trust and truth.

Trust isn’t built through grand gestures, but through many small moments. Every time someone acts reliably, takes responsibility, or communicates honestly, trust grows a little.

Truth, however, is a dimension of its own. In many organizations, it’s possible to treat one another with kindness—but difficult to speak uncomfortable truths.

This ability is crucial for innovation and learning. Systems can only improve if ideas, processes, and decisions are allowed to be openly questioned.

A healthy system therefore always protects the person, not necessarily their opinion or their idea. Personal worth is not up for debate, but every solution may be examined.

Why these questions are becoming more important today

Our working world is becoming increasingly complex. It is becoming increasingly rare for individual people or small groups to have a complete grasp of problems.

That is why collaboration is becoming a core competency of modern organizations. And collaboration only works well when people can contribute different perspectives.

If, on the other hand, systems generate fear or stifle criticism, they automatically diminish their own intelligence. They lose precisely the information they need to adapt.

What good leadership means in this context

From this perspective, the role of leadership is also changing.

Leadership is no longer primarily about making decisions or micromanaging work. The most important task is to provide direction and create a supportive environment.

A clear shared purpose helps people align their decisions. Trust and openness make it possible to identify problems early on. And a culture of learning ensures that mistakes are not covered up but are instead leveraged.

In such systems, people need less control because they understand where they are headed together.

Which worldview prevails?

Despite numerous studies and experiences, we still don’t know exactly how common such environments really are. Some estimates suggest that only a small fraction of organizations—perhaps just a few percent—achieve a consistently high level of psychological safety.

Most systems fall somewhere in between. There are areas marked by trust and openness, but also areas characterized by caution and conformity.

Perhaps this is inevitable. Organizations are made up of people, and people always bring their own experiences, fears, and hopes with them.

The crucial question, therefore, is not so much whether a system is perfect. What matters more is whether it is moving in a direction where trust, honesty, and collaboration can flourish.

Der Beitrag Two perspectives on the world—and little overlap erschien zuerst auf OrgIQ.

There are moments in life when we realize: we’re overreacting. Someone criticizes us—and it feels like an attack. Someone disagrees—and we immediately want to argue. Someone looks skeptical—and a monologue of self-justification begins inside us.

Objectively speaking, nothing dramatic has happened. And yet something inside us reacts as if our very existence were at stake.

Perhaps that’s because part of us still reacts like a sapling. A young oak sapling has two small leaves. A wild boar, a kick, a dry summer—and it’s gone. Its vigilance is existentially justified. But if this sapling survives, it grows. Over the years, it becomes an oak tree. And yet, many of us still carry the sapling’s state of alertness within us—even though we have long since developed sturdy trunks.

Defensiveness isn’t a flaw—it’s a defense mechanism

Many modern models describe different facets of the same phenomenon.

Carol Dweck talks about the fixed mindset: When identity is tied to competence, criticism becomes a threat.

In Radical Collaboration, Jim Tamm describes how quickly people become defensive as soon as they feel attacked.

Brené Brown shows that shame lies behind many defensive reactions—the fear of “not being enough.”

From a neurobiological perspective, our limbic system reacts faster than our conscious mind. It doesn’t check whether the threat is real—only whether it feels familiar. And social rejection was indeed dangerous in our evolutionary history. Belonging meant survival.

The problem arises when our system reacts to broken arms as if they were contagious. When we defend situations that objectively no longer pose an existential threat. Then the mechanism no longer protects us—it harms us.

The internal security architecture

Maturity does not mean no longer having defense mechanisms. It means that our sense of security changes.

A child needs external protection. An adult can develop inner resilience. In attachment research, this is referred to as “earned secure attachment”—an acquired inner sense of security. People who develop this sense of security no longer experience criticism as a threat to their identity, but as information. They feel emotions, but they are not overwhelmed by them.

It’s like a vaccination. The threat doesn’t disappear from the world. But the system knows it can handle it.

Openness does not arise from moral effort. It arises when our nervous system experiences safety. Stephen Porges’ polyvagal theory describes how social safety puts the body into a state in which cooperation becomes possible. Without safety, there is no dialogue. Without dialogue, there is no collaboration.

Vulnerability is not weakness—it is controlled strength

Vulnerability does not mean invulnerability. When a loved one dies, it will shake us to the core—no matter how “mature” we are. That is real pain.

What we’re talking about here is social pain that we inflict on one another because old defense mechanisms kick in. In organizations, this manifests as power struggles, stubbornness, blame-shifting, or withdrawal. Not because people are bad, but because they feel insecure inside.

Many people—consciously or unconsciously—hold the belief: “I’m not enough.” So they put on roles. Masks of competence. Masks of dominance. Masks of perfection. The illusion of an oak tree is meant to provide security. But masks are exhausting. They drain energy. And they prevent genuine connection.

True strength is quieter. It doesn’t need to prove itself. It knows its limits without becoming aggressive. It can say, “I’m insecure here”—without falling apart.

Context trumps character

Openness is not merely an individual trait. It is also a product of the system.

Through her concept of psychological safety, Amy Edmondson demonstrates that teams learn when mistakes can be addressed without fear. In toxic environments, even self-reflective people become defensive. In safe environments, even insecure people become more courageous.

Maturity, then, is not just a personal journey. It is also a matter of design. How do we structure organizations to reduce unnecessary threats? How do we decouple status from being right? How do we reward learning instead of winning?

This brings us full circle to organizational architecture: When structures intensify competition and the fear of losing face, defensiveness increases. When structures promote transparency, shared responsibility, and a sense of purpose, defensiveness decreases. Openness is then no longer just a call to action, but a likely reality.

More freedom of movement under pressure

Perhaps maturity is best described as an increase in inner freedom in the face of social pressure.

Not immunity. Not perfection. But the ability to choose.

The sapling reacts reflexively.

The oak feels the wind—and stands firm.

We are all both at times. And that’s okay. Growth doesn’t mean never feeling insecure again. It means recognizing more quickly when old patterns are speaking—and remembering that we have long since grown beyond them.

Openness is not a permanent state. It is a regulated state. And the more stable our inner security architecture becomes, the less often we need to defend ourselves. Not because the world is harmless. But because we are stronger than we think.

And perhaps true collaboration begins right there: not in the attempt to be perfect, but in the courage to stop pretending we are still more fragile than we have long since become.

Literaturverzeichnis

Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly.

Dweck, C. (2006). Mindset: The New Psychology of Success.

Edmondson, A. (2018). The Fearless Organization.

Porges, S. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory.

Tamm, J., & Luyet, R. (2005). Radical Collaboration.

Siegel, D. (2012). The Developing Mind.

Neff, K. (2011). Self-Compassion.

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