Civil Burnout

Foreword: In recent months, many of my texts have discussed reactance—in my view, a key and often missing piece of the puzzle when it comes to understanding the current situation in Germany, not only on a political level but also within our organizations. It does not affect all sectors or all parts of the population, of course, but the phenomenon occurs frequently and strongly enough that it is worth examining. This article explores the question of what comes after reactance. Skepticism, withdrawal, and resistance to persuasive pressure are by no means the final steps. There are further steps possible: resignation and civil burnout—and at the highest foreseeable level, something that could be described as “paradoxical revenge motivation.” As mentioned, this by no means applies to everyone. But it does apply often enough.

Engagement fades quietly. It is not one major crisis that can be marked with a date. What we are experiencing now is not a “bang,” but it may well have the consequences of one.

In many conversations with teachers, operations managers, nurses, public administrators, social workers, and leaders of volunteer organizations, I hear the same tone. The tone is not loud, rather tired. Not angry, but empty. Most continue to work, persevere, stay — but they no longer believe that things will get better.

In this “no longer believing that things will get better” lies the real disruption. I would like to give this rupture a name: civil burnout.

This is neither laziness nor deliberate refusal. Civil burnout is rather the result of chronic overstrain — not merely due to the (perceived) burden itself, but due to the experience that one's own actions hardly make any difference, if any at all.

The logic is: No matter how hard you try, no matter what you attempt — it doesn’t help, the crisis remains. When people make an effort, have ideas, try to change things — and yet lose the sense that their actions have any effect or bring improvement, they may still function for a time, but internally, they begin to “somehow give up”.

These people are still present. But at some point, they are no longer truly involved.

Neglect of duty does not start at the grassroots level — it starts higher up: in government agencies, political bodies, and larger organizations. Neglect of duty begins when leadership merely manages instead of leading; when people stop asking: Why are we doing this in the first place? … When the budget becomes more important than the direction of action, when decisions are made just to keep the situation calm rather than to solve real problems. The resulting structural disorientation trickles down. It creates resignation — or significantly contributes to the resignation already taking hold.

When significant efforts remain without impact, when people try to make a difference, propose ideas, and attempt new paths — but these efforts receive no response or result — then the individuals involved learn that their actions no longer make a difference. The result is a phenomenon known in research as “learned helplessness.”

Those who have such experiences eventually stop acting. Not because they don’t want to, but because they learn that it makes no difference — that it doesn’t matter whether they act or not — because there is no noticeable effect.

This gives rise to a kind of emotional frost, a form of restraint that settles like mildew over one’s inner drive. Initiative withers. The system continues to function — but it no longer “lives.”

Deep beneath this numbness, something eventually begins to stir — not hope, but rather sarcasm or even anger. It does not stop at learned helplessness; instead, it shifts — into defiance. In research, there is also a term for this: reactance.

The official definition is: resistance to persuasive pressure. When I see something differently and am told that I’m not even allowed to see it that way, reactance arises. Reactance is the attempt to defend one’s own perspective and to shield the self from persuasive pressure. Someone showing reactance says of himself or herself: I felt helpless, but I did not abandon my perspective, and if you now say that I’m wrong, then I say to you: “Now more than ever! No matter what you say next: I’m against it!”

From the other perspective — especially from those who consider themselves “progressive” — this naturally appears to be radicalization. But it is by no means (only) a (self-)radicalization; in many cases, those showing “reactance” are the product of an interaction process between skepticism and rejection on the one side, and persuasive pressure and moral instruction on the other.

This is hardly surprising when you consider that the “promise of societal progress” is fading. Five years ago (in 2020), more than half of people aged 40 to 60 said that their lives had improved over the previous five years. Today, only about a quarter of 40- to 60-year-olds say the same. These numbers come from representative surveys in Lusatia, a region in Germany often considered structurally weak. But perhaps this is not so much the result of structural weakness or demographic stress, but rather a harbinger of what may happen in other parts of Germany and Europe — when populations there also grow older and increasingly feel that, while they can vote, they are no longer truly represented. The 40- to 60-year-olds are often those raising children, volunteering in their communities, holding leadership roles, or paying off a mortgage.

This is not about a snapshot in time. What is described here is rather the slow collapse of a hope long taken for granted: that work pays off, that commitment and effort make a difference, that democracy is about majorities, that tomorrow will be better than today — or that children will have it better than their parents. When this hope fades, the societal or institutional function may still remain — but it erodes because there is no longer a connection, no shared foundation.

This is not a “collapse” in the classical sense. It is a slow drifting — a functioning without heart, a society idling in neutral: Reactance gives way to resignation. When resistance to persuasive pressure no longer helps, I lean back, I give up. The external order remains. But the inner connection, the quiet “I do this because I believe in it” — has disappeared.

The so-called “civil society” may have only seemed like an attractive goal as long as it didn’t yet exist. The “real existing” civil society of today has, in the eyes of many people, little to do with what was once meant by that term. Many people no longer know why they pay taxes or why they should vote. When people mentally check out, it is rarely due to a lack of motivation. It stems from a lack of connection, from an absence of meaning, from a system that demands performance but no longer explains what it’s for.

Ultimately, everything we choose to afford together as a society is financed through taxes. But when skepticism grows — when people doubt that what the government does contributes to a functioning commonwealth, or when government measures put formerly strong industries under extreme pressure — and this is accepted with open eyes — and when that same government simultaneously plans new state initiatives that incur costs rather than creating the framework for generating taxable innovation — well, then it’s not just the people who lose faith. Often enough, what also awaits at the end of the tunnel is insolvency.

Leadership must continually convey meaning: Why does this task exist? Without a sense of purpose, any (additional) task quickly leads to exhaustion. Learned helplessness arises when initiative falls into a void. Leaders should therefore systematically provide small signs of impact: “What you did made a difference,” or “Your idea is interesting, and we’re considering how to implement it,” or “That wasn’t in vain.” Impact is not a coincidence. It arises through feedback.

In times of uncertainty, fake certainty does not help — and certainly not lecturing. What helps are honest spaces: team meetings where everything can be said. The greatest strength of leadership is not in always having the right answer ready, but in honest presence: “Right now, we don’t know exactly how things will proceed — but we’ll get through this together.”

People can sense when “those at the top” are no longer truly at the helm. That’s when leaders are needed who acknowledge this impression, do not downplay it, but translate it downward: “I see that we currently have little tailwind. But I want to try to stay on course together with you.” Truthfulness cannot replace missing certainty — but it creates connection.

When people react dismissively, sarcastically, or even cynically, it is often a sign of disappointed attachment. Such reactions do not need sanctions — but an invitation:

“I sense that you’re skeptical. What’s behind that?” People who resist have not yet given up. Showing interest is not an “extra.” It is precisely what creates connection when systems have become cold and anonymous.

Perhaps most importantly: people need a vision of tomorrow.

Not in the sense of posters on the wall — but as a credible, tangible sense that things can get better.

Leadership means not just seeing the path forward, but being able to narrate it. Those who cannot envision tomorrow get stuck in today — or retreat into yesterday.

Otherwise, a further and dangerous escalation level may follow — the one mentioned at the beginning: the “paradoxical revenge motivation.”

At first, I may have been skeptical (Stage 1), then I rejected something (Stage 2). The developments that followed didn’t reduce my rejection — they intensified it. At some point, I began doing the opposite of what was called “reasonable” from above, especially when I felt patronized (reactance; Stage 3). Rejection then became the default. But when I started to feel that even my rejection, even my “opposing” actions, had no effect, I resigned and withdrew (Stage 4). From this point, everything appears the same — one’s own actions no longer seem to matter, and everything appears to be heading down the drain anyway. And if everything seems meaningless, many people paradoxically become active — they act out of a kind of revenge (Stage 5): If everything is going down anyway, then it doesn’t matter — I’ll vote for someone who wants the opposite, just so that “those up there,” who no longer listen or represent me as they promised, will finally be gone. No matter the cost. Everything is breaking down anyway — if the current people stay, it breaks down; if the others take over, maybe it gets better, maybe not — it makes no difference. The main thing is that these cursed do-gooders, liars, and promise-breakers finally disappear.

Can someone feel excitement at the risk of collapse?

Probably yes — especially if they’ve felt misunderstood for years and their disappointment has turned into a disillusionment so strong that they feel they must avenge the deception they fell for.

Paradoxical? Sure.

Illogical? Maybe.

But in any case: psycho-logical.

Political forces who ignore this do so at their own risk. I, for example, would predict that if the SPD disappears from the election results in Saxony over the coming years, it will not return.

Jörg Heidig

PS: Not every reader will be able to fully follow the argument presented here. There may, for example, be a difference between something being “understandable” (comprehensible) and “intelligible” (graspable under certain conditions or with effort). This text may trace what could be seen as specifically East German patterns — which may not be relatable from all perspectives. But that does not mean they don’t exist or aren’t worth thinking about. What I describe here is by no means a “pan-German reality”, but rather, I believe, an important facet of reality — and particularly one that offers insight into what may happen if growing parts of the electorate continue to feel little or no representation.

The picture above was created with the help of an AI.