When I try to identify what is most lacking in our societies in the face of the peculiar challenges of our age, I invariably return to the same observation: what is missing is not only a material resource, nor even a technical skill, but a form of fundamental education. Not education in the general sense—for our schools abound with disciplines and knowledge—but a specific education, whose absence strikes me as more glaring with each passing day: education in psychology.
We are taught from childhood to speak, to read, to write, to count. These basics are indispensable; no one would contest them. Then come the more specialized subjects, intended to open us to the world: biology, history, geography, foreign languages, ethics. All these fields help us understand our environment, explore its rules, grasp its forces and fragilities. Yet one question remains, insistent: why are we not taught, with the same rigor, to understand the most immediate and decisive terrain of all—ourselves?
In the educational system I knew, and that my children know today, there are no courses in psychological education. There is, to be sure, sexual education—necessary for public health, precious for intimate and collective life. But nothing resembling a systematic training in how our mind functions, how emotions are born, how thoughts and reactions take shape. Nothing that helps us grasp why we believe what we believe, why we feel what we feel, and what illusions threaten us if we ignore these mechanisms.
This absence is no detail: it shapes the way we live, the way we build our societies, even the way we approach the question of happiness. It explains much of our contemporary fragility, of our vulnerability to disinformation, to extremist dogmas, to toxic leaders. It also explains why so many of our lives, despite the abundance of knowledge available, struggle to find a clear and peaceful orientation.
This is why I wish to defend here a simple idea, with immense consequences: it is urgent to integrate education in psychology from the earliest age, as a full-fledged discipline of our common formation.
Disinformation and Conspiracism: The Role of Cognitive Biases
Among the perils threatening our societies, the massive spread of false information and the proliferation of conspiracy theories hold a central place. One could analyze them through sociological, economic, or technological causes; but another angle, more decisive still, is too often neglected: that of psychology.
For to understand why we believe unfounded stories, why we share dubious content, why we allow ourselves to be drawn into logics of suspicion and extreme simplification, we must first understand how our own mind works. This is the field called metacognition: the ability to understand why I think what I think. The word may sound intimidating, but it covers a simple reality: learning to observe the mechanisms of one’s thought, to detect its automatisms, to identify its flaws.
Here one element is decisive: knowledge of cognitive biases. Our brain, saturated with information, uses shortcuts to process what it perceives more quickly. These shortcuts are not in themselves defects: they allow us to decide swiftly, to act without analyzing every detail. But they become dangerous when we ignore their existence, for then we fall prey to them.
In the precise field of disinformation, two biases dominate with formidable force: the bias of simplicity and the bias of negativity. The first leads us to prefer short, clear, linear explanations, even when reality is complex, nuanced, resistant to simplification. The second inclines us to give greater weight, greater attention, greater credibility to what is dark, threatening, alarming, rather than to balanced or positive accounts.
These two biases mesh perfectly with the logic of social networks. The era of centralized mass media—newspapers, radio, television—with their editorial filters, their newsrooms, their verifications, however imperfect, is over. We now inhabit an open market of information where the value of content is judged not on its truth, but on its ability to capture attention. And this market is governed by algorithms designed to maximize time spent before screens. These algorithms privilege neither nuance, nor complexity, nor veracity; they privilege what catches the eye and provokes reaction. And what does so most, what spreads best, are precisely the simplistic and negative contents.
Thus adolescents, young adults—and also their parents, even their grandparents—are left to face, without cognitive defenses, a ceaseless flow of messages tailored to their biases. We then feign surprise that conspiracism thrives, that rumors ignite, that false information spreads at lightning speed. And it is not a question of age or experience, since studies conclude that older generations, sometimes caricatured as “boomers,” are among the populations that share deceptive content most massively.
How can we be surprised at such vulnerability, when no learning, no training, no initiation into psychology has been given upstream? How can we be surprised that we fall prey to what flatters our most immediate mental reflexes, when we are unaware those reflexes exist?
The first barrier against disinformation and conspiracism is therefore not technological. It does not lie only in developing fact-checking software or stricter moderation policies. It lies upstream, in the intimate awareness each should have of their own biases, their own cognitive weaknesses. Without this lucidity, we are prisoners of the traps our own mind sets for us. With it, on the contrary, we can begin to resist—not by rejecting wholesale what we read, but by learning to interrogate our certainties, to question the ease and darkness of the explanations offered to us.
This is why I believe that education in psychology is not an ornament, nor a luxury for the initiated, but a condition of intellectual and democratic survival.
Extremist Beliefs and the Need for Certainty
The question of conspiracism naturally leads us to a broader field: that of extremist beliefs and dogmatism, in all their forms. Whether it be traditional religions taken literally, absolutist political ideologies, or conspiracy theories pushed to radicality, the underlying mechanism is the same: the human mind desperately seeks to transform uncertainty into certainty.
This is an essential trait of our brain. Uncertainty is painful. It engenders rumination, endless questioning. It provokes unpleasant emotions: fear, anger, anxiety. These emotions, in turn, create real suffering—sometimes physical, always psychic. And faced with this malaise, our mind is programmed to find an escape. It most often finds it by clinging to an explanation, any explanation—so long as it puts an end to the vertigo of doubt.
Here again cognitive biases intrude. Confronted with a painful event it does not understand, the brain prefers a clear, sharp answer: one that names the culprit, identifies the responsible, assigns blame. An answer that moreover carries a shadow, a threat, a danger—for this darkness draws our attention, seizes our energy, gives the story an emotional intensity that makes it more convincing.
Thus extremist beliefs are born. They provide certainty in exchange for doubt, a simple explanation in exchange for complexity, a negative narrative in exchange for the discomfort of uncertainty. And it matters little that this explanation be false, truncated, or manipulated: it fulfills its psychological function, which is to soothe anxiety.
Understanding this mechanism is crucial. For without such lucidity, we remain persuaded that our certainties are the fruit of objective reasoning, when they are often the hasty responses of a brain seeking to escape the pain of doubt. Once this process is revealed, we can begin to mistrust it: to question our certainties, to test them, to accept that they may be fragile, perhaps erroneous. We can learn to say: “This conviction I hold is not necessarily a truth, but perhaps a crutch my mind has built to protect me.”
Yet such learning is demanding. It requires gradually accustoming oneself to bearing uncertainty, to dwelling in that uncomfortable space of not yet knowing, of still searching. To me, this is one of the great paradoxes and challenges of our existence: to be human is to have the cognitive capacity to conceive of one’s uncertainties, while having great difficulty bearing them emotionally.
To educate in psychology would be to introduce early into children’s minds this idea: uncertainty is part of life, and bearing it without rushing into the arms of the first simplistic explanation is a strength. It may even be one of the most precious strengths for avoiding dogmatic excesses, whether religious, political, or ideological. For extremism is born less from an excess of conviction than from an incapacity to inhabit doubt.
The Choice of Leaders and the Role of Psychopaths
Another domain where the absence of psychological education proves dramatic is that of choosing our leaders, whether political or economic. We live in elective systems we continue to call “democratic,” but which in reality resemble aristocracy in the original sense: government of the “best.” Yet how can we claim to elect the best if we have received no training that allows us to identify the personality traits truly suited to exercising power?
One concept here is decisive: that of the psychopathic personality. Much has been written on this term, sometimes caricatured, but its determinants are clear. The psychopath is first of all an individual devoid of empathy. He feels no remorse, no guilt at the suffering he inflicts on others. His central interest is himself: his power, his glory, his image. All else is secondary.
These traits, in ordinary life, can lead to destructive behavior. But in the worlds of business and politics, they become competitive advantages. For it is much easier to be a leader if one fears nothing of others’ pain. A mass layoff, for example, which would torment an empathic leader, rob them of sleep, plunge them into rumination and anxiety, costs the psychopath nothing. He can make the decision, execute it, and sleep soundly that very night. This detachment is chillingly effective.
So too in politics: a statesman concerned with truth suffers from contradictions, lies, fear of deceit. A psychopath does not. He says whatever serves his seduction, without concern for coherence or accuracy. What matters is not that his statements are true, but that they achieve the desired effect on opinion.
Thus personalities like Elon Musk in the economic sphere, Steve Jobs before him, or Donald Trump in politics, impose themselves as tutelary figures. Observing their behavior toward employees, partners, or the public, listening to the testimonies of those who worked with them, it is hard not to see the characteristic traits of the psychopath: absence of remorse, indifference to suffering, constant instrumentalization of others for personal ends.
The trap is that such personalities can fascinate. To those who do not understand the mechanism, they appear as superhuman: capable of radical decisions, flamboyant speeches, actions that a “normal” person would not dare to attempt. We come to admire them, to believe they possess singular strength, superior courage. In reality, they are not superhumans: they are—if I may use the word cautiously—subhumans: beings who lack essential qualities of humanity, such as empathy, sensitivity to others’ judgment, capacity to be moved by others’ suffering.
This lack, far from being a weakness, becomes in our social structures a formidable asset. It allows such individuals to climb more easily to power, to hold positions of command, to exercise domination without being hindered by the scruples that restrain others. Available studies suggest that while the proportion of psychopathic personalities in the general population is a few percent (1 to 5% depending on studies), it rises sharply among leaders—reaching, according to some sources, around 15 to 20% among business executives and political figures (1).
This is why education in psychology is indispensable: it would provide everyone with a framework to identify such personalities, to understand why they fascinate, why they seduce and persuade, and above all why they prove destructive once in power. It would help us not to work for them, not to elect them, not to buy their products, not to entrust them with our societies.
For the true tragedy today is that our political and economic systems, lacking citizens educated in these realities, too often place their reins in the hands of the least worthy.
The Capacity for Happiness
If education in psychology is necessary to resist disinformation, to avoid extremism, to better choose our leaders, it is equally so for a more intimate and universal reason: to learn how to be happy.
Our collective morality has changed compass over the centuries. For a long time, it was centered on God: norms of behavior were defined in reference to religious transcendence. Then, with modernity, it shifted toward the reduction of suffering, the idea that our laws and rules must above all limit the pain inflicted on individuals. And today, in our secularized societies, morality tends toward an even more explicit aim: to allow individuals to be happy.
But if this is our compass, why do we not teach from school onward what psychological research has already established about the determinants of happiness? Why do we let everyone stumble in the dark, chasing chimeras, when we already possess solid data on what, over time, contributes to a good life?
The most famous example is no doubt the Harvard longitudinal study, begun more than ninety years ago and continuing to this day. Popularized notably by a TEDx talk, it shows with impressive consistency that the most decisive factor for living happily and in good health is neither wealth, nor fame, nor even professional success, but the quality of positive and lasting social ties. It is our relationships—deep, stable, built on trust—that determine our long-term well-being more than any other parameter (2).
This is a conclusion of luminous simplicity, and yet so rarely integrated into our life choices. How many lives exhaust themselves chasing material or symbolic goals while neglecting the fabric of human relations that, in truth, grounds our happiness? How many of our public policies, educational models, economic strategies miss this obvious fact?
If we taught these results from school onward—if we explained to children that happiness lies not in accumulation or competition, but in building quality social bonds—perhaps we would orient differently our individual and collective trajectories. Perhaps we would make fewer mistakes in conceiving our lives, our societies, our priorities.
In this sense, education in psychology is not only a tool of vigilance or protection. It is also a school of practical wisdom: a way of learning to live better, to orient our desires toward what truly fulfills us.
Across these examples—the proliferation of false information, the rise of extremist beliefs, the difficulty of recognizing and avoiding psychopathic personalities, the confused quest for happiness—one truth emerges: we lack an inner compass. We have multiplied knowledge, refined our techniques, accumulated understanding of the external world. But we have not learned, collectively, to understand ourselves.
This is why I believe education in psychology is the most urgent discipline to introduce into our educational system. Not as a supplement, but as a foundation. For it is the condition of everything else: without it, we are skilled readers yet credulous, educated citizens yet manipulable, competent workers yet vulnerable to toxic leaders, modern individuals yet defenseless before the question of happiness.
To learn to read, to write, to count, is to learn to decipher the external world. To learn psychology is to learn to decipher oneself. And without this key, all our education remains incomplete. That is why, of all the disciplines we might add to school, this one seems to me the most fundamental.
(1) J. Blais, E. Solodukhin, and A. E. Forth, “A Meta-Analysis of the Prevalence of Psychopathy in Adult Samples,” Frontiers in Psychology 12 (2021), https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2021.695; Trust My Science, “A Study Reveals that 5% of the Adult Population Are Psychopaths,” August 21, 2021, https://trustmyscience.com/etude-revele-5-pourcent-population-adulte-psychopathe/; University of San Diego, “Professor’s Study Finds 12 Percent of Corporate Leaders May Be Psychopaths,” March 28, 2022, https://www.sandiego.edu/news/detail.php?_focus=81705; Olivier Faye, “No, 20% of CEOs Are Not Psychopaths,” Le Monde, September 26, 2016, https://www.lemonde.fr/les-decodeurs/article/2016/09/26/non-20-des-patrons-ne-sont-pas-psychopathes_5003596_4355770.html; Wikipedia, “Psychopathy,” Wikipedia, accessed August 26, 2025, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopathy.
(2)Harvard Longitudinal Study (Study of Adult Development, initiated in 1938); popularized by Robert Waldinger in a 2015 TEDx Talk (What Makes a Good Life? Lessons from the Longest Study on Happiness).
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