Spineless, but with attitude: The psychological profile of the modern follower.

Heinrich Mann wrote it in 1914. Over a hundred years later, he still walks the streets, sits in meetings, applauds on command, denounces on demand, and considers himself an upright man. Diederich Hessling, the subject, the prototype of the authoritarian character in the Wilhelmine Empire—he hasn't died. He's only changed emperors. Today, the emperor is called consensus, fact-checker, expert, or mainstream. And Diederich cowers just as deeply as he did back then, with the same gleam in his eyes, the same sense of mission, and the same complete absence of independent thought.

Let this sink in: A novel published in 1914 describes the psychological profile of the average conformist of the early 21st century with a precision that should render any self-respecting analyst of contemporary trends obsolete. This is either proof of Mann's otherworldly genius or a devastating assessment of the human species' capacity to learn. Probably both.

Diederich's basic structure is both simple and ingenious: kowtowing to those above, kicking those below. Towards the powerful, he's like wax – malleable, obsequious, enthusiastic. Towards the weak, he's steel – hard, arrogant, and often even denouncing. This sadomasochistic duality isn't a contradiction; it's the system. Those who completely submit to those above need an outlet below. Diederich finds it. He always finds it. Does that ring a bell? It should.

Let's think back to the Corona years – that historic laboratory experiment in which the density of Hessling-types in the population could be measured nationwide for the first time. Millions of Diederichs flourished. They wore masks not out of conviction, but out of obedience – and with an enthusiasm that nipped any suspicion of independent thought in the bud. They reported neighbors sitting in groups of ten in the park. They photographed those who disobeyed and sent the pictures to the police. They declared friends enemies because they asked the wrong questions. In doing so, they portrayed themselves as the moral vanguard, as the responsible ones, the protectors of the community, the reasonable ones. Diederich would have wept with pride.

The crucial aspect of Hessling's psychology is not obedience per se—it is the inner emptiness that drives him. Mann describes him as a child as soft, anxious, and insecure. Someone without a stable identity, who only feels complete when belonging to a group. To the student fraternity Neuteutonia. To the Kaiser loyalists. To the Orthodox Christians. Diederich doesn't need the herd despite his weakness—he needs it because of it. The herd gives him what he cannot give himself: meaning, support, the feeling of being on the right side.

Today the herd goes by a different name. It calls itself "science," or "solidarity," or "against hate and incitement." Its function is identical. Those who belong are safe. Those who doubt are out. And out—as Diederich knows from experience—is dangerous. So he doesn't doubt. He has forgotten how to doubt, if he ever could.

His opportunism isn't cynically calculated, but almost genuinely sincere – which makes it all the more frightening. Diederich truly believes in whatever is currently in power. He adapts his convictions to those in power and considers this insight. Yesterday he was against the unvaccinated, today he's against climate change deniers, tomorrow against AI skeptics – and each time with the same absolute moral certainty, capable only of someone who has never learned to observe their own thinking.

Denunciation is the logical outcome of this structure. Those who lack substance compensate by controlling others. Diederich reports, denounces, corrects, and lectures. Not out of malice—that would be too simplistic. But because tracking down dissenters gives him the feeling that he himself is on the right side. Every denounced individual is proof of his own orthodoxy. The cancel culture of the 21st century is not a modern phenomenon. It is Diederich Hessling with a Twitter account.

What no one could have foreseen is the scalability of this personality type. In the German Empire, the average Joe needed physical proximity: school, factory, regular pub, clubhouse. Today, he only needs Wi-Fi. Millions of Joes can synchronize in real time, mutually reinforce their convictions, and collectively lash out at dissenters—all without ever having shared the same space. The herd has globalized. The subject has scaled.

The good thing about being an optimist is that Diederich is ultimately a coward. As soon as the wind shifts, he changes sides. As soon as power changes, he changes sides. He has no convictions to defend because he never really had any – only loyalties, and those lie with the stronger party. This makes him dangerous in times of stable power and surprisingly harmless when that power begins to crumble. The bad thing is that until then, he causes considerable damage.

Heinrich Mann drew him in 1914. He didn't invent him—he recognized him. That's the difference. And anyone walking the streets today, scrolling through comment sections, sitting in offices, or issuing fines for non-compliance with vaccination requirements will recognize him too. You just have to be willing to look. Diederich Hessling isn't history. He's the present. He's simply changed his guise. The character remains the same—meticulous, obedient, dangerous, and utterly convinced he's doing the right thing.