Michael: Here’s a thought experiment, Kevin. What do you think is the biggest threat to your mental health in the 21st century? Kevin: Oh, that’s easy. The news cycle, my phone, the constant stress, the fear of missing out... basically, all the negativity. Michael: That’s what we all think. But what if the most dangerous thing isn't negativity at all? What if it's positivity? The relentless, smiling, "you-can-do-anything" culture we live in. What if that isn't your friend? What if it's the very thing burning us all out? Kevin: Whoa, hold on. Positivity is the villain now? That sounds completely backward. You’re saying ‘yes’ is more dangerous than ‘no’? Michael: That is the radical, and I think brilliant, argument at the heart of The Burnout Society by Byung-Chul Han. Kevin: Byung-Chul Han... I've heard his name. He's a philosopher, right? But with a really unusual background, I think? Michael: Exactly. He's a South Korean-born German philosopher who actually started out studying metallurgy. This gives his work a unique, almost clinical precision, like he's diagnosing the structural failures in our society. And this book, though it's incredibly short—you can read it in an afternoon—has had a massive cultural impact for putting a name to the exhaustion so many of us feel. Kevin: I’m intrigued. A metallurgist diagnosing society’s metal fatigue. Okay, so if positivity is the problem, where did this all start? Weren't things supposed to be harder in the past, with more rules and more things you couldn't do?

Michael: That’s the perfect question, because it gets to the core of Han’s first big idea. He argues we’ve undergone a massive, silent paradigm shift. We used to live in what the philosopher Foucault called a "Disciplinary Society." Kevin: Disciplinary Society. That sounds ominous. Like prisons and strict schools? Michael: Precisely. Think of a world defined by negativity. It was a world of walls, rules, prohibitions. Its key words were "Should Not" and "May Not." Society produced madmen and criminals, people who broke the rules. The symbols were hospitals, prisons, barracks, factories. There were clear boundaries, clear structures of authority telling you what to do. Kevin: Okay, so a world of external constraints. Got it. What changed? Michael: Han says that society has been replaced by the "Achievement Society." Its symbols are no longer prisons, but fitness studios, office towers, banks, and shopping malls. The dominant word isn't "Should Not" anymore. It's "Can." Kevin: "Can." As in, "You can do it!" "You can be anything you want to be!" "Nothing is impossible!" That’s the mantra of our entire generation. Michael: Exactly. And on the surface, that sounds like liberation. We've torn down the old walls. But Han argues this has created a new, far more insidious form of control. To understand it, he uses a powerful analogy from the world of medicine. He says the 20th century was an "immunological" era. Kevin: Immunological? Like, our immune systems? Michael: Yes. Think about how an immune system works. It's all about distinguishing between self and other, inside and outside, friend and foe. It attacks what is foreign. The 20th century, especially during the Cold War, was structured like that. There was a clear "us" and a clear "them." A clear enemy. Kevin: Right, the Iron Curtain. A literal wall. You knew who the "other" was. Michael: But what happens when that other disappears? Han uses the example of the modern tourist. The "foreign" is no longer a threat to be defended against. It's an "exotic" experience to be consumed and posted on Instagram. The alien has been defanged and turned into a commodity. Kevin: I can see that. So instead of building a wall to keep the enemy out, we're paying for an Airbnb in their house and rating the experience. That's a wild shift. But what's so bad about that? It sounds... nicer. More open. Michael: It sounds nicer, but it leaves us without the "other" that once defined us. Without an external enemy to fight, where does all that aggressive energy go? Kevin: Uh oh. I have a feeling I know the answer. It turns inward. Michael: It turns inward. And that’s the terrifying paradox Han points out. The violence of this new society isn't from an external enemy. It's systemic, it's internal. He calls it "neuronal violence."

Kevin: Neuronal violence? What does that mean? Is my brain literally punching itself? Michael: In a way, yes. Han’s language is so precise here. He says the signature illnesses of the past were bacterial or viral—infections from the outside. The signature illnesses of the 21st century are neuronal: depression, ADHD, borderline personality disorder, and burnout. These are not infections. They are, in his words, infarctions. Kevin: Infarctions. Like a heart attack. A blockage from within. Michael: Exactly. It’s a system collapsing from over-heating, from an excess of positivity. When the governing principle is "You Can," there are no limits. The pressure to perform, to optimize, to achieve becomes infinite. And since there's no external master forcing you to do it, you do it to yourself. Kevin: That’s the self-exploitation he talks about, right? Michael: Yes. This is maybe the most chilling and recognizable quote from the book for me. He says the achievement-subject, the modern person, is "predator and prey at once." You are the one cracking the whip, and you are also the one pulling the cart until you collapse. Kevin: Wow. Predator and prey. That is a perfect description of anxiety. It’s the voice in your head that says, "You could be doing more. You could be more productive. Why are you resting? That person on LinkedIn just got a promotion." It’s a voluntary prison. Michael: It’s a prison where the bars are made of freedom. The freedom to achieve becomes a compulsion to achieve. And this leads to the central tragedy of the achievement society. Han says the old disciplinary society produced madmen and criminals. Our achievement society? It produces depressives and losers. Kevin: Depressives and losers. That’s harsh, but I see the logic. You feel like a failure not because you broke a rule, but because you didn't live up to your own infinite potential. Michael: And that’s where he lands his most profound point about depression. He says the complaint of the depressive individual, that feeling of "Nothing is possible," can only occur in a society that thinks, "Nothing is impossible." The exhaustion comes from chasing an infinite horizon. You're tired from the war, but the war is with yourself. Kevin: Honestly, that feeling of "creative fatigue" he talks about... that hits close to home. It's not just being physically tired, it's feeling like your well of ideas has just run dry because you’ve been trying to force it for so long. Michael: That’s the burnout. It's a psychic infarction caused by an overdose of the Same—the same drive for performance, the same self-optimization, the same positivity. The book is highly rated by readers, but this is the part that seems to resonate most deeply, this feeling of being exhausted by our own ambition. Kevin: Okay, this is getting a little bleak. We've shifted from a society of rules to a society of endless, exhausting possibility. We've become our own slave drivers. Is there a way out? Or are we all just doomed to become these self-exploiting "animal laborans," as he calls them?

Michael: Thankfully, Han offers a path out. And it’s beautifully counter-cultural. The solution isn't a new productivity hack or a better time-management system. It's about embracing the very things our hyperactive society fears most: doing nothing. Kevin: Doing nothing? You mean like, boredom? My phone gives me a panic attack if I'm bored for more than ten seconds. We are conditioned to see boredom as a personal failure. Michael: And Han would say that’s the core of the problem. He makes a critical distinction between the frantic, scattered state of hyperattention and a state of deep, contemplative attention. Hyperattention is what we do when we're multitasking—juggling emails, notifications, and conversations. He says this is actually a regression. It's the state of a wild animal, constantly vigilant, scanning for threats and opportunities. An animal can't get deeply absorbed because it might get eaten. Kevin: And we live like that all the time. My attention is constantly split between ten different things. I'm never fully present in any one of them. Michael: Exactly. And that state, he argues, can never lead to culture or profound thought. For that, you need what he calls "deep boredom." He quotes the philosopher Walter Benjamin, who called deep boredom a "dream bird that hatches the egg of experience." Kevin: A dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. That’s poetic. So boredom isn't an empty void to be filled with scrolling, it's a nest for new ideas? Michael: It’s the necessary fallow period for the mind. If you’re constantly busy, you only ever reproduce and accelerate what you already know. True innovation, a new direction, only comes when you tolerate the discomfort of boredom long enough for a new path to reveal itself. He uses a simple but brilliant analogy: the difference between walking and dancing. Kevin: Walking versus dancing? How does that work? Michael: A person who is just restlessly walking is still governed by achievement. They're trying to get somewhere. But if they tolerate the boredom of just walking, they might invent a new form of movement altogether, one that isn't about efficiency but about expression. They might invent dancing. Dancing is a luxury movement, free from the principle of achievement. Kevin: That's so true. When I'm just "busy," I'm just rearranging the same old ideas. The real breakthroughs, the real creative leaps, only seem to happen in the shower, or on a long, aimless walk, when my brain is finally quiet enough to dance. Michael: And this leads to his final, and perhaps most beautiful, idea. It’s about tiredness. He says just as there are two kinds of attention, there are two kinds of tiredness. Kevin: Okay, I know the first one. The soul-crushing, isolating exhaustion of burnout. The "I can't even talk to you right now" kind of tired. Michael: That’s what he calls "I-tiredness" or "solitary tiredness." It’s a violence that severs all connection. It isolates you in your own private hell. But he contrasts this with what he calls "fundamental tiredness" or "we-tiredness." Kevin: "We-tiredness"? What on earth is that? Michael: It’s a deep, reconciliatory tiredness. It's the feeling after a long day of meaningful work with people you trust. It’s a tiredness that doesn't isolate you but makes you feel more open to the world, more connected. It’s a tiredness that allows for a long, slow gaze, for wonder. It’s a tiredness that trusts the world. It’s the inspiration that tells you not what you should do, but what you need not do. Kevin: A tiredness that gives you permission to just... be. That sounds less like exhaustion and more like peace. Michael: It is. It’s a tiredness that founds a community. Not a community of frantic activity, but a community of shared presence. He calls for a society that reclaims the Sabbath, a day of "not-to," a day dedicated to the useless, to what is not work.

Kevin: So, wrapping this all up, what's the one big idea we should take away? It feels like Han is saying our modern definition of "freedom" is a complete and utter trap. Michael: Exactly. The ultimate insight is that true freedom isn't the positive power to do anything and everything. In our achievement society, that has become a command. The real freedom is what he calls "negative potency"—the power not to do. Kevin: The power to say no. Michael: More than that. It's the power to pause, to resist the stimulus of the next notification, the next project, the next opportunity for self-improvement. In a world that is screaming "You Can!", Han suggests the most revolutionary and spiritual act is to be able to say, "I would prefer not to." Not out of the apathetic exhaustion we see in a character like Melville's Bartleby, but out of a sovereign, conscious choice to reclaim our attention and our spirit from the hysteria of work. Kevin: That's powerful. It’s not about being lazy; it's about being sovereign over your own mind. It makes you wonder... what's one thing you're doing right now, not because you have to, but just because you feel you can or should? And what would happen if you just... stopped? Michael: A great question for everyone to reflect on. This book is a diagnosis, but it's also an invitation to a different way of being. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Find us on our social channels and share your experience with the "pressure to achieve." How does it show up in your life? Kevin: This is Aibrary, signing off.