Mark: Most self-help tells you to heal your past trauma. This book says trauma doesn't exist. Most advice says to improve your relationships. This book says to stop trying so hard. It’s one of the most popular and polarizing books of the last decade for a reason. Michelle: That’s a heck of an opener. It’s like it’s designed to make you angry, or at least incredibly curious. And it succeeds. It’s a book that’s been a massive bestseller, especially in Asia, but it also generates some seriously heated debate online. Readers seem to either call it life-changing or dangerously simplistic. There’s not much in between. Mark: And that's why we're diving into The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga. It’s a book that doesn't just offer tips; it tries to rewire your entire operating system. Michelle: Right. And what’s fascinating is that Kishimi isn't just a psychologist; he's a philosopher specializing in ancient Greek thought. The whole book is written as a Socratic dialogue between a cynical youth and a patient philosopher. It makes so much sense once you realize he's not just giving answers, he's trying to get you to question everything. Mark: Exactly. It’s less a 'how-to' guide and more of a philosophical earthquake. And it starts with the biggest tremor of all: its view on the past.

Mark: The foundational idea of Adlerian psychology, which this book is all about, is a complete rejection of what we typically think of as psychology. We’re all used to the Freudian idea of etiology—the study of causes. The idea that your present unhappiness is caused by something in your past. A bad childhood, a traumatic event, a difficult relationship. Michelle: Yeah, that’s basically Psychology 101, right? Cause and effect. Something bad happens, and it leaves a scar that affects your behavior for years. Mark: Adler flips that entirely. He champions something called teleology—the study of purpose. He argues that we are not driven by past causes, but by present goals. Your experiences don't determine who you are. Instead, you use your experiences to justify the person you want to be right now. Michelle: Hold on, Mark. Are you seriously saying that if someone has a traumatic childhood, it has no impact on them as an adult? That sounds... incredibly dismissive. I can see why this is the book's most criticized point. It feels like it’s verging on victim-blaming. Mark: It’s a tough pill to swallow, and it’s meant to be. Let me use one of the book's key stories to explain. The philosopher talks about a young man’s friend who has been a shut-in for years. He wants to go out, he wants to have a job, but the moment he tries to leave his room, he's overcome with anxiety, his heart pounds, his hands shake. Michelle: Okay, a classic case of social anxiety, probably rooted in some past event, like severe bullying or a family issue. That’s the etiological view. Mark: Exactly. But the Adlerian, or teleological, view is different. The philosopher argues the friend isn't staying inside because he has anxiety. He is creating the anxiety so he can achieve his goal of staying inside. Michelle: Creating it? Why on earth would he want that goal? Mark: The philosopher suggests the goal is to get his parents' undivided attention and concern. By being a troubled, reclusive child, he forces his parents to worry about him, to care for him, to make him the center of their world. The anxiety and the shaking hands are not a disease that befell him; they are tools he is unconsciously using to maintain his special status within the family. He has a goal—to not face the world and to be cared for—and he manufactures the symptoms he needs to achieve it. Michelle: Wow. That is a harsh reframing. It takes the power away from the past event, the "trauma," and puts the responsibility squarely on the individual's present choices. It’s a powerful idea, but it feels so counterintuitive. Mark: It is. And it applies to smaller, everyday emotions too. The philosopher tells another story about being in a coffee shop. A waiter accidentally spills coffee all over his brand-new suit. He flies into a rage, shouting at the waiter. Later, he reflects on it. Michelle: And his first thought is probably, "The waiter spilling coffee caused my anger." Mark: Right. But the philosopher challenges him. Was the anger an uncontrollable flash flood of emotion? Or was it a tool? He argues the man could have just said, "Hey, you spilled coffee on me. Here's my dry-cleaning bill." But he didn't. He chose to use the tool of anger. Why? Because the goal was to intimidate the waiter, to make him submit quickly and without argument. Shouting is more efficient than a calm discussion. He fabricated the rage to achieve a goal. Michelle: Okay, I can see that more clearly with anger. It can be performative. You can turn it on and off. The book gives an example of a mother screaming at her daughter, but when the phone rings and it’s the teacher, her voice instantly becomes polite and sweet. Then she hangs up and goes right back to yelling. The anger was a tool to dominate her daughter, not an uncontrollable force. Mark: Precisely. And if that's true for anger, Adler argues it's true for our entire life story. We are not defined by the raw materials of our past. We are the artists who choose what to build with them. We give our past experiences the meaning that suits our present purpose.

Michelle: Okay, so if we're all driven by these present goals, and most of our goals inevitably involve other people—wanting their approval, their love, their respect—it sounds like a recipe for constant, tangled-up conflict. Mark: It is. And that's where Adler gives us a radical tool to manage that conflict. It’s maybe the most practical and powerful idea in the whole book: the separation of tasks. Michelle: Separation of tasks. Sounds a bit corporate. What does it mean? Mark: It’s a very simple, but very difficult, principle. In any interpersonal situation, you have to ask one question: "Whose task is this?" And the way you figure that out is by asking, "Who is ultimately going to receive the result of the choice being made?" Michelle: Can you give an example? That’s a little abstract. Mark: The book uses a perfect one: a child who won't study. The parents are worried. They want their child to get good grades, go to a good college, have a good life. So they try to force the child to study. They hire tutors, they ground him, they yell at him. Michelle: That sounds like normal parenting to me. A parent's job is to make sure their kid studies. Mark: But is it? Let's apply the rule. Who ultimately receives the result of the choice to study or not to study? Michelle: The child, of course. It’s their grades, their future. Mark: Exactly. Therefore, studying is the child's task. When the parent tries to force the child to study, they are intervening in the child's task. And what happens when someone intrudes on your task? You rebel. The child senses the parent is doing this not for his benefit, but to satisfy their own needs—their social appearance, their desire for control. So he resists, often by refusing to study even more. Michelle: So what is the parent's task in this situation? To just let the child fail? Mark: No. The parent's task is to build a relationship of trust where the child knows they can ask for help. The parent can say, "Studying is your responsibility, but if you ever need help, I am right here, ready to support you." They make themselves available, but they don't intrude. They can lead the horse to water, but they can't make it drink. Trying to force it just makes the horse fight you. Michelle: Okay, that makes sense with a child. But what about the real world? Let's take the book's example of an unreasonable boss who yells at you for no reason and never acknowledges your hard work. You can't just tell your boss, "Your anger is your task, not mine," and expect to keep your job. Mark: You're right, you don't say it out loud. The separation of tasks is an internal framework for your own freedom. Internally, you recognize that whether the boss likes you or not, whether he chooses to be angry or not—that is his task. It’s about his emotions, his management style, his problems. Your task is to do your job to the best of your ability. By separating the tasks, you uncouple your self-worth from his approval. Michelle: So you’re not trying to change him. You’re just refusing to let his issues become your burden. You draw a line. His feelings are on his side of the line; your work and your well-being are on yours. Mark: Precisely. The philosopher uses a great metaphor for this. He talks about Alexander the Great and the Gordian Knot—an impossibly complex knot that legend said could only be untied by the future ruler of Asia. Everyone tried to painstakingly unravel it. Alexander just took out his sword and cut it in half. The separation of tasks is that sword. It’s a radical cut that severs the tangled-up expectations of others that hold you back.

Mark: And cutting that Gordian Knot of needing approval—from your boss, your parents, your partner, from anyone—that takes immense courage. Michelle: The courage to be disliked? Mark: That's it. That's the title and the ultimate destination of this philosophy. The book argues that this is what true freedom is. If you are living a life where no one ever dislikes you, it’s a sign that you are not living freely. You are constantly compromising, bending, and shaping yourself to fit other people's expectations. Being disliked by someone is the price of freedom, and it's a price you should be willing to pay. Michelle: That’s a powerful thought. We spend so much energy trying to get everyone to like us, and this book says that very effort is the cage. Mark: But it's crucial to understand that this isn't a license to be a jerk. The courage to be disliked isn't about becoming an isolated, antagonistic person. It's powered by the final, and most beautiful, piece of the puzzle: what Adler calls "community feeling." Michelle: Community feeling. What does that entail? Mark: It’s the feeling that you have a place in the world, that you are a valuable part of a larger whole. And the way you achieve that feeling is by shifting your focus from "What can I get from others?"—like recognition and approval—to "What can I give to others?" Michelle: So it’s about contribution. Mark: Yes. Happiness, in Adlerian psychology, is simply the feeling of contribution. It doesn't have to be some grand, world-changing act. Helping a family member, doing your job well, offering a kind word. When you feel "I am useful to someone," you gain a deep sense of your own worth. And when you have that internal sense of worth, you no longer need external validation from others. You don't need them to like you. Michelle: And that gives you the courage to be disliked. It all connects. If your happiness comes from your own sense of contribution, then someone else's disapproval of you becomes their task, not yours. It loses its power. Mark: You've got it. The book tells one last story that ties it all together, about a young woman who comes to the philosopher for counseling. She has a debilitating fear of blushing. She can't confess her feelings to a man she likes because she's terrified she'll turn red. Michelle: So her "symptom" is the blushing. Mark: Yes, but what's her goal? The philosopher suggests her goal is to avoid the potential pain of rejection. The fear of blushing becomes the perfect excuse. "I can't confess my feelings because of this condition. If only I didn't blush, then I could be happy with him." It protects her from the task of forming a real relationship. Michelle: So her cure isn't about getting rid of the blushing. It's about finding the courage to face the task of the relationship, regardless of the outcome. Mark: Exactly. It's about finding the courage to contribute to that relationship, to be vulnerable, and to accept that he might dislike her or reject her. Her freedom and happiness lie on the other side of that fear.

Mark: So the journey the book takes you on is incredible. It starts by telling you to stop being a prisoner of your past. Then it gives you a sword—the separation of tasks—to cut yourself free from the expectations of others. And finally, it shows you where to walk once you're free. Michelle: Towards contribution. Towards a community feeling. It’s not about being an island. It’s about finding your worth by being part of a continent, but on your own terms. It’s a really hopeful message, despite the harshness of the initial ideas. Mark: It is. It redefines happiness not as something you achieve, but as a state of being you inhabit when you feel useful. It’s not about being special; it’s about being normal and contributing in your own way. Michelle: It really boils down to one question the philosopher quotes from Jewish teachings, doesn't it? "If you are not living your life for yourself, then who is going to live it for you?" It's a tough question, but the book argues the answer is the key to everything. Mark: It’s a huge idea, and we know it can be jarring. We'd love to hear what you think. Does this feel liberating or dangerous? Let us know your thoughts on our social channels. We're always curious to see how these ideas land. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.