Book review: Patrick Lencioni's The Five Dysfunctions of a Team
Not just the books — the entire rack.
Her reasoning is flawless: it takes up too much space. And in a house where every square foot is accounted for, a creaky wooden shelf packed with dog-eared paperbacks is apparently the ultimate enemy of domestic order.
I've managed to fend her off over the years. But recently, while cleaning up and rearranging — a task that was itself a surrender to the inevitable march of adulthood — I pulled a book from the rack that stopped me cold.
Patrick Lencioni's The Five Dysfunctions of a Team.
It was a gift from my boss back in 2007. A boss who, I should add, was more than a boss. He was — and remains — a genuine mentor. The kind who doesn't just tell you what to do, but shows you how to think. The kind who gives you books and trusts you'll actually read them.
I read this one. Twice. Maybe three times.
And as I sat there, dusting off the cover and flipping through pages that still had my margin notes — tiny scribbles in a handwriting that's slightly more chaotic than I remembered — I realized something.
This book isn't just about teams.
It's about everything.
The Tangents Are Intentional
At some point, you might feel this post is wandering. That I'm taking a left turn when you expected a right. That the story about my mom and a bookshelf has nothing to do with corporate strategy.
That's intentional. Bear with me.
Because what I'm actually doing is mapping Lencioni's framework — his model of trust, conflict, commitment, accountability, and results — onto something larger than a boardroom. I'm mapping it onto society. Onto the way we live, and the way we don't.
This isn't a tangent. It's the whole point.
The Crux
That's intentional. Bear with me.
Because what I'm actually doing is mapping Lencioni's framework — his model of trust, conflict, commitment, accountability, and results — onto something larger than a boardroom. I'm mapping it onto society. Onto the way we live, and the way we don't.
This isn't a tangent. It's the whole point.
The Crux
The core of Lencioni's book is deceptively simple.
The key to any relationship — personal or professional — is trust.
He puts it this way: "Trust is related to communication."
The more you communicate, the more you talk, the more you share, the more you meet — and therefore, generally, the more you trust. Trust is inherent to communication. You can't have one without the other.
The five dysfunctions, in order, are:
Each one builds on the last. If you don't have trust, you fear conflict. If you fear conflict, you can't commit. If you can't commit, you avoid accountability. And if you avoid accountability, you stop caring about results.
But it all starts with trust.
What Trust Actually Means
The key to any relationship — personal or professional — is trust.
He puts it this way: "Trust is related to communication."
The more you communicate, the more you talk, the more you share, the more you meet — and therefore, generally, the more you trust. Trust is inherent to communication. You can't have one without the other.
The five dysfunctions, in order, are:
- Absence of trust
- Fear of conflict
- Lack of commitment
- Avoidance of accountability
- Inattention to results
Each one builds on the last. If you don't have trust, you fear conflict. If you fear conflict, you can't commit. If you can't commit, you avoid accountability. And if you avoid accountability, you stop caring about results.
But it all starts with trust.
What Trust Actually Means
Here's what Lencioni means by trust — and this is where it gets personal.
Trust is feeling comfortable and confident in a relationship. It's when someone can tell you something good or bad about yourself without the fear of conflict.
Let that sit for a moment.
When someone comes to you and points out a flaw in your project plan, they are showing trust. Not disrespect. Not a power play. Trust. They're saying, "I believe you are secure enough to hear this."
Your reaction sets the boundary.
If you react badly — defensively, angrily, dismissively — you've just taught that person not to trust you. Next time, they'll stay quiet. They'll let you fail. They'll protect themselves, because you've shown that protecting your ego is more important than solving the problem.
But if you listen. If you discuss. If you resolve.
You've just built something. You've gelled the relationship. You've created a bond that makes the next conversation easier, and the one after that easier still.
This is the foundation of every great team. And also, as I'm about to argue, every great society.
The Attitude Hypothesis
Trust is feeling comfortable and confident in a relationship. It's when someone can tell you something good or bad about yourself without the fear of conflict.
Let that sit for a moment.
When someone comes to you and points out a flaw in your project plan, they are showing trust. Not disrespect. Not a power play. Trust. They're saying, "I believe you are secure enough to hear this."
Your reaction sets the boundary.
If you react badly — defensively, angrily, dismissively — you've just taught that person not to trust you. Next time, they'll stay quiet. They'll let you fail. They'll protect themselves, because you've shown that protecting your ego is more important than solving the problem.
But if you listen. If you discuss. If you resolve.
You've just built something. You've gelled the relationship. You've created a bond that makes the next conversation easier, and the one after that easier still.
This is the foundation of every great team. And also, as I'm about to argue, every great society.
The Attitude Hypothesis
Lencioni makes another point that's worth sitting with.
Observation and performance are coherent.
What does that mean? It means that if a person has an attitude of performing well, they'll perform anywhere. Make them a cobbler, they'll be a great cobbler. Make them a doctor, they'll be a great doctor.
The attitude comes first. The skill follows.
This isn't about talent. It's about mindset. It's about showing up, paying attention, and caring about the outcome. Those qualities transcend role, industry, and circumstance.
You can't fake them. And you can't teach them to someone who doesn't already have them.
But you can, through trust, create an environment where they flourish.
The Story Inside the Story
Observation and performance are coherent.
What does that mean? It means that if a person has an attitude of performing well, they'll perform anywhere. Make them a cobbler, they'll be a great cobbler. Make them a doctor, they'll be a great doctor.
The attitude comes first. The skill follows.
This isn't about talent. It's about mindset. It's about showing up, paying attention, and caring about the outcome. Those qualities transcend role, industry, and circumstance.
You can't fake them. And you can't teach them to someone who doesn't already have them.
But you can, through trust, create an environment where they flourish.
The Story Inside the Story
In Lencioni's book, he tells a story about a team of highly qualified professionals who can't stand each other. They're brilliant. They're accomplished. And they're completely dysfunctional.
One member — the Chief Technologist — spends every meeting typing on his laptop, disengaged from the conversation. Others snipe at each other, form alliances, and avoid the hard conversations.
A consultant is brought in. She drags them out of their comfort zones. She forces them to talk to each other. She creates a space where they can even yell at each other — not from anger, but from passion — without breaking the trust.
Yelling. Imagine that. In a workplace, a department head questioning another department head's decision. That doesn't usually happen. It only happens where trust prevails.
Eventually, they figure it out. They make a decision. They fire a shot that actually lands — not at each other, but at the problem. And they succeed.
It's a simple story. It's also a profound one.
The Pyramid
One member — the Chief Technologist — spends every meeting typing on his laptop, disengaged from the conversation. Others snipe at each other, form alliances, and avoid the hard conversations.
A consultant is brought in. She drags them out of their comfort zones. She forces them to talk to each other. She creates a space where they can even yell at each other — not from anger, but from passion — without breaking the trust.
Yelling. Imagine that. In a workplace, a department head questioning another department head's decision. That doesn't usually happen. It only happens where trust prevails.
Eventually, they figure it out. They make a decision. They fire a shot that actually lands — not at each other, but at the problem. And they succeed.
It's a simple story. It's also a profound one.
The Pyramid
There's a figure in the book. A pyramid. Lencioni's model is visual — trust at the base, results at the top. And everything in between is the work.
I looked at that pyramid and thought: what would happen if we applied this to society?
Society, Trust, and the Silence Between Us
I looked at that pyramid and thought: what would happen if we applied this to society?
Society, Trust, and the Silence Between Us
Here's the problem I see.
We don't trust each other. And the reason is simple: we don't communicate.
Not really. Not meaningfully. Not enough to build the kind of trust that sustains relationships through difficulty.
And this plays out in the smallest, most mundane moments.
Scenario 1: The car at the Traffic Signal
We don't trust each other. And the reason is simple: we don't communicate.
Not really. Not meaningfully. Not enough to build the kind of trust that sustains relationships through difficulty.
And this plays out in the smallest, most mundane moments.
Scenario 1: The car at the Traffic Signal
Imagine this.
You're driving a Suzuki FX. Yes, I know that's a specific choice. But trust me, the vehicle matters here. You're in the front lane at a traffic signal. The light turns green. You take five seconds — just five — before moving.
Behind you, a guy in a larger, shinier, infinitely more impatient vehicle looks at you like he wants to swallow you whole, unfried and with bones. He yells. He honks. He gestures in ways that are not appropriate for public spaces. He releases a cloud of negative energy into the world, and you absorb it.
Why?
Because there's no trust. There's no relationship. There's no reason for him to extend grace. You're an obstacle, not a human.
Scenario 2: The Same Signal, the Same Five Seconds
You're driving a Suzuki FX. Yes, I know that's a specific choice. But trust me, the vehicle matters here. You're in the front lane at a traffic signal. The light turns green. You take five seconds — just five — before moving.
Behind you, a guy in a larger, shinier, infinitely more impatient vehicle looks at you like he wants to swallow you whole, unfried and with bones. He yells. He honks. He gestures in ways that are not appropriate for public spaces. He releases a cloud of negative energy into the world, and you absorb it.
Why?
Because there's no trust. There's no relationship. There's no reason for him to extend grace. You're an obstacle, not a human.
Scenario 2: The Same Signal, the Same Five Seconds
Now imagine this.
You're driving the same Suzuki FX. The light turns green. You take five seconds — again, just five — before moving.
But this time, before the light changed, you turned to the driver behind you. You waved. You smiled. You said, "Assalam-o-alaikum" — peace be upon you — or just a simple "Hello, how are you?"
And they smiled back. A nod. A wave. A moment.
Now, you take 27 seconds to move. The light is green. The entire intersection is waiting. And the guy behind you? He doesn't say a word. He waits. Maybe he's impatient. But he doesn't yell.
Why?
Because you talked. You made contact. You acknowledged his existence. And something in him — something deeply human — shifted.
This isn't magic. It's Lencioni's framework, applied in real time.
The Natural Instinct
You're driving the same Suzuki FX. The light turns green. You take five seconds — again, just five — before moving.
But this time, before the light changed, you turned to the driver behind you. You waved. You smiled. You said, "Assalam-o-alaikum" — peace be upon you — or just a simple "Hello, how are you?"
And they smiled back. A nod. A wave. A moment.
Now, you take 27 seconds to move. The light is green. The entire intersection is waiting. And the guy behind you? He doesn't say a word. He waits. Maybe he's impatient. But he doesn't yell.
Why?
Because you talked. You made contact. You acknowledged his existence. And something in him — something deeply human — shifted.
This isn't magic. It's Lencioni's framework, applied in real time.
The Natural Instinct
I believe there's a natural human instinct at work here.
After we talk to someone, our actions incline toward politeness. We're less likely to be rude to someone we've just greeted. We're more likely to extend grace. We're more likely to see them as a person, not a obstacle.
This is what Patrick calls the trust-light turning on.
A small interaction. A single moment of connection. And suddenly, the road becomes a shared space instead of a battlefield.
And you can use "Assalam-o-alaikum" — or any greeting, really — as a tool to break the ice. It's not about religion. It's about recognition. It's about saying: "I see you. You're not invisible."
The Model
After we talk to someone, our actions incline toward politeness. We're less likely to be rude to someone we've just greeted. We're more likely to extend grace. We're more likely to see them as a person, not a obstacle.
This is what Patrick calls the trust-light turning on.
A small interaction. A single moment of connection. And suddenly, the road becomes a shared space instead of a battlefield.
And you can use "Assalam-o-alaikum" — or any greeting, really — as a tool to break the ice. It's not about religion. It's about recognition. It's about saying: "I see you. You're not invisible."
The Model
At the end of Lencioni's book, there's a section called "The Model." I want to share part of it with you, because it's worth reading slowly.
He writes:
And then he lists the five things:
He adds:
That last line is the punchline.
It's simple. It's not easy.
The Society Question
He writes:
"As difficult as it is to build a cohesive team, it is not complicated. In fact, keeping it simple is critical..."
And then he lists the five things:
- They trust one another.
- They engage in unfiltered conflict around ideas.
- They commit to decisions and plans of action.
- They hold one another accountable for delivering those plans.
- They focus on the achievement of collective results.
He adds:
"If this sounds simple, it's because it is simple, at least in theory. In practice, however, it is extremely difficult because it requires levels of discipline and persistence that few teams can muster."
That last line is the punchline.
It's simple. It's not easy.
The Society Question
So let me ask you.
What would happen if we applied this to society?
What if we trusted each other more — starting with small interactions, like traffic signals and grocery store lines?
What if we engaged in unfiltered conflict around ideas — respectfully, passionately, without personal attacks?
What if we committed to decisions and plans of action — not just for ourselves, but for our communities?
What if we held each other accountable — not with shame or judgment, but with genuine care?
What if we focused on collective results — on outcomes that benefit everyone, not just our own narrow interests?
I don't have neat answers. But I think Lencioni's framework is a start. A blueprint.
Because a society without trust is a society that's stuck. It can't move. It can't grow. It can't solve the problems that require collaboration.
And the smallest act of communication — a wave, a greeting, a moment of eye contact — is the beginning of something bigger.
The Team Assessment
What would happen if we applied this to society?
What if we trusted each other more — starting with small interactions, like traffic signals and grocery store lines?
What if we engaged in unfiltered conflict around ideas — respectfully, passionately, without personal attacks?
What if we committed to decisions and plans of action — not just for ourselves, but for our communities?
What if we held each other accountable — not with shame or judgment, but with genuine care?
What if we focused on collective results — on outcomes that benefit everyone, not just our own narrow interests?
I don't have neat answers. But I think Lencioni's framework is a start. A blueprint.
Because a society without trust is a society that's stuck. It can't move. It can't grow. It can't solve the problems that require collaboration.
And the smallest act of communication — a wave, a greeting, a moment of eye contact — is the beginning of something bigger.
The Team Assessment
At the very end of the book, Lencioni shares a team assessment technique. A table. A set of questions. A way for teams to diagnose their own dysfunction and begin the work of repair.
I think we need something similar for society. A way to measure how we're doing. A way to ask ourselves: are we building trust, or eroding it? Are we engaging in the hard conversations, or avoiding them? Are we committing to the shared good, or retreating into our own corners?
But I don't think that assessment is a document. I think it's a daily practice.
It's how you respond to the person behind you at the traffic signal. It's how you listen to the colleague who points out a flaw. It's how you show up — consistently, imperfectly, but intentionally.
The Bookshelf
I think we need something similar for society. A way to measure how we're doing. A way to ask ourselves: are we building trust, or eroding it? Are we engaging in the hard conversations, or avoiding them? Are we committing to the shared good, or retreating into our own corners?
But I don't think that assessment is a document. I think it's a daily practice.
It's how you respond to the person behind you at the traffic signal. It's how you listen to the colleague who points out a flaw. It's how you show up — consistently, imperfectly, but intentionally.
The Bookshelf
So I kept the book. Obviously. My mother, I suspect, will make another attempt on the bookshelf soon. She is patient, and her conviction about the value of square footage remains unshaken.
But I need to keep the book. Not for the content — though it is good, and worth rereading. But as a reminder.
A reminder that trust is the foundation. That communication is the spark. That the smallest moments — a greeting, a wave, a moment of shared recognition — are not trivial.
They are the work.
And if we can do that work — in our teams, in our relationships, in our society — then maybe we can build something that matters.
Something that lasts.
Salam
A greeting. A simple one. A small one.
A word of peace.
It's not complicated. In theory.
In practice, it requires the discipline to pause, to see, to connect — even when you're in a hurry, even when the light has just turned green.
But that's the work. That's always been the work.
So here's my invitation to you.
Next time you're at a traffic signal, or in a line, or passing someone on the street — try it.
A wave. A nod. A smile. A simple acknowledgment.
Notice what happens.
You might just build something worth keeping.
But I need to keep the book. Not for the content — though it is good, and worth rereading. But as a reminder.
A reminder that trust is the foundation. That communication is the spark. That the smallest moments — a greeting, a wave, a moment of shared recognition — are not trivial.
They are the work.
And if we can do that work — in our teams, in our relationships, in our society — then maybe we can build something that matters.
Something that lasts.
Salam
I'll leave you with this.
A greeting. A simple one. A small one.
A word of peace.
It's not complicated. In theory.
In practice, it requires the discipline to pause, to see, to connect — even when you're in a hurry, even when the light has just turned green.
But that's the work. That's always been the work.
So here's my invitation to you.
Next time you're at a traffic signal, or in a line, or passing someone on the street — try it.
A wave. A nod. A smile. A simple acknowledgment.
Notice what happens.
You might just build something worth keeping.
