Humankind

We treat cynicism as a mark of sophistication. Believing the worst about people—that they are fundamentally selfish, lazy, and panicked in a crisis—is seen as worldly and realistic. Hope, in contrast, is often dismissed as naive. Yet, this default pessimism has a hidden, corrosive cost. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. When we design our schools, workplaces, and societies around the assumption of human selfishness, we actively create the very behavior we expect. We build systems of control, surveillance, and punishment that strip away trust and autonomy, and then point to the resulting disengagement as proof that people can't be trusted. What if this entire foundation is built on a myth? What if the most pragmatic and revolutionary act is to assume the best in others, not the worst?

This question became an obsession for historian and journalist Rutger Bregman. He noticed a profound disconnect between the bleak headlines and academic theories portraying humanity as depraved, and the countless real-world instances of cooperation and kindness he encountered. This was a practical puzzle for him. He saw how this negative view of human nature was justifying policies and systems that were making life worse. So, Bregman, known for his provocative work on ideas like universal basic income, embarked on a sweeping investigation. He dove into 200,000 years of human history, from prehistoric times to modern psychological experiments, searching for an answer to a simple, yet monumental question: are people, at their core, good or evil? The result is a book that aims to dismantle the cynical assumptions we've been taught and offer a new, more hopeful, and ultimately more realistic, foundation for how we see each other and build our world.

Module 1: The Myth of Human Savagery

We've all been told the story. When civilization collapses, we revert to our true, savage selves. This idea is everywhere. It’s in novels, movies, and even our political theories. Bregman argues this "veneer theory" of civilization is a complete myth.

The most famous example is William Golding's novel, Lord of the Flies. British schoolboys get stranded on an island. They quickly descend into tribalism and murder. This story became a cultural touchstone. It convinced generations that without rules, we are monsters. But here's the thing. It's fiction.

Bregman uncovers a real-life Lord of the Flies. In 1965, six Tongan boys were shipwrecked on the deserted island of ‘Ata. They survived for fifteen months. But they didn't turn on each other. Instead, real-world survival depends on cooperation, not conflict. They worked in teams. They tended a garden. They settled arguments with a time-out system. When one boy broke his leg, the others set it perfectly and nursed him back to health. They were rescued in excellent physical and mental shape. Their story was one of friendship and ingenuity.

This pattern appears again and again. During the Blitz in World War II, experts predicted mass hysteria in London. They thought society would collapse under German bombs. The opposite happened. People remained calm. They helped their neighbors. They even found humor in the destruction. Mental health actually improved. This wasn't a uniquely British trait. German civilians showed the same resilience under Allied bombing.

So why does the myth of savagery persist? Because cynical narratives are more memorable than hopeful ones. The fictional story of violent boys sold millions of copies. The true story of cooperative boys was forgotten. Our news media amplifies this bias. It focuses on rare, negative events. This creates a "Mean World Syndrome." We become convinced the world is more dangerous than it is. We start to believe the worst about each other.