Narrator: What happens when civilization collapses? During World War II, as German bombs rained down on London, the British government feared the worst. Based on prevailing theories of crowd psychology, they predicted mass panic, hysteria, and a complete breakdown of society. Generals anticipated that "the city will be in pandemonium." But when the Blitz began, something entirely different happened. The British public remained remarkably calm. They helped each other, shared resources, and faced the devastation with courage and humor. Public mental health actually improved.

This stark contrast between prediction and reality lies at the heart of a radical question: What if our fundamental assumptions about human nature are wrong? In his book Humankind: A Hopeful History, author Rutger Bregman embarks on a journey to dismantle one of Western culture's most persistent and damaging ideas—the belief that humans are, at their core, selfish, aggressive, and quick to panic. He argues this cynical view is not only inaccurate but also a dangerous self-fulfilling prophecy.

Narrator: For decades, the dominant view of human nature has been what’s called "veneer theory"—the idea that civilization is just a thin, fragile layer hiding a savage beast within. A classic example is William Golding's novel Lord of the Flies, where a group of shipwrecked British schoolboys descend into tribalism and murder. The book became a cultural touchstone, seemingly proving that without adult supervision, our true, brutal nature emerges. Golding himself believed that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey."

Bregman challenges this by uncovering a real-life Lord of the Flies. In 1965, six Tongan schoolboys were shipwrecked on the deserted island of ‘Ata. They were stranded not for a few weeks, but for fifteen months. Yet, they didn't turn on each other. Instead, they immediately established a cooperative commune. They created a strict roster for garden, kitchen, and guard duties. They built a food garden, a gymnasium, and a badminton court. When one boy broke his leg, the others carefully set it and nursed him back to health. They resolved conflicts with a simple system: a time-out followed by a mandatory apology. When they were finally rescued, they were in peak physical condition and, most importantly, they were still friends. This true story suggests that our default setting isn't chaos, but cooperation.

Narrator: The conventional evolutionary story is that humans rose to the top of the food chain by being the smartest and most ruthless. Bregman presents a different theory: survival of the friendliest. He argues that humans underwent a process of self-domestication, much like dogs or the silver foxes in a famous Russian experiment.

Starting in 1958, a Soviet scientist named Dmitri Belyaev began breeding silver foxes, selecting only for the friendliest ones in each generation. Within a few generations, the foxes not only became as tame as dogs but also began to look different. They developed floppy ears, wagging tails, and spotted coats—all traits associated with domesticated animals. Crucially, they also became more socially intelligent. This experiment suggests that friendliness is a gateway to cognitive evolution. Bregman argues that early humans who were better at cooperating, communicating, and learning from each other out-competed their more aggressive, less social counterparts like the Neanderthals. Our unique features, like blushing and the whites of our eyes, are not weaknesses but tools for building trust. We are not evolved to be lone wolves, but what Bregman calls Homo puppy—creatures wired for connection.

Narrator: If humans are naturally friendly, where did war, slavery, and inequality come from? Bregman argues that these are not products of our deep nature but relatively recent inventions that came with the advent of civilization. For most of human history, our ancestors lived as nomadic hunter-gatherers in egalitarian bands. Archaeological evidence shows that prehistoric warfare was exceptionally rare. These societies had sophisticated methods for maintaining equality and suppressing anyone who tried to dominate the group, often through gossip and ridicule.

The trouble began around 10,000 years ago with the invention of agriculture and settled life. Private property created something to fight over. Living in one place created a clear distinction between "us" and "them," fostering xenophobia. The rise of cities and states led to the emergence of kings, priests, and generals who could command others. This is what Bregman calls the "curse of civilization." It wasn't our nature that was the problem; it was the new social structures that began to suppress our better instincts and amplify our worst ones.

Narrator: Much of our modern cynicism is propped up by a few iconic 20th-century psychology experiments that supposedly proved our capacity for cruelty. Bregman systematically dismantles the most famous of these.

The Stanford Prison Experiment, where ordinary students assigned as "guards" allegedly became sadistic, is shown to be a sham. Recently unearthed recordings reveal that the experimenter, Philip Zimbardo, actively coached the guards, telling them to be tougher and giving them ideas for how to torment the "prisoners." The guards weren't spontaneously turning evil; they were acting out a role they thought the scientists wanted.

Similarly, Stanley Milgram's famous shock experiments are re-examined. The traditional take is that 65% of people will blindly obey an authority figure and deliver lethal electric shocks to a stranger. However, a closer look at the archives shows something different. Many participants didn't believe the shocks were real. More importantly, those who did continue often did so not out of blind obedience, but because they believed they were contributing to a noble scientific cause. When the experimenter's pleas shifted from "the experiment requires you to continue" to a direct order like "you have no other choice," nearly everyone refused. People weren't obeying authority; they were trying to be helpful, a motivation that can be twisted toward dark ends.

Narrator: If our worst behaviors are triggered by distance, power, and groupthink, then the solution lies in their opposites: contact, humility, and non-complementary behavior. The "contact hypothesis" suggests that prejudice withers when different groups interact on equal footing. This was powerfully demonstrated in South Africa's transition from apartheid. General Constand Viljoen was preparing to lead a white separatist army into a bloody civil war. But his twin brother, an anti-apartheid activist, convinced him to meet with Nelson Mandela. Through a series of secret talks, Mandela listened to Viljoen's fears and treated him with respect. This contact defused the situation, and Viljoen chose to participate in the democratic elections instead of starting a war.

This principle extends to how we should treat criminals and enemies. Instead of responding to aggression with more aggression, we can choose "non-complementary behavior"—responding with unexpected kindness. The Norwegian prison system, which treats inmates with dignity and focuses on rehabilitation, has one of the lowest recidivism rates in the world. It operates on a simple premise: if you treat people like human beings, they are more likely to act like human beings.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Humankind is that a cynical view of human nature is not realism; it is a dangerous prejudice. Believing that people are fundamentally selfish creates a world that reflects that belief. It leads to institutions built on distrust—schools that stifle creativity, workplaces that crush intrinsic motivation, and a media that profits from fear. This worldview becomes a nocebo, a negative expectation that makes us sick.

Rutger Bregman’s work is a call to embrace a new, more accurate realism. It’s a realism that acknowledges our flaws but refuses to let them define us. It dares to trust, to cooperate, and to build a world based on our better nature. The book leaves us with a profound challenge: What would our world look like if we finally started designing our societies around the radical idea that most people, deep down, are pretty decent?