How Did The Author Research The Humankind Book?

Flipping through the pages of 'Humankind' felt like someone handing me a hopeful lens for the world, and that hope is exactly the central idea: people are fundamentally decent, not inherently cruel. Rutger Bregman pushes back on the gloomy, Hobbesian view that humans are naturally selfish and violent. Instead, he argues that kindness, cooperation, and a tendency to trust are our default settings, and that many of the classic psychological studies and dark historical narratives that claim otherwise have been misread, exaggerated, or driven by bad methodology. He stitches together historical episodes, modern experiments, and everyday examples — everything from wartime rescues to disaster responses — to show that context matters enormously. Bad systems, toxic environments, and exploitative incentives can flip decent people into harmful behavior, but the baseline tendency is toward empathy. Bregman also reinterprets famous studies (think the way the 'Stanford Prison Experiment' and certain readings of obedience studies are often presented) and highlights the power of institutions: design humane systems and policies, and people usually respond in humane ways. Reading it made me think about schools, hospitals, prisons, and town halls differently. If we buy into the idea that humans will cooperate when treated like fellow humans, then policy becomes less about punitive control and more about trust, repair, and community-building. It’s an optimistic thesis, but grounded in evidence and stories; I find it oddly energizing, like a push to act differently in my own small circles.

The inspiration behind 'The Humans' struck the author during a late-night walk under a starry sky. They were pondering the vastness of the universe and the tiny, fleeting lives of humans. It made them wonder how an outsider might view our species—our quirks, our flaws, and our capacity for love. The idea of an alien observing humanity with both curiosity and bewilderment took root. They wanted to explore what it means to be human, not through our own eyes but through the lens of someone entirely different. The book became a love letter to humanity, highlighting our absurdities and our beauty, our capacity for destruction and our potential for kindness. It’s a reminder that even in our messiness, there’s something profoundly worth celebrating.

I get fired up talking about this book — 'Humankind' really leans into the idea that people are basically decent, and there’s actually a surprising amount of empirical work that Bregman draws on (or that supports his claims). One strand is developmental psychology: studies by Warneken & Tomasello (mid-2000s) showed toddlers spontaneously helping strangers and sharing without obvious external rewards, suggesting prosocial impulses emerge very early. That lines up with Bregman’s claim that kindness isn’t just cultural window-dressing. On the social side, classic experiments like Muzafer Sherif’s Robbers Cave study (1954) demonstrate how intergroup conflict can arise from competition, but—crucially—how superordinate goals or cooperative tasks can quickly reduce hostility. That supports Bregman’s point that circumstances and structures shape whether people act selfishly or cooperatively. Likewise, John Darley and Bibb Latané’s work on the bystander effect (late 1960s) and Darley & Batson’s 'Good Samaritan' study (1973) both show situational forces (crowds, distraction, urgency) dramatically affect helping behavior; Bregman cites this to argue that bad outcomes often come from context, not some deep seeding of evil in people. There’s also literature on disasters and crowds that contradicts the 'panic' myth: journalists like Rebecca Solnit in 'A Paradise Built in Hell' and scholars such as John Drury and Steve Reicher have documented solidarity and mutual aid after crises. Meanwhile, critiques and re-analyses of classic studies matter: the BBC Prison Study and later critiques of the Stanford Prison Experiment by Haslam & Reicher emphasize social identity and role expectations rather than straightforward obedience to authority as the only explanation. Finally, Frans de Waal’s primate work and Tomasello’s research on shared intentionality give evolutionary ballast — empathy and cooperation have deep roots. If you want the receipts, look up Warneken & Tomasello (2006), Sherif (1954), Latané & Darley (1968), Darley & Batson (1973), Burger (2009) for the Milgram replication nuance, Drury/Reicher on crowd solidarity, and de Waal/Tomasello for primate and infant prosociality. I love how reading these studies made the book feel less like wishful thinking and more like a challenge to redesign institutions so we bring out that decent side of people.

I get excited whenever people compare 'Humankind' and 'Sapiens' because they feel like two very different conversations about the same species. For me, 'Sapiens' was this cinematic, sweeping epic — it traces humanity from cognitive sparks to complex global structures and constantly zooms out to show how myths, money, and science shape our world. Harari is comfortable making big, sometimes provocative claims about human nature, imagined orders, and the macro forces that steer history. Reading it often feels like standing on a cliff and surveying the entire landscape of human history: dizzying, grand, occasionally bleak, and full of those “aha” frameworks that make disparate facts click together. By contrast, 'Humankind' reads like a friendly but stubborn corrective. Bregman zeroes in on human behavior in social experiments, disasters, and everyday life to push back against the idea that humans are fundamentally selfish or violent. The book stitches together psychology, sociology, and surprising historical anecdotes to argue we're wired for cooperation more than cruelty. Tone-wise, it's warmer and more hopeful — I closed the book feeling oddly buoyant and more willing to trust strangers on a packed train. Both books have blind spots and selective storytelling, but together they make a great pair: one gives you the grand architecture, the other points out that maybe the bricks are kinder than we thought.