For Rutger Bregman, the answer to this question is a resounding yes in ‘Humankind – a Hopeful History’ (2020). However, this may not be how one feels when reading ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ by Delia Owens (2018). You may already have read these books as both are best sellers, the first a work of non-fiction and the second of fiction. So, let’s have a look at how these two authors approach human beings as a peaceable, cooperative, and kind species.
Are we war mongers?
Recent evidence from the work of anthropologists, archeologists and historians shows that before we settled down and began to believe in the sacredness of private property, we were not busy clubbing each other to death at all. On the contrary, as long as human beings were nomads, they moved around in small communities, encountered each other, made friends, and intermarried without any need to compete or fight. Comparable to Linked In or Facebook of our times, connections were made through connections as we roamed, and this was the driving force for peace and for sustaining it in the long run (no pun intended). Well into the capitalistic project, Bregman cites examples of how soldiers in different wars pretended to shoot each other, but never really did. We actually avoid killing and wounding each other because we don’t have a natural appetite for it, contrary to all the news and views we are bombarded with about our blood thirsty nature. This is what makes remote warfare through the use of drones a much more attractive alternative to having to do the job with one’s hands, while looking into the eyes of another. The last point is important in this argument. Because distance of all kinds is what feeds ‘othering’ and makes it easier to be violent and insensitive. Early in ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ is an account of a death that the police suspect is a murder. To go into it in greater detail would be a spoiler for those who haven’t read it yet. But for those of us who have finished Owen’s book, the question of whether killing came naturally and easily to the perpetrator is a moot point to reflect upon. And as to why pogroms, wars and conflicts of all sorts never seem to disappear from the horizon, Bregman says we have developed and nurtured a skewed perception of ourselves as violent beings. He argues that this is because we have chosen Hobbes over Rousseau when it comes to giving shape to the identity of human beings. Unfortunately, this view of ourselves also sells better in the news, in stories, in literature and media of all sorts. It stems from our negative bias.
So, are we wired for cooperation?
Looking at it from the perspective of Kya, the protagonist of Owen’s novel, apparently we are not. Kya goes by the sobriquet ‘the marsh girl’ given to her collectively by the closely-knit townspeople of Barkley Cove, a fictional coastal town of North Carolina. In the 1950’s and early 60’s this was no compliment, as the marsh represented the dark and the dirty; the margins where blacks and ‘anti-socials’ of all kinds lived. So, their sobriquet for Kya reflects their prejudice and their process of ‘othering’, and by extension, of their non-cooperation towards her and those they consider her tribe. In the suspense packed courtroom chapters of the book, in which the jury comprising of law-abiding residents of Barkley Cove must arrive at a judgement about whether or not Kya is guilty of murder, the reader is certain that their negative bias will override all evidence of her innocence. Indeed, negative bias is deep-rooted, which is why narratives of our inherently evil nature sell. Moreover, Bregman points out how because of portrayals of people like in ‘Lord of the Flies’, competition and bullying as survival strategies are deeply etched in our beings. Instead of placing ‘Lord of the Flies’ in the context of the time it was written in, and the author’s own experiences in a British boarding school, we have opted to see it as evidence of how we are – period. However, Bregman’s research led him to a group of men, who as boys, really did live on a remote and unfriendly island for almost a year after their boat got wrecked. The key to their survival – cooperation and non-violence as a strategy to deal with conflict and to build a life for themselves in a horribly hostile environment. It is not just heart-warming, but infinitely uplifting to read about this group of young men as an antidote to those in ‘Lord of the Flies’. And to realise that the former is not fiction, while the latter is. Bregman sought out a couple of these cooperative survivors in Australia, now bosom friends, and has included photos of them in the book – joyful faces looking out of the pages. Nice to meet them. :-)
Humankind?
In ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’, the narrative is set up as the opposition between Kya as a child of nature to almost everyone else. And humans don’t come across as kind. Unless one takes Kya and her relationship with the gulls into account, or Tate, Jumpin and Mable’s help and support to her throughout the narrative. So, the reader is left identifying with the protagonist in all her splendid isolation, tucked away in the marshes with nature as her friend, companion and spiritual guide. However, she is not happy and yearns to belong, and the reader wishes this for her too. Only she doesn’t know how , since abandonment seems to be her lot. Owen and Bregman agree in that they consider humans as a sociable species. Towards the end of Bregman’s book, he refers to yet another study by a psychologist by which it was proven that ‘people are often surprised and moved by simple acts of generosity’. It’s called ‘elevation’, when the witnessing of kindness infects us with a tingly feeling and primes us to do more of the same . And yes, apparently this is evidence enough to show humans are wired to be kind.
As to what has led us to believe otherwise, and why we are hooked onto narratives that display us as war mongers, uncooperative, and unkind… I can only say, if you haven’t yet ‘Humankind’, it may be a good idea to start soon. And ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ is a notable coming of age book. What’s more, it’s a celebration of the bond we could have with the natural world, if we would want to. Each of these books, thus offers a different kind of richness. Reading them are hours well spent in summertime for those of us in the West, when we are out in nature more than is usually the case, and when the warmth in our bones stirs us into a kinder relationship with ourselves and others, near and far.