Well, yes, we are, according to Rutger Bregman, author of Human Kind. Early in his book he introduces us to Tom Postmes, professor of social psychology at the University of Groningen who, every year, asks students the same question. “Imagine an aeroplane makes an emergency landing and breaks into three parts. As the cabin fills with smoke, everybody inside realises: We’ve got to get out of here. What happens?
“On planet A, the passengers turn to their neighbours to ask if they’re okay. Those needing assistance are helped out of the plane first. People are willing to give their lives even for a perfect stranger.”
“On Planet B, everyone’s left to fend for themselves. Panic breaks out. There’s lots of pushing and shoving. Children, the elderly and the people with disabilities get trampled underfoot.”[1]
Which planet do we live on?
“I would estimate about 97 per cent of people think we live on Planet B,” says Professor Postmes. “The truth is, in almost every case, we live on Planet A.” The tragedy is, he adds, that we have known this since World War 2.
In World War 2, the London Blitz brought damage and death. “Morale did suffer amid the death and destruction, but there were few calls to surrender. The phrase ‘Business as usual’ written in chalk on boarded up shop windows, exemplified the British determination to ‘keep calm and carry on.’” When, towards the end of the war, the decision was made to bomb German cities, “The bombs may have destroyed Germany, but they did not destroy German morale.”
Bregman adds that “even history’s most momentous disasters have played out on Planet A. Take the sinking of the Titanic. If you saw the movie, you’d probably think everybody was blinded by panic (except the string quartet). In fact, the evacuation was quite orderly. One eyewitness recalled that ‘there was no indication of panic or hysteria, no cries of fear, and no running to and fro’.”
Then, as New York’s Twin Towers in 2001 burned, “Thousands of people descended the stairs calmly, even though their lives were in danger. They stepped aside for firefighters and the injured. And people would actually say: ‘No, no, you first,’ one survivor reported. I couldn’t believe it, that at this point people would actually say, ‘No, no, please take my place.’ It was uncanny”.[2]
Let me quickly add that there are many evil and harmful things that happen in our world—whether we live on Planet A or Planet B. Just check the nightly news for examples. That means we need to be both aware and cautious of how we live—and who we trust.
Going further, we need to be aware that so-called “reality TV” builds ratings by creating conflict. To do that, the show “might focus on . . . and perpetuate social inequalities and power struggles”. It also “often sensationalises conflict, competition, and drama to attract viewership”. In essence, it’s often more fake than reality.
Lord of the Flies
Bregman points to William Golding’s book Lord of the Flies—the title itself means “Beelzebub”, a name for Satan—as an example of expectations. The story is based around seven boys, the only survivors of a plane crash during World War 2. They end up on an island, with chaos, anger and savagery dominating their scene—one is murdered. This was seen as natural and expected. Merely human nature.
In this case, the reality is that the book reflects more about the troubled life of William Golding than reality. His biographer, Peter Conrad, pictures him as a man of “self contempt” who thought of himself as a monster. He said he understood the Nazis because he was “of that sort by nature”. And, after The Lord of the Flies was published, he regretted he had published it, thinking it “boring and crude”. In fact, he had difficulty finding a publisher. A new editor at Faber retrieved it from a reject bin and persuaded his colleagues to buy it for 60 pounds. It went on to sell millions of copies—mainly as a student textbook.
Understanding a little of the man helps us understand why he would write Lord of the Flies the way he did—writing from Planet B.
Meanwhile, back on Planet A
Bregman came across the story of six Tongan school boys—aged 13 to 16—who decided to go fishing instead of attending school. They “borrowed” a boat, loaded in it two sacks of bananas, a few coconuts and a small gas burner. They were dreaming of Fiji or New Zealand until the storm hit. It shredded their sail and broke their rudder. They were at the mercy of the wind and tides. On the eighth day, they saw a small island—“a hulking mass of rocks” and ended up shipwrecked on the deserted island of Ata.
This was their home for more than a year. Unlike The Lord of the Flies narrative, “the boys set up a small commune with a food garden, hollowed-out tree trunks to store rainwater, a gymnasium with curious weights, a badminton court, chicken pens and a permanent fire, all from handiwork with an old knife blade and determination”.
They organised work into teams of two, with a strict roster for garden, kitchen and guard duty. If there were quarrels, those involved were sent to opposite ends of the island for a couple of hours, and upon return after four hours or so were told to apologise. “That’s how we stayed friends,” they said.
One of the boys fell off a cliff and broke his leg. The others pulled him back up the cliff, then set his leg the best they could.
Meanwhile, Australian sea captain Peter Warner had gone to Tonga to attempt to gain permission from the King of Tonga to trap lobster in the waters around the island. The king said “no”. Disappointed, Warner returned to his ship and began to head back to Tasmania, but took a detour that led him to Ata. He was surprised to see evidence of burning on the green cliffs of the island.
“Someone’s calling,” said one of his crew. Warner thought it nonsense.
Then, through his binoculars, he saw a naked boy, hair down to his shoulders, dive into the water. The other boys followed.
He didn’t believe their story, but contacted the main island of Nuku’alofa to find out if the school had lost six students—a year or so earlier.
“Finally, a very tearful operator came on the radio, and said, ‘You found them! These boys have been given up for dead. Funerals have been held. If it’s them, this is a miracle.’”[3]
Bregman was so impacted by this story that when he discovered that Warner and one of the “boys” (Mano Totau) were alive and living in Queensland, Australia, he organised a trip from Europe to get the story from them personally—to counter the Lord of the Flies narrative with real non-fictional characters who helped each other to survive. It helped him believe we are better than we think we are.
That broken leg? When a doctor checked it out, it had healed as it should have.
The challenge
Bregman finishes his book with challenges and his “most important rule to live by”.
“If there’s one thing I’ve sought to do with this book, it’s to change the meaning of the word realism.
“Isn’t it telling that in modern usage, the realist has become synonymous with the cynic?—for someone with a pessimistic outlook?”
In other words, it’s the pessimist—not the optimist—who is seen as more rational in our society.
“In truth, it’s the cynic who’s out of touch . . . We’re living on Planet A, where people are deeply inclined to be good to one another.
“So, be realistic. Be courageous. Be true to your nature and offer your trust. Do good in broad daylight, and don’t be ashamed of your generosity. You may be dismissed as gullible and naive at first. But remember, what’s naive today may be common sense tomorrow.
“It’s time for a new realism. It’s time for a new view of humankind.”[4]
It’s time to ask, what planet do you want to live on? And it’s time to show that you really are better than you think you are.
Bruce Manners is an author, retired pastor and former editor of the Australia/New Zealand edition of Signs of the Times. He is based in Lilydale, Victoria. A version of this article first appeared on the Signs of the Times Australia/New Zealand website and is republished with permission.
