Jamil Zaki's perceptive second book, Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness, is a data-driven examination of the high levels of mistrust in society today. Inspired by the success of global conflict resolution initiatives created by the late Emile Bruneau, a friend and colleague, Zaki thoroughly investigates strategies for rebuilding our faith in one another.

Hope for Cynics deploys science as a tool for understanding why we consistently underestimate goodness and honesty in others, shining an intriguing lens on how "high-trust" countries, corporations, and neighborhoods fare much better during adversity compared with those where trust is low and cynicism toward government, leadership, and neighbors is rampant. In addition to his marvelous storytelling and evidentiary analysis, Zaki demonstrates tremendous courage in documenting a deeply personal quest to challenge his own cynical mindset and the misplaced assumptions that underpinned his interactions with others.

Defining cynicism as "the theory that people are selfish, greedy, and dishonest," Zaki invites readers to contemplate its impact on our worldview and how it affects one's daily interactions with, and attitudes toward, others. It doesn't help that politicians incite voter cynicism toward their opponents, while media companies "trade in judgment and outrage." As Zaki succinctly articulates, "Our cynicism is their product and business is booming." Expanding on decades of science on the topic, he shows how a cynical mindset erodes trust and dampens our relationships with each other, wearing away at the "psychological glue that binds us." Yet despite its proven impact on health, including a stronger likelihood of depression, heart disease, and isolation, our culture glamorizes cynicism under the misconception that cynics are more intelligent and sophisticated than the rest of us. He calls this the "cynical genius illusion," and finds it has surprising staying power, despite evidence that cynics perform worse on cognitive, problem-solving, and mathematical tests than non-cynics.

Zaki (The War for Kindness) is a professor of psychology at Stanford University and director of the Stanford Social Neuroscience Lab. He has studied kindness and empathy and taught people around the world about the importance of these virtues. As an "unofficial ambassador for humanity's better angels," he is often recruited to "jump-start people's faith in one another." Yet in private, he struggles with cynicism and is prone to seeing the worst in people, a way of thinking that "forecloses on the possibility of anything better." In this he aspires to be more like Emile Bruneau, who was buoyed by a worldview in which he searched for the best in others and treated them accordingly. The author describes his friend's personal philosophy as hope buttressed by a healthy dose of skepticism that leaves the door open for dialogue and trust-building, and he offers readers a valuable blueprint for incorporating his highly promising philosophy of "hopeful skepticism" into their own lives, along with an appendix of practical strategies for cultivating this mindset.

One of the most remarkable research findings summarized in Hope for Cynics is that most people fail to realize how generous, trustworthy, and open-minded others really are, consistently underestimating their colleagues, neighbors, and strangers. To demonstrate this, Zaki furnishes simple experiments for readers to conduct for real-time feedback on where we sit on the spectrum of cynicism. The average person, he deduces, "underestimates the average person," a lamentable state of affairs that sometimes takes root at a young age, either because of a child's insecure attachment to their caregiver or as a result of the overly cautious messaging helicopter-style parents transmit to their young. Considering Bruneau's technique of "underbearing attentiveness"--security plus the freedom to be curious--the author's 2022 research study found that people with differing viewpoints, when invited to do so, are eager to engage with the other side. Spending time with people we disagree with, "disagreeing better," and seeing the humanity in others are crucial ingredients for reducing cynicism.

The case of Megan, a self-proclaimed "California Progressive," is illustrative. A disillusioned Bernie Sanders devotee, she found herself drawn to QAnon conspiracy theories and its vast online community. Childhood anxiety fueled by insecure caregiver attachments made her vulnerable to the extreme cynicism peddled online; however, the unwavering acceptance (but not agreement) of her boyfriend and her father helped her migrate away from the "cultlike community" and back to security. Describing his own childhood insecure attachments, Zaki recounts how, with concerted effort and loving relationships in adulthood, he was able to achieve "earned attachment: a sense of safety and connection later in life" and the space to let go of the rigid thinking that is a hallmark of the cynical mind. As a parent, he practices underbearing attentiveness, with the goal of providing his children both security and the freedom to be curious.

With his potent message of cultivating faith in others and finding common ground in the face of seemingly intractable conflicts, Zaki concludes that hope is not a weakness but "a path to being less wrong and more effective." As he gracefully observes, "humanity is far more beautiful and complex than a cynic imagines, the future far more mysterious than they know." --Shahina Piyarali

Jamil Zaki (photo: Vern Evans)

A professor of psychology at Stanford University and director of the Stanford Social Neuroscience Laboratory, Jamil Zaki is the author of The War for Kindness. His second book, Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness (Grand Central, September 3, 2024) is a striking blend of science and storytelling on the harmful effects of cynicism that explores strategies for rebuilding trust on a global scale.

In Hope for Cynics, you share a powerful personal narrative of struggling with a tendency toward cynicism. Today, where are you on the journey toward what you call hopeful skepticism?

It remains a journey. As I write in the book, I've studied the science of empathy, kindness, and human connection for 20 years. Much of my research points to a simple conclusion: there is good in us, and it does good for us. But knowing something is different than feeling it, and, personally, I've long struggled with cynicism--the belief that people are selfish, greedy, and dishonest. I'm not alone; over recent decades, people around the world have lost faith in each other and in all sorts of institutions, from government to science to education.

Cynicism is an understandable response to injustice and inequality, but it hurts our health, relationships, communities, and social movements. It's also surprisingly wrong. Decades of data demonstrate that people are more trustworthy, generous, and open-minded than cynics realize. That's why I suggest hopeful skepticism: a view of the world in which we stop making assumptions and observe people more openly, with an eye toward their great potential.

I work on my hopeful skepticism each day. For instance, I practice "social savoring"--taking note of everyday kindness around me, and seeking out media sources that balance bad news with stories of people making positive change. This is not the same as burying my head in the sand or wearing rose-colored glasses--it's acknowledging and fighting a bias to see the worst: taking off the mud-colored glasses we usually wear.

At this time of national division, how do we convince those who are on the extreme end of the cynicism spectrum to engage with the ideas in this book?

The comedian George Carlin once said, "Scratch a cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist." Oftentimes, people trapped by cynicism have been betrayed or hurt; they don't want to lose faith in others but feel they must in order to be safe and smart. But none of us have to feel this way. It absolutely makes sense to suspect or reject people who have done us harm, and to take care of our interests. But cynics become "pre-disappointed," assuming the worst about strangers without evidence. Hopeful skepticism instead suggests we fact-check our feelings. What evidence do we have for our dim theories about others? What evidence would we need? By exploring the world like a scientist, we often find pleasant surprises everywhere.

That also applies to this divided moment in the U.S. and beyond. We disagree more than in decades past and also dislike the people we disagree with more than before. Our differences are real, but in our minds, they expand in unhelpful and dangerous ways. In the U.S., for instance, both Republicans and Democrats believe the other side is much more extreme, hateful, and even violent than they really are. There are, of course, actually extreme and dangerous people all across American culture, but the average person--even the average "other"--is much more moderate and open-minded. When we forget this, we end up escalating conflict that few people want. But inside the data, there's hope! Americans, for instance, agree much more than we realize. Common ground is abundant when we look for it.

Should schools include civics as part of their curriculum from an early age? Over time, could that reduce voters' cynicism toward the political establishment and toward each other?

That's a really powerful idea. I also think such education could separate children's views of the political establishment--which is unfortunately quite cynical much of the time--and each other. One approach is to remember that no matter what elites do, most people share many common goals. For instance, the majority of both Republicans and Democrats believe in expanding support for young children in poverty and other vulnerable groups in America. A supermajority in both parties also wants greater compromise and connection across difference. Educating kids on these themes might empower them to focus on these common goals instead of focusing only on our most intense divisions.

The parenting strategy you refer to as "underbearing attentiveness" is intriguing. Is it difficult to commit to in practice?

For me, yes! Even as I try to expand my own trust and hope, the instinct to protect my daughters from any harm is overwhelming. That is, of course, an ancient and positive desire. But sometimes it can go overboard, for instance through "helicopter parenting," in which kids are prevented from exploring the world in order to avoid any risk whatsoever. This keeps kids safe, but can also deprive them of opportunities and--over time--make them fearful and cynical. Younger generations in the U.S. are the least trusting on record, in part because that's what we've taught them.

For me, practicing underbearing attentiveness means hitting the pause button on my instincts and becoming more intentional. If my kid is struggling with reading, or piano, or a tiff with a friend, do they need me to come in and fix it? Or can I just listen, observe, and show my presence while allowing them to work through it?

Do you have strategies for conserving social energy in between engagements that you could share with readers?

I use two strategies here. The first is to internally commit to both being with people and being alone: enjoying each for its unique pleasures. The second is to remember that my (frequent!) nervousness about social interactions is probably misplaced.

For me, hanging out is like working out: thinking about it ahead of time can be intimidating and even unpleasant, but during and after, I'm glad to be doing it. That's a common experience. Research from around the world shows that people underestimate how good it is to spend time with others. In the hours before a dinner party or school event, I try to remind myself of those studies, and remember that my future self will probably thank me for spending time with people.

What are your aspirations for Hope for Cynics once it is released into the world?

Back in 2021, when my cynicism was at its peak, I needed this book. Diving into the decades of data on human goodness was not just a scientific exercise, but a deeply personal journey that changed how I think, feel, and decide. Cynicism is like quicksand for our minds--it traps us in a version of the world and our lives few people want. My hope is that this book can spring people from that trap, the same way it did for me, and empower them to connect more, pay closer attention to humanity, and work together to build the future most of us want. --Shahina Piyarali