Progress. Progress. Progress. It can feel as though the modern world is hooked on the need
to better and better itself – with shinier technology, bigger cities, faster connection
speeds, smarter populations, and longer life expectancies. And, while the organization of
all of that is really quite complex, it might be broadly described under one umbrella term:
civilization. It’s what gets the praise when things go well,
and what we often cling to when things are in danger of going badly. But do we really need it?
This is Unveiled, and today we’re answering the extraordinary question;
do humans really need civilization to survive?
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While there are many places, regions, and time periods staking a claim as the so-called “cradle
of civilization”, Mesopotamia more often gets most of the credit. This ancient, West Asia
land was built along two life-giving rivers. It sprawled across modern-day Iraq, Syria, and Iran,
from the northern point of Kuwait to the southern tip of Turkey. And it’s where some of the earliest
signs of civilization arose. The invention of writing, of machines, and the development of trade
and agriculture can all be traced back to the advanced societies and cultures that emerged here.
The Mesopotamians weren’t totally on their own on the world map – the first Egyptian
and Chinese civilizations arrived at similar times, for example – but researchers regularly
pitch Mesopotamia as the first to establish a working model on how things should work.
Fast forward to now, however, and we’re a long way away from those bygone days – often for
better but sometimes for worse. Thriving hubs of civilization can now be found all around
the globe, with modern “mega” cities having replaced even traditional cities as the true
centers of everything. There have never been so many new inventions. We have an unending
list of theories and ideas to contend with. And our collective knowledge has never been fuller.
From one perspective, everything’s great. Pulling the strings behind these metropolises,
towns, villages, hamlets, and even behind the tiniest settlements in between, however, we have
government. Or militaries, or religions. Authority groups in some form or another,
in place to seemingly show and guide the masses toward as effective, efficient, and presumably
happy a life as possible. In some cases, the setup appears to work. But history also shows
that authority is often misused and abused, taken by force… and enforced with cruelty.
And, even without the more glaring examples of “society gone bad”, there’s the idea that all the
rules and regulations of everyday life have taken away things like freedom, initiative, and drive.
The problem is that whenever things go wrong – economies fall, crimes happen,
or wars break out, for example – these moments are so often labeled as a threat to civilization.
Rather than a product of the same thing. It’s one reason why some academics question
certain aspects of civilization, and especially government rule and authority. For one,
Rutger Bregman, in his 2020 book “Human Kind: A Hopeful History”, it pays to ask;
what would happen if civilization was taken away? And Bregman presents a compelling and uplifting
real-world example of how that situation might unfold. He calls it “the real Lord of the Flies”.
The 1954 classic novel, “Lord of the Flies”, by British writer William Golding, is a fixture on
bookshelves all over the world. It’s one of the most widely taught texts in schools and has come
to serve as a go-to example of what it really means to be human, and what would really happen
if we were ever left to fend for ourselves. In the book, a group of English schoolboys are stranded
on an island. At first, they set up a society of sorts, with leaders, ascribed roles, and a general
level of organization. But, as time goes by, that organization fails. The boys turn on one another,
divides form, rituals take hold, violence starts up, and deaths quickly follow. Left to their own
devices, it didn’t take long for the boys to descend into chaos… the moral seemingly
being that we need civilization or else we would swiftly revert back to barbarism.
But, in writing his book, Rutger Bregman sets out to champion a better side to humanity; to
fulfill his “hopeful history”… which takes him to a tiny and deserted island in the Pacific Ocean.
The real Lord of the Flies, Bregman writes, took place in 1965, eleven years after Golding’s novel
was published. Six boys (aged 13 to 16) from a school in Tonga had decided to hatch an
escape from their daily lives, looking for an adventure. They took a boat from the harbor
and set out with a vague idea that they would reach Fiji, only for a storm to hit that night,
for the boat to be badly damaged, and for the boys to spend the next eight days drifting
on the endless ocean. They survived on the meager rations they had packed originally,
and by collecting (and sharing) rainwater in halved coconut shells. On that eighth day,
though, an island appeared on the horizon. Not Fiji, but ‘Ata – a dry and rocky place,
where no-one else lived. The boys hopped their ruined boat, made it ashore, and set up base. They
of course didn’t know it then, but they wouldn’t see another human being for fifteen months.
It was a Captain Peter Warner who eventually rescued them, by accident, having come across the
same island while he was steering his boat through the region – in September 1966. Decades later,
it was predominately by interviewing Warner (as well as Mano Totau, one of the stranded boys) that
Bregman was able to piece together the incredible story. In the time between their disappearance
and rescue, the boys had been “missing, presumed dead” in Tonga, and there had even been funerals
held for them. When they eventually made it back home, then, it was welcomed as a miracle.
But how had they managed to survive? All six were, in fact, found to be reasonably healthy…
and they had remained friends. Turns out that a descent into the darker side of humanity (as
per William Golding) isn’t what really happened. In the total absence of civilization, the boys had
managed to make the best of an immensely difficult situation. They again collected rainwater, ate
fruit, and after discovering a population of wild chickens in a crater on one side of the island,
they maintained a steady diet. They shared out duties in the kitchen and at lookout posts. They
worked together to keep a fire burning constantly. When one of the boys fell and broke his leg,
they set the injury, and adapted the workload so that the stricken boy could rest while the
others covered for him. Upon returning to Tonga the bone was found to have healed extremely well.
Bregman also discovered that if ever there was a disagreement on the island, there was a routine
that those arguing would spend some time apart, after which they always managed to reconcile,
apologize, and continue working together. They didn’t split into factions; there wasn’t one
single leader; the rules were worked out together, without any one person (or group) holding power.
Perhaps the best example of their unity was that they even managed to fashion a guitar out
of materials on the island, which was played to pass the time, entertain, and keep spirits high.
Bregman’s account of what happened on ‘Ata appears toward the beginning of his book,
in which he sets out an alternative (and positive) way to view human nature, with cooperation at its
heart. The writer also explains, however, how he’d had his work cut out piecing together the details.
Although it might feel as though the story of six boys surviving for more than a year on a
genuine deserted island should be major news and widely known… surprisingly, it isn’t. And William
Golding’s fictional portrayal of a similar circumstance is still more widely discussed.
While there’s little doubt that Golding’s work remains a vital (and disturbing) exploration
of our species, the six boys on ‘Ata are proof that there’s another way, as well.
When they found themselves wholly without civilization to guide them,
they not only survived… but also built friendships, stayed physically healthy,
and even made music. What’s your verdict on what happened to them? Is their experience
an anomaly? Would humans in general fail without structured society? Or might there actually be
reason to believe that we could cope – even succeed – without all those rules and regulations?
That we wouldn’t descend into chaos? Without civilization, there’s certainly
so much that we might never have achieved – from international trade to long-distance space
exploration. But perhaps civilization only works so long as those that are building it
remain true to the better aspects of the human character. The parts that clearly came to the
fore during at least one desperate situation, in the mid-‘60s, in the middle of the Pacific.
What do you think? Is there anything we missed? Let us know in the comments, check out these other
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