“In the beginning, when the first humans came across each other, it went two ways. Upon seeing someone different, the more fearful one said, "You're different. Go away." The other, upon seeing someone not like him, said, "You're different. Come, teach me what I don't know." While our reasoning has grown more complicated throughout the centuries, it's essentially the same. "Go away" or "Come, teach me."
Since the beginning, the two tribes have had their philosophies. The "Go away" tribe has always believed that human beings, by their nature, are self-serving and untrustworthy, in need of control. The "Go away" tribe believes in stringent laws and constraints, both moral and legal, to ensure that people don't run amuck. The "Come, teach me" tribe believes that human beings, by their nature, are kind and trustworthy. The "Come, teach me" tribe believes in empowering laws that cultivate freedom, to ensure that people actualize their web of gifts through relationship.
The truth is that we are born into both tribes and can move from one to the other, depending on the level of our fear. The times of genocide throughout history mark the extreme, malignant manifestation of the "Go away" tribe. Distorted by fear, it's not enough just to say, "Go away." For unbridled fear turns to anger, which normalized turns into prejudice and hate. Such deep, embedded fear dictates that we need to make sure that those who are different can't return. And so, we exile them, jail them, hurt them, and in extremely ugly cases, persecute and kill them.
However, the times of enlightenment throughout history mark the extreme manifestation of the "Come, teach me" tribe, which through learning and wonder leads to eras of compassion and cooperation. Empowered by trust, curiosity turns into interdependence and a belief that we are more together than alone. When allowed to blossom, we realize that we need each other and our diversity of gifts to make life whole.”
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
A traveller was riding through the countryside. He was heading to the city for a wedding. He had been riding for some time when he realised he had become lost. He noticed a man sauntering along, happy in his own thoughts. The traveller thought he had better approach him and ask for directions. Unfortunately, he was unaware that the man he was approaching was Nasruddin. There may be trouble ahead…
The man approached Nasruddin and asked, "What is the best way to get to the city.”
Nasruddin looked up at the man and then looked ahead, before looking backwards. He looked up at the sky, before looking down once more and contemplated for some time. He then looked up at the man again before looking ahead, only slightly to the right this time. He then looked back at the man and began to speak: "Well, if I were going there, I wouldn't start from here."
Whenever we set out on a journey, it matters where we start from, where our journey begins. Yes, it isn’t the journey, but it will impact on how we travel.
We never step into anything without a past; we carry the past with us to some degree or another. How we journey in life will be influenced by our starting point, by what we are taught either subliminally or deliberately. How we see ourselves, one another, and or the world, will impact on how we journey and how we meet life. It matters how we greet the world and how the world greets us. Where we begin from will have a bearing on the journey, on how we live each day. Are we come teach me people or go away people? It matters how we greet one another and or greet life.
The other day the following post appeared in my Facebook Feed. It is by social historian I follow “Rutger Bregman” Published on 20th February 2026
The BBC just released a new adaptation of Lord of the Flies, the classic novel by William Golding. It's beautifully made, but it's still telling the wrong story.
A few years ago, I went looking for the *real* Lord of the Flies. I wanted to know: has it ever actually happened? Have kids ever been shipwrecked on a deserted island?
It took me a year of research, but I found it. In 1965, six boys from a boarding school in Tonga stole a boat, got caught in a storm, and drifted for eight days without food or water. They washed up on 'Ata, a remote, uninhabited island in the Pacific. They stayed there for 15 months, and what happened on that island was the exact opposite of William Golding's novel.
These boys set up a small commune. They built a food garden, stored rainwater in hollowed-out tree trunks, created a gym with improvised weights, and built a badminton court. One of them, Stephen (who would later become an engineer) managed to start a fire using two sticks. They kept it burning the entire time.
Of course they fought too. But when they argued, they had a rule: go to opposite ends of the island, cool down, then come back and apologize. As one of them told me: ‘That's how we stayed friends.’
Back home, everyone assumed that the boys – Luke, Stephen, Sione, David, Kolo and Mano — were dead. When they were finally discovered by an Australian captain named Peter Warner, he radioed their names to Tonga. After twenty minutes, a tearful response came back: ‘You found them! These boys have been given up for dead. Funerals have been held. If it's them, this is a miracle!’
Peter commissioned a new ship, hired all six boys as his crew, and named the boat the Ata, after the island where he found them. They remained friends for the rest of their lives – Peter and Mano even became soulmates. I tracked them down, and it became one of the central chapters of my book Humankind.
Here's what struck me most: William Golding (the author of Lord of the Flies) was a troubled man, an alcoholic who once said ‘I have always understood the Nazis, because I am of that sort by nature.’ I think he was projecting his own darkness onto children. And we turned it into a lesson about human nature that we teach to millions of kids around the world.
I think the real lesson is the opposite. When real children found themselves alone on a real island, they didn't descend into savagery. They cooperated. They took care of each other. They survived.
I'm not saying that the Tongan castaways were representative of all kids everywhere. But I am saying that every kid who has to read or watch the fictional Lord of the Flies also deserves to know what actually happened when it played out in real life.
Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.
I remember when I first learnt of this account back in 2020 at the beginning of lockdown it had a profound effect on me, as did his book “Humankind”. In the true story of the “Lord of Flies” when school boys were lost, stranded, on a desert island they did not descend into chaos and destruction. What they did do was take care of one another, in fact they found ways to not only survive, but to function as a community, until they were rescued. Why are we not taught this story? I didn’t learn about it in school. Why instead are we only taught the story of chaos and destruction, of distrust and greed. Why are we so carefully taught that we are by our nature wrong?
In the chapter “A New Realism” Rutger Bregman wrote in his book “Human Kind: A Hopeful History”
“Scenario:
An airplane makes an emergency landing, breaks into three parts, the cabin fills with smoke, everyone inside realises that they need to get out as soon as they can. Which scenario sounds more likely?
After a moment the boy asks “which wolf will win?”.
PLANET A: the passengers turn to their neighbours to ask if they’re ok, those needing assistance are helped out of the plane first, people are willing to risk their own lives to help random strangers.
PLANET B: everyone is left to fend for themselves, there is a mad rush for the exit, panic breaks out, there’s lots of pushing and shoving, the children/elderly/disabled are trampled by the mad crowd as they rush out
97% of people estimate that we live on Planet B, that mass panic is the most likely. But it has been found in almost every case that we live on Planet A – we are kind and we help each other where we can. If you watch the Titanic movie it looks like panic, but if you ask people who were actually there they say that the evacuation was actually quite orderly. Or think of September 11 – as the twin towers burned, thousands of people calmly descended the emergency stairs, even though their lives were in immediate danger. They stepped aside for firefighters, they let the injured be carried ahead of them. People would actually stop and say “no on, you go first” or “please take my place” – there was no madness.
There is a persistent myth that by our very nature humans are selfish, aggressive and quick to panic. Dutch biologist Frans de Waal calls this “veneer theory”, the notion that civilisation is nothing but a thin veneer that could crack under the slightest pressure. But in actual fact, in times of crisis (when bombs are being dropped or flood waters are rising), then we humans become our best selves. We may have a good side and a bad side, but there is considerable scientific evidence showing that in times of crisis we overwhelmingly turn to our good side.”
Much like Nepo highlights in the story I shared earlier we are both types of people “The come teach me people” and the “go away people”. The problem is that we seem to believe that generally speaking we are “Go Away People” by nature and so is everyone else. We believe we are the fiction of William Goulding rather than the Tongan schoolboys who created structures to take care of each other. They knew that their lives depended upon them cooperating together on the remote island of “Ata”.
I believe we have both aspects, both potentials within us, “The come teach me” and the “go away”, we inhabit both planet A and planet B. That the aspect that comes to prominence is the one we develop. It matters what stories we tell about ourselves and one another, as the stories we tell becomes the life we will lead and the world we live in. This is the place where we will begin every journey, every single day of our lives.
This is beautifully illustrated in the following story:
An old man said to his grandson, “there’s a fight going on inside me, a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil – angry, greedy, jealous, arrogant and cowardly. The other is good – peaceful, loving, modest, generous, honest, and trustworthy. These two wolves are fighting within you too… and every other person on the planet”
97% of people estimate that we live on Planet B, that mass panic is the most likely. But it has been found in almost every case that we live on Planet A – we are kind and we help each other where we can. If you watch the Titanic movie it looks like panic, but if you ask people who were actually there they say that the evacuation was actually quite orderly. Or think of September 11 – as the twin towers burned, thousands of people calmly descended the emergency stairs, even though their lives were in immediate danger. They stepped aside for firefighters, they let the injured be carried ahead of them. People would actually stop and say “no on, you go first” or “please take my place” – there was no madness.
There is a persistent myth that by our very nature humans are selfish, aggressive and quick to panic. Dutch biologist Frans de Waal calls this “veneer theory”, the notion that civilisation is nothing but a thin veneer that could crack under the slightest pressure. But in actual fact, in times of crisis (when bombs are being dropped or flood waters are rising), then we humans become our best selves. We may have a good side and a bad side, but there is considerable scientific evidence showing that in times of crisis we overwhelmingly turn to our good side.”
Much like Nepo highlights in the story I shared earlier we are both types of people “The come teach me people” and the “go away people”. The problem is that we seem to believe that generally speaking we are “Go Away People” by nature and so is everyone else. We believe we are the fiction of William Goulding rather than the Tongan schoolboys who created structures to take care of each other. They knew that their lives depended upon them cooperating together on the remote island of “Ata”.
I believe we have both aspects, both potentials within us, “The come teach me” and the “go away”, we inhabit both planet A and planet B. That the aspect that comes to prominence is the one we develop. It matters what stories we tell about ourselves and one another, as the stories we tell becomes the life we will lead and the world we live in. This is the place where we will begin every journey, every single day of our lives.
This is beautifully illustrated in the following story:
An old man said to his grandson, “there’s a fight going on inside me, a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil – angry, greedy, jealous, arrogant and cowardly. The other is good – peaceful, loving, modest, generous, honest, and trustworthy. These two wolves are fighting within you too… and every other person on the planet”
After a moment the boy asks “which wolf will win?”.
The old man smiles: “The One You Feed”.
It matters the stories that we tell of ourselves and one another. We have a natural reticence to speak of the good we do. In fact, those who do the most, prefer to do so anonymously. We do not follow the directive of Jesus from the “Sermon on the Mount”, we hide our light it would seem. The story we tell is not to speak of the good we do. Not everyone of course and actually those who do boast about their achievements can often overstate them. I don’t feel comfortable singing my praises or when others sing them to me. I know how uncomfortable I felt the other week when Jane Brophy the Mayor of Trafford did so publicly. This has been on my mind as have written and delivered eulogies for some wonderful folk recently. We seem to feel comfortable singing the praises of folk after they have died, but not while they are still alive.
How often have I heard people say when they do good things that they often disguise them behind some kind of selfish motive. Why do we tell these stories about ourselves, why do we make ourselves sound worse than we are? Why do we promote negative stories about ourselves? Why are we so uncomfortable with praise? I have seen examples only this week of people apologising for the good that they have done. It is charming and lovely and I recognise it in myself. That said it serves no one and actually leads to us telling negative stories about ourselves.
As Rutger Bregman noted in “Humankind”
“Unfortunately, this reticence works like a nocebo. When you disguise yourself as an egoist, you reinforce other people’s cynical assumptions about human nature. Worse by cloaking your good deeds, you place them in quarantine, where they can’t serve as an example for others. And that’s a shame, because Homo puppy’s secret superpower is that we’re so great at copying one another.”
Bregman suggest that we “come out” about our generosity as an example to others, to encourage them to do the same. To counteract the narrative of so-called human selfishness. That it is our nature to learn, to almost copy and mimic others, we like to fit in. therefore if we teach a frightening and scary and untrustworthy nature then this will be mimicked in others, thus creating a nocebo effect.
So maybe it is time to come out of the closet about who we are, to stop hiding our light. To stop suppressing our humanity. To recognise the instincts that are a part of our humanity. Yes, we are capable of hideous and heinous things. We only have to pick up any daily newspaper to see evidence of this, but this is not all that we are. We only hear the bad news about everything. We need to become the good news, the news the world needs to hear. Maybe it is time to start telling a different story about ourselves and one another.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
I was recently talking to a young man. He is someone I have got to know over the last couple of years. It has been wonderful to see him grow as a person. That said he is like so many folk, he has a pretty cynical view of life and the state of the world. He tells me his generation is the hopeless one; he told me he had little or no hope for the world. I spoke with him and pointed out that humanity as been through much worse times that now and we have not destroyed ourselves. I told him that while I may not be a “cockeyed optimist” I do live in and by hope. I believe in our capacity. Yes, we are living through troubled times, but hope will carry us through, if we live by it, if it grows from our hearts. If we tell ourselves that all hope is not lost, that this can be the story we will live by and the road we can follow. I left him with the following quotation by Vaclav Havel
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent on some observation of the world. Hope is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond the horizons.
Hope in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.
Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.
It is not the conviction, that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. It is Hope, above all, which gives the strength to live and continually try new things.”
I know how vital it is that hope is the starting point of each and every journey. It is what makes my heart sing.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
The other week I shared some of the story of Oscar Hammerstein II, at the interfaith entertainment evening. I spoke of his Universalism, a faith whose story is one of Hope; that this Hope inspired his life and work; that he wrote songs of love and hope and social change. Here’s a classic from “South Pacific”
"A Cockeyed Optimist" Lyrics
When the sky is a bright canary yellow
I forget ev’ry cloud I’ve ever seen—
So they call me a cockeyed optimist,
Immature and incurably green!
I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
That we’re done and we might as well be dead—
But I’m only a cockeyed optimist,
And I can’t get it into my head.
I hear the human race
Is falling on its face
And hasn’t very far to go,
But ev’ry whip-poor-will
Is selling me a bill
And telling me it just ain’t so!
I could say life is just a bowl of Jell-O
And appear more intelligent and smart,
But I’m stuck like a dope
With a thing called hope,
And I can’t get it out of my heart!
Not this heart!
Now someone who is considered a “cockeyed optimist” is often mocked as naive, Pollyanna-ish and maybe they are. Maybe optimism in the sense of expectation is unrealistic, that said so is cynicism in the sense that this is how something will work out, that it is inevitable. I wouldn’t start any journey from that place. That said if you step out in hope in a belief in the potential, in our capacity then you might step out on a very different journey. This is Hope rather than optimism.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
Now of course the story we often tell of ourselves, even if it is done so subliminally, is one of distrust, that there is something wrong with our nature. I was recently talking with a friend who has a real problem with the word “sin” when he hears the word his toes curl. This is due to the story he was told growing up, that he was a sinner to the core. His problem is with the idea of “Original Sin”, the story that we are wrong by nature and can only be saved by a certain kind of faith. I do not believe in “Original Sin”, that said I do believe in “Sin” of a sort, in the sense of falling short of what I am capable of being. I am as human as the next person and I fall short. That said I reject any idea that I am permanently flawed in nature, that any of us are. Well, the rational part of me rejects it. Sadly, there is a part of me where this idea that there is something wrong in me, still exist somewhere beneath my rational mind. Why because this is the story I and others keep telling about ourselves and others. It is the story at the heart of the fictional “Lord of the Flies” and it is at the heart of many other stories we tell about ourselves, and yet it isn’t the whole story is it, and it certainly isn’t the story of the “The Real Lord of the Flies”. It is not the story of the boys on the island of Eta.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
It seems we are being carefully taught that we are fundamentally and irredeemably flawed. Maybe it is time we started telling another story. The story of Hope. Maybe it is time to stop hiding the light of what we are capable of being. Maybe one day they will make a big budget movie about the 6 Tongan Boys who created a community and took care of each other on the island of “Eta”, who created a civilised society and not only survived, but thrived.
Where and how are you going to begin your journey. It matters you know, it really does. For “Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
I am going to end this morning with a bit more from South Pacific, another from Oscar Hammerstein II
"You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught"
You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught from year to year,
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a different shade—
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
It matters the stories that we tell of ourselves and one another. We have a natural reticence to speak of the good we do. In fact, those who do the most, prefer to do so anonymously. We do not follow the directive of Jesus from the “Sermon on the Mount”, we hide our light it would seem. The story we tell is not to speak of the good we do. Not everyone of course and actually those who do boast about their achievements can often overstate them. I don’t feel comfortable singing my praises or when others sing them to me. I know how uncomfortable I felt the other week when Jane Brophy the Mayor of Trafford did so publicly. This has been on my mind as have written and delivered eulogies for some wonderful folk recently. We seem to feel comfortable singing the praises of folk after they have died, but not while they are still alive.
How often have I heard people say when they do good things that they often disguise them behind some kind of selfish motive. Why do we tell these stories about ourselves, why do we make ourselves sound worse than we are? Why do we promote negative stories about ourselves? Why are we so uncomfortable with praise? I have seen examples only this week of people apologising for the good that they have done. It is charming and lovely and I recognise it in myself. That said it serves no one and actually leads to us telling negative stories about ourselves.
As Rutger Bregman noted in “Humankind”
“Unfortunately, this reticence works like a nocebo. When you disguise yourself as an egoist, you reinforce other people’s cynical assumptions about human nature. Worse by cloaking your good deeds, you place them in quarantine, where they can’t serve as an example for others. And that’s a shame, because Homo puppy’s secret superpower is that we’re so great at copying one another.”
Bregman suggest that we “come out” about our generosity as an example to others, to encourage them to do the same. To counteract the narrative of so-called human selfishness. That it is our nature to learn, to almost copy and mimic others, we like to fit in. therefore if we teach a frightening and scary and untrustworthy nature then this will be mimicked in others, thus creating a nocebo effect.
So maybe it is time to come out of the closet about who we are, to stop hiding our light. To stop suppressing our humanity. To recognise the instincts that are a part of our humanity. Yes, we are capable of hideous and heinous things. We only have to pick up any daily newspaper to see evidence of this, but this is not all that we are. We only hear the bad news about everything. We need to become the good news, the news the world needs to hear. Maybe it is time to start telling a different story about ourselves and one another.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
I was recently talking to a young man. He is someone I have got to know over the last couple of years. It has been wonderful to see him grow as a person. That said he is like so many folk, he has a pretty cynical view of life and the state of the world. He tells me his generation is the hopeless one; he told me he had little or no hope for the world. I spoke with him and pointed out that humanity as been through much worse times that now and we have not destroyed ourselves. I told him that while I may not be a “cockeyed optimist” I do live in and by hope. I believe in our capacity. Yes, we are living through troubled times, but hope will carry us through, if we live by it, if it grows from our hearts. If we tell ourselves that all hope is not lost, that this can be the story we will live by and the road we can follow. I left him with the following quotation by Vaclav Havel
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent on some observation of the world. Hope is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond the horizons.
Hope in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.
Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.
It is not the conviction, that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. It is Hope, above all, which gives the strength to live and continually try new things.”
I know how vital it is that hope is the starting point of each and every journey. It is what makes my heart sing.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
The other week I shared some of the story of Oscar Hammerstein II, at the interfaith entertainment evening. I spoke of his Universalism, a faith whose story is one of Hope; that this Hope inspired his life and work; that he wrote songs of love and hope and social change. Here’s a classic from “South Pacific”
"A Cockeyed Optimist" Lyrics
When the sky is a bright canary yellow
I forget ev’ry cloud I’ve ever seen—
So they call me a cockeyed optimist,
Immature and incurably green!
I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
That we’re done and we might as well be dead—
But I’m only a cockeyed optimist,
And I can’t get it into my head.
I hear the human race
Is falling on its face
And hasn’t very far to go,
But ev’ry whip-poor-will
Is selling me a bill
And telling me it just ain’t so!
I could say life is just a bowl of Jell-O
And appear more intelligent and smart,
But I’m stuck like a dope
With a thing called hope,
And I can’t get it out of my heart!
Not this heart!
Now someone who is considered a “cockeyed optimist” is often mocked as naive, Pollyanna-ish and maybe they are. Maybe optimism in the sense of expectation is unrealistic, that said so is cynicism in the sense that this is how something will work out, that it is inevitable. I wouldn’t start any journey from that place. That said if you step out in hope in a belief in the potential, in our capacity then you might step out on a very different journey. This is Hope rather than optimism.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
Now of course the story we often tell of ourselves, even if it is done so subliminally, is one of distrust, that there is something wrong with our nature. I was recently talking with a friend who has a real problem with the word “sin” when he hears the word his toes curl. This is due to the story he was told growing up, that he was a sinner to the core. His problem is with the idea of “Original Sin”, the story that we are wrong by nature and can only be saved by a certain kind of faith. I do not believe in “Original Sin”, that said I do believe in “Sin” of a sort, in the sense of falling short of what I am capable of being. I am as human as the next person and I fall short. That said I reject any idea that I am permanently flawed in nature, that any of us are. Well, the rational part of me rejects it. Sadly, there is a part of me where this idea that there is something wrong in me, still exist somewhere beneath my rational mind. Why because this is the story I and others keep telling about ourselves and others. It is the story at the heart of the fictional “Lord of the Flies” and it is at the heart of many other stories we tell about ourselves, and yet it isn’t the whole story is it, and it certainly isn’t the story of the “The Real Lord of the Flies”. It is not the story of the boys on the island of Eta.
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
It seems we are being carefully taught that we are fundamentally and irredeemably flawed. Maybe it is time we started telling another story. The story of Hope. Maybe it is time to stop hiding the light of what we are capable of being. Maybe one day they will make a big budget movie about the 6 Tongan Boys who created a community and took care of each other on the island of “Eta”, who created a civilised society and not only survived, but thrived.
Where and how are you going to begin your journey. It matters you know, it really does. For “Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
I am going to end this morning with a bit more from South Pacific, another from Oscar Hammerstein II
"You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught"
You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught from year to year,
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a different shade—
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate—
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
“Stories are never just stories. We become the stories that we tell ourselves.”
Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this post
