IWould never describe myself as cynical. Yes, I have little faith in the likelihood that we will come together as a species to solve the climate crisis, make housing affordable, or vote for the non-criminal presidential candidate.
But it is based on evidence. Who can reflect on current events and feel optimistic about the future?
This is what I might have argued before reading Jamil Zaki’s new book, Hope for Cynics. Afterwards I felt humiliated: I might be part of the problem.
Zaki – a professor of psychology, and director of the Stanford Social Neuroscience Lab – paints a confronting picture of cynicism’s hold on us, and its negative impact on the future and our individual lives.
Over the past 50 years, we have lost trust not only in institutionsbut also in each other. In 2018, only 32% of Americans polled it said “most people can be trusted”, compared to almost 50% in 1972. A global study in 2022 discovered the same trend of mistrust in 24 of 28 nations.
As trust declined, cynicism took hold as a response to global instability, increasing threats and falling living standards.
But, Zaki argues, this is its own goal: believing that things can only get worse, all but guaranteeing that they will, by further eroding our social fabric and discouraging us from taking action against corruption and injustice.
Expecting the worst also hurts our chances of finding happiness in the now. Studies show that cynics are more depressed, drink more alcohol, earn less money and die even younger than non-cynics.
But the common belief that cynicism is just smarter and more realistic is not necessarily justifiable, Zaki points out: cynics perform worse on cognitive tests and are less effective at identifying untrustworthy people and lies than non-cynics.
“By never trusting, cynics never lose,” he writes. “They never win either.”
Zaki admits that for many years—even while professionally engaged in the study of kindness and empathy and publicly proclaiming its importance—he was also a secret cynic.
He decided to write the book partly to understand that contradiction: “They say research is my search,” laughs Zaki.
What he found is that cynicism doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.
Our tendency to focus on potential problems did evolve for a reason: “200,000 years ago, the person who worried about the predator on the horizon probably did better than their friend who was blessed by the sunset,” he says. .
But now those instincts for self-protection can lead us to fixate on the negative and overestimate the chances of scary but rare events.
Cynics may pride themselves on seeing the world as it really is, but people are generally terrible at accounting for our biases and modifying our beliefs in line with evidence. “One of the central messages of psychology over the last century has been that we are much less objective than we think we are,” says Zaki.
In 2022, Zaki conducted a study of Stanford students, comparing their experiences on campus with their perceptions of the average Stanford student. Their self-reports describe a warm, supportive community. But the “imaginary” Stanford student was relatively hostile.
“They saw that imaginary person as much pricklier, more judgmental and less warm than anyone they actually knew,” says Zaki. The same discrepancy between real and imagined was consistent in his surveys of school systems, government departments, and private companies.
It reflects our warped view of humanity, “like an unfun funhouse mirror”, he writes: “We view our species as crueler, more callous and less caring than it really is.”
In fact, there is a lot of consensus, even with people we would identify as our opponents, says Zaki.
“Dozens” of studies have shown that Democrats and Republicans have an inaccurate picture of each other, portraying their rivals as richer, more different from them and more extreme in their views than they really are. Still the 2021 Common Ground survey found nearly 150 issues on which Democrats and Republicans agreed. Nor were they small fry: two-thirds of both parties, for example, endorsed tax incentives to promote clean energy.
It speaks of the “false polarization” of society “keeping us apart from each other, and understanding how much we share”, says Zaki. If you knew that your views were shared by two-thirds of the population, “you would feel much more empowered”.
While some may see optimists as naive and blindly accepting the status quo, cynicism breeds its own kind of “dark complacency,” says Zaki. While we’re not necessarily wrong to distrust politicians, writing them off disconnects us. “Oocrats love a cynical population because a group of people who don’t trust each other is easier to control.”
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The widespread decline in social trust is actually attributed to rising inequality, as populations turn against each other in response to scarcity. We can even feel a “grim satisfaction” when our low expectations of humanity are proven right, Zaki says.
But that overlooks our own part in perpetuating them. “We imagine ourselves to be passive observers, but in reality our beliefs shape our personal versions of the world, the actions we take and the cultures we create,” says Zaki.
“We have these toxic self-fulfilling prophecies – when we expect little from others, they notice and we get their worst.”
PPeople often have good reasons to retreat into cynicism, says Zaki. After all, this is a self-protective strategy: if we don’t expect too much, we can’t be disappointed. But over time, he says, it confirms our sense of passivity, and “withers us from the inside out.”
What makes cynicism so seductive – and also so hard to give up – is that it absolves us of personal responsibility. It is easier to believe that we are simply victims of the world than it is to reckon with our own part in making it better, for ourselves and others.
We may be relatively powerless over systemic issues, but “we can absolutely take care of our social backyards”, says Zaki. The way we treat others and interact with the world can radiate outward, “turning those vicious cycles into virtuous ones”.
The antithesis of cynicism is not optimism, Zaki continues: it is hope, “the idea that the future could turn out well – not that it will”. With hope, “there is room for our actions to matter”. This is what makes it feel so scary, he says: “Hope is difficult, because it asks something of us.”
As a self-described “recovering cynic,” the changes Zaki made in his own life were small but powerful.
First, he became more aware of cynical thoughts, noticing when he reached “unnecessarily gloomy conclusions” and interrupting them with facts. Zaki saw that this was most common when he was sleep-deprived or stressed: cynicism is a hallmark of burnout.
He also makes a point of taking more social risks, such as asking for help and talking to new people. It doesn’t come naturally, but the result was life-affirming. “Just last night I struck up a conversation with a stranger that was so fulfilling,” he says.
Zaki also practices what he calls “positive gossip”: spreading word of acts of generosity or kindness within his circles. He describes it as “personal counterprogramming” to cynicism.
“It feels safer to shut down,” says Zaki. “It’s hard to take chances, to try to keep an open mind or stay connected.”
But when we give up on each other or a better future, “we actually make the bleakest, grimmest outcomes much more likely to succeed,” says Zaki.
Living in a small town, I’m already in the habit of talking to strangers, and Zaki is right: it never fails to remind me that the world is a kinder, more cooperative place than X or to browse the day’s. headlines.
The key to resisting cynicism, for me, is to balance between those two seemingly contradictory visions of the world. There is the one that is unfair, hostile, falling apart at the seams – and the one that I navigate daily, where I can disagree politically with my neighbor but still trust that I can turn to her for help. Perhaps there is more I can do to bring those realities into line, or at least closer together.
I am somewhat chastened to recognize my own actions in Zaki’s description of cynicism as a “warm blanket” under which one seeks refuge from the world. But I also feel grateful to him for pointing out that it is full of holes.
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Hope for Cynics by Jamil Zaki (Little, Brown Book Group, £22). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy from guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
