Kindness: a warm glow or a means to systems change?

The latest in our articles on how we need to understand our uniquely human attributes if we are to tackle today's biggest challenges

Looking back at 2024, we can see it as a year when war, political division, climate crises and technology disruption have dominated headlines. But perhaps what does not make the news in the same way are the small but striking moments of kindness that have run through our lives. Take the way that Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese praised Australian breaker Rachael 'Raygun' Gunn’s courage and commitment in the face of widespread ridicule for her Olympics performance. Or how, during her Eras Tour, Taylor Swift distributed $55 million in bonuses to her production crew, including $100,000 to each truck driver involved in the tour logistics. The total amount and per-person bonuses far exceed standard practices in the entertainment industry, which are often limited to higher-ranking staff. Or how a man was caught on camera rescuing a little dog that was shivering in the rain. And this is before we even count the millions of people that regularly volunteer for good causes.

These stories remind us that, despite the often-depressing news cycle, kindness continues to thrive. But are these really acts of kindness, or deeds that have a selfish undertone because we are chasing the warm glow that comes from doing this? Based on survey results with the general public, one UK paper suggests that kind deeds result in a 'buzz' that can last four hours.

This is the challenge when we think about kindness: are we simply being kind so that people reciprocate? Perhaps it is networked reciprocity, where people give, knowing they may never be directly repaid themselves but believing that their kindness will 'snowball' into a larger, self-sustaining system of support. But even here, where does this leave a form of kindness where nothing is expected in return?

Perhaps the most human of all characteristics, kindness is surprisingly little examined, and its relevance today for people, governments, and brands is often not all that considered. In our first post of 2025, we make the optimistic case for kindness as an important tool available to effect real change in the world.

But first, let's take a closer look at the way kindness is talked about as a form of reciprocity.

Kindness as reciprocity

Often, kindness is understood through the idea that performing good deeds will inspire others to do the same. In this view kindness functions as a social contract, where acts of generosity and care are part of a complex and subtle exchange system. One example is the tradition where people buy gifts for family members and friends on their birthday. This widespread activity is often linked to expectations of reciprocal giving – if we give a present to a friend on their birthday but are not given a comparable present on our own birthday, we will probably feel a bit disappointed or offended. Likewise, in business settings, companies may receive criticism for making charitable donations with the primary aim of enhancing their reputation, thus treating kindness as an investment with measurable returns.

Based on this perspective, kindness operates as a transaction within established exchange systems, whether in personal relationships, workplaces, or commercial environments. Instead of being performed for their own sake, kind acts are often motivated by the desire for an emotional reward, referred to by economist James Andreoni as a "warm glow."

Kindness as part of a social contract isn’t necessarily inherently bad given it reinforces social bonds, encourages cooperation, and often leads to positive outcomes. However, when kindness becomes overly transactional or performative, it surely risks becoming a mechanistic self-serving process.

But how can we view kindness differently?

But why do we view kindness in this way? Sociologist Max Weber argued it was due to the way modernity has "disenchanted" the world by removing magic, mystery, and intrinsic meaning, reducing everything to mere resources or problems to be solved. Our experiences become a series of challenges, hurdles, risks, and stresses—such as paying bills, understanding conflicts, and managing environmental crises. This mindset gives priority to what is effective and practical and, in doing so, makes kindness appear inefficient and sentimental.

Taking this even further, acts of kindness can have an insidious undertone, serving as tools for establishing and reinforcing societal norms and values. In a consumerist system, individual acts of kindness, like buying a coffee for a stranger, focus attention on personal morality while diverting attention away from systemic issues, such as financial inequity. Writer Richard Seymour describes this phenomenon as creating a state of "disavowal," where people "know but act as if they don't know." This means systemic pressures easily sway individuals despite the internal conflict they may feel. For instance, people may be fully aware of the climate crisis but continue behaviours like flying on planes or buying imported fruit. Instead of seeing this as moral weakness or insincerity, Seymour suggests it is a required response to systemic disempowerment. In a world where most people feel politically powerless, we retreat into personal lives, focusing on small, individual acts of kindness (such as helping a stranger) that are more manageable.

From this perspective, kindness is not simply a series of positive, selfless actions but a mechanism that is all too often used to sustain existing systems.

The Oppressiveness of Kindness

Looking at kindness in this way allows us to see more clearly that acts that could be labelled as kind are not always entirely virtuous but can be co-opted to maintain power structures, perpetuate inequality, and quash dissent.

Sara Ahmed aligns with this, pointing out how kindness is often weaponised to enforce compliance, particularly by urging people to ‘be kind’ to mute valid anger or criticism. For instance, marginalised individuals expressing frustration over systemic injustice might be told to 'stay civil,' effectively prioritising politeness over accountability. During the height of the BLM protests, Obama warned against "heated" protests, which many critics felt risked side-lining the valid frustration and anger of marginalised communities.

Similarly, writer and activist Sophie Lewis critiques systems of care that burden women and caregivers, framing kindness as an expectation disproportionately placed on those already marginalised. Marginalised groups, particularly women of colour, often carry the disproportionate burden of caregiving and emotional labour. And marginalised individuals are expected to maintain kindness at the expense of their well-being. For instance, in family and social structures, women are often tasked with emotional support and forgiveness, roles that reinforce traditional gender norms while simultaneously keeping these systemic inequalities intact.

This means there is a danger that kindness is a deeply conservatising force, but what alternatives are there, and how do these rather gloomy assessments of kindness square with the acts of kindness we see daily?

Kindness as a rupture in norms

If we consider that we live in a technocratic world where everything is reduced to mere resources or problems to be solved, it can be hard to see how acts of kindness without any expectation of reciprocity really have a place.

However, some voices suggest things look very different if we seek out 're-enchantment', creating a 'rupture' or disruption in the logic of seeing every action as a cost-benefit calculation, as Seymour suggests. So rather than acts of kindness being prompted by the direct benefit they provide to the giver, they are acts that come from a place of awe, imagination, and moral adventure. It shifts human action from being driven by utility to being driven by wider, more transcendent considerations such as value, beauty, or shared purpose. But does this actually stand up to empirical scrutiny, or is it simply wishful thinking?

One person whose career has been spent exploring this very question is psychologist Dacher Keltner, with his research on the emotion of awe and its impact on human behaviour. He found that experiencing awe fosters a transcendent 'other-focused' mindset, diminishing the sense of self and expanding one's perspective beyond personal concerns. As he put it recently:

"Awe transforms you in terms of your orientation to other people….It surfaces what's meaningful to you, what you care about."

A wide range of studies have backed this up - a recently published meta-analysis found a positive correlation between awe and prosocial (kind) behaviour, and another found that attending festivals resulted in kinder behaviour a year later, with a greater sense of universal connectedness being a key factor. Moreover, of course, it is not simply festivals that can result in this; interacting with literature and music, practising meditation, immersing oneself in nature and psychedelic substance use are associated with universal connectedness and positive mood.

Activist organisations attempt to pull people into mindsets where they feel connected, as engaging and caring require us to remove ourselves from everyday concerns. Hence, the climate action group Extinction Rebellion uses symbolic rituals such as dressing as 'red-robed figures', symbolising blood, sacrifice, and mourning. These rituals tap into symbolic associations of mourning and tragedy which can of course create a powerful emotional experience for onlookers.

It seems that when we are encouraged or forced to go beyond the usual bonds of reciprocity, acts of genuine kindness become possible. One example is how grassroots mutual aid networks spring up during crises that often operate without the expectation of recognition or emotional reward. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, volunteers didn't just provide food and water but helped people rebuild entire homes, going far beyond the "bare minimum" of disaster relief, which might only provide temporary shelter. This was often done without compensation or notions of reciprocity, with many travelling from across the U.S. to live and work in the ravaged neighbourhoods for weeks or months. Sociologist Kai Erikson notes how these shared experiences of suffering can unite people, creating a "democracy of distress" where communal bonds are strengthened through collective adversity.

Another example comes from "The Kindness Pandemic." Launched during the early days of COVID, it was designed to highlight acts of kindness. It became a worldwide platform for sharing stories of kindness, from neighbours delivering groceries to healthcare workers providing emotional and practical support under huge pressure.

From these examples, it appears crises can offer opportunities for kindness. While they have devastating outcomes for people, they also perhaps create a 'rupture' in the usual ways of operating, tearing up the existing norms and systems.

Kindness as a Tool for Transformation

Building on this point of challenging the status quo, the French philosopher Jacques Derrida set out the notion that significant change only ever comes about through the "impossible gift" of kindness that cannot be repaid. This radical notion suggests that great steps in history can, almost by definition, not be from reciprocal actions that maintain the status quo but have to come from kind acts which simply cannot be repaid. The Good Friday Agreement in Northern Ireland, Nelson Mandela's forgiveness and reconciliation after apartheid, and the Marshall Plan after World War II are examples of how kindness transformed societies.

This suggests that kindness often aligns with prefigurative politics, where we embody the principles of a desired future within present actions. Kindness initiatives like those on display in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina not only address immediate needs but also create tangible examples of the collective, equitable societies they envision.

Of course, the consequence here is that kindness is not always warm and comfortable. Sara Ahmed's concept of killjoy suggests that true kindness requires confronting discomfort and hard truths rather than perpetuating oppressive systems under the guise of civility. For instance, extending kindness to those all too often dehumanised by mainstream societal norms, such as queer individuals, refugees, or unhoused people, is an act of resistance, challenging notions of who is 'worthy' of care.

Overall, kindness can, therefore, be a means of driving systemic change. While reciprocity often creates feedback loops that sustain existing systems, genuine kindness can cultivate a culture of care rooted in notions of abundance and shared responsibility. But the way this challenges existing norms means that it can be challenging to actually make happen.

But Do We Dare Be Kind?

Psychotherapist Adam Phillips and historian Barbara Taylor have argued that kindness is indeed often viewed with suspicion, associated with weakness or naivety. This scepticism, they say, comes from contemporary culture's emphasis on self-interest, which undermines the value of compassionate behaviour. They suggest that genuine acts of kindness require vulnerability and openness, qualities often perceived as liabilities in a world that places greater value on invulnerability and dominance. And on this basis, kindness is disappointingly rare. As they put it:

"Modern life encourages us to present a façade of invulnerability, making genuine kindness—a form of vulnerability—appear as a weakness."

But can we really be sure this the case? In reality, it is hard to tell – one survey suggests people do an average of 223 acts of kindness yearly although, admittedly, those appearing on the list were not exactly high-stakes activities (e.g. holding open a door for others, taking in a delivery for a neighbour, or giving someone directions).

In Rutger Bregman's book Humankind: A Hopeful History, he challenges the dominant narrative that humans are inherently unkind and driven by self-interest. Instead, he argues that people are far kinder, more cooperative, and more altruistic than we might believe. He cites the case of the "real Lord of the Flies" — a group of Tongan boys who were stranded on an island for over a year. Unlike the fictional version of the story, the boys did not descend into violence and chaos; instead, they collaborated, cared for each other, and created a well-functioning society. Another key example is the Stanford Prison Experiment, where, on closer inspection, he found its portrayal of human cruelty was significantly overstated and shaped by the experiment's design

In an era marked by political turbulence, systemic injustice, and global crises, kindness does appear to be a much-needed transformative force. However, it surely requires strong leadership to harness this potential and be able to turn opportunities into meaningful change. But how easy is this?

How we become unkind

To answer that we go back to Keltner and his book, The Power Paradox: How We Gain and Lose Influence, where he explores how power fundamentally alters individuals. He suggests that while people often ascend to positions of power through being kind, the accumulation of power can lead to increased self-focus, diminished empathy, and, at times, unkind and exploitative behaviours. He stresses the importance of maintaining an 'other-focused' mindset to balance the corrupting influences of power.

On the other hand, Bregman argues that it is not power itself that corrupts; instead, it is social and institutional frameworks that determine its distribution and use. For example, Bregman argues that the Nazi regime's efficient and impersonal bureaucracy meant that ordinary individuals participated in atrocities without feeling personal accountability, while pervasive propaganda normalised hateful ideologies and dehumanised targeted groups. Additionally, Bregman sets out that societal pressures to conform and the diffusion of responsibility led to widespread participation and the passive acceptance of oppressive policies.

This perspective shifts the focus from individual wrongdoing to understanding how structured systems and cultural conditioning can perpetuate unkindness and injustice on a massive scale. So with this in mind, the fostering of genuine kindness is not only about individual virtues but also involves fundamentally addressing and reforming the underlying societal and institutional frameworks. By deconstructing discriminatory systems, improving transparency, and cultivating a culture of empathy and accountability, we transform kindness from individual, isolated acts into a foundational platform for systemic change.

Conclusions

Looking more closely than we tend to at acts of kindness has shown us how it has the potential to transcend entrenched conflict and injustice even in the worst of circumstances. Central to kindness is our collective imagination, which requires us to look beyond the boundaries of our existing systems. Engaging in the imaginative pursuit of a kinder, more just society, is when significant societal shifts can happen. Kindness requires us to challenge the mechanistic, utilitarian view of the world and consider one made up of more meaningful transformation.

There are real opportunities to better think about and consider the value of kindness, not just for each other as individuals but for governments and brands and indeed any type of organisation. There is widespread acceptance that we need change, and it needs to happen fast. Kindness, far from being the refuge of the weak and the sentimental, could well in fact be the potent force needed to make change happen.