We have all seen or done an act of altruism. It could be donating cash to a stranger, assisting a senior citizen cross the street, or giving an organ. At first glance, these acts appear to be solely selfless—done for the other's sake and without regard for one's own.
But there has hung over philosophy and psychology for centuries the haunting and nagging question: Is genuine selflessness possible? Can it be that everything we do that seems so altruistic truly stems from some self-interest? The question compels us to consider the ulterior motives of the human heart and to challenge our dearest assumptions concerning goodness itself. The argument that altruism is selfish traditionally begins with the self-evident truism that to do good is to feel good.
When we perform a good deed, brain chemistry is altered. Neurotransmitters such as endorphins and dopamine are released into our system, which provides us with this sensation of euphoria called a "helper's high." This is not merely something we sense; it is a quantifiable, biological response. Our brains have evolved to reward pro-social behavior because it was important to the survival of our forebears. Being part of a cooperative group maximized the prospects of survival for each member.
So, it is safe to assume that we are doing poorly because we love other people too much, but rather because our biology compels us towards the happy, fuzzy sensation of being helpful. Even if what we are doing is indeed helpful to another human, the reason is really for the happy drug high in the brain. Apart from biology, there is a great psychological reward.
Being good makes us feel good about ourselves. It makes us feel like a "good person," a good, kind, and generous one. Such positive self-esteem is both social and personal capital. It is nice to feel valued and worthwhile. Further, altruism does not usually happen in isolation. Helpful deeds are public or become public knowledge in our society. This will gain our approval, esteem, and good standing.
It is not an intentional calculation, but from an evolutionary standpoint, being in good standing made one a better partner and ally, improving one's own success potential. So even an anonymous act of generosity may be an unconscious urge to preserve a good self-image that others value. This has been critiqued by philosophers for millennia.
The psychological egoist theory contends that any human action, by definition, must be in the interest of the self. We are not actually mean or greedy, but our innermost desires for happiness, satisfaction, goodness, or guilt prevention are the final motivators for all that we do. Even the greatest sacrifice, this theory maintains, is done because the person values the idea of the sacrifice over his own life or safety.
A soldier leaping upon a grenade to save his comrades might do so to avoid the inhumane psychological suffering of living but seeing them die, or to gain the greatest level of honor, which is more precious to him than life itself. According to this view, there is always an intention to act for one's own benefit, even when the action subjectively results in one's own death. This kind of argument tends to find a lot of resistance because it appears to desecrate the beauty of an act of benevolence. However, the argument is that it does not lose its worth by being said.
The assistance still finds its beneficiary. The world remains a better place. The motive does not undo the effect. It only gives us a richer and maybe more accurate explanation of why we act the way we do. It implies that self-interest and others' interests are not necessarily mutually exclusive; they tend to be very often completely compatible.
My good is often tied in with my household's, my group's, and my fellow human beings' good. So, what is good for the group will be good for the individual as well, and this is a powerful natural incentive to what we call altruism. But there are strong counterarguments to this bleak picture. The strongest one is the tendency toward empathy.
Empathy is applied to explain the capacity to feel and know how another human being feels. We tend to assist people not so that they will feel good about themselves but so that we won't continue to feel bad for them. Their distress is vicariously ours through empathetic identification, and to comfort them is the most effective means of terminating our own distress. This is a less direct form of self-interest but far removed from instrumental action for a reward.
The primary intention is to end the other's suffering, and in doing so, our own empathetic suffering ceases. The motivation arises from real identification with the state of mind of another. Also, there are just countless instances of reflexive heroic acts that happen immediately and have no chance whatever for any kind of reward calculation, either conscious or unconscious. Someone leaping onto subway tracks to rescue a stranger does not take time out to worry about reputation, self-esteem, or the neurochemical payoff they are about to receive.
They act instinctively and instantaneously. What this suggests is that deep instinct, maybe driven by pure empathy, can trump self-preservation without selfish motive whatsoever. The action is done for the other individual's benefit, period. The good vibes or respect that would follow are a side effect, not an incentive. The solution to this ethical quicksand may be to rethink our language. The argument tends to get stuck on the term "selfish," with negative moral overtones.
Maybe it is more useful to separate categories of motivation. We can compare instrumental kindness, in which the assistance is being rendered mainly to receive something (praise, reward, good feeling), to genuine compassion, in which the good of the other is the main consideration, while the helper may incidentally feel good. The former is interested in employing someone else for oneself. The second is hoping to make another person better, and the icing on the cake is that one oneself gets better.
This nuance is aware of the psychological complexity of altruism but does not rob all acts of kindness of their secret selfish agenda. Ultimately, perhaps less relevant is the question than the act itself. Whether an action is done out of motivation for internal reward or plain empathy, the outcome remains the same: someone is helped.
The world is made a bit better. The biology and psychology that create helping behavior are a shining aspect of human design, not a defect. They lead us to behave in such a manner as to be kind to each other, no matter what the underlying motivation. This logic ultimately has a good intention: it calls for introspection. It calls us to look at what our motives are. Why do we donate? Are we looking for praise, or are we really concerned with the other's need? This is not said to freeze us in uncertainty, but to drive us toward a higher form of compassion.
By recognizing the potential of selfishness to be concealed, we can try to behave more authentically other-directed, making the world a greater place regardless of whatever is occurring in the secret corners of our minds.