How to know if you're being selfish (and whether or not that's bad) - Mark Hopwood
In the kitchen at a friend's party,
you're in the midst of a profound
moral conundrum.
Famous philosophers whisper
advice in your ear.
Utilitarian John Stuart Mill tells you
that one should always strive
to bring about the greatest happiness
for the greatest number of people.
Aristotle reminds you of the importance
of the virtues of generosity and justice.
But Thomas Hobbes points out that
"of all voluntary acts,
the object is to every man his own good."
In other words, human beings
are inherently selfish anyway.
So why shouldn't you take
the last cupcake for yourself?
This is actually one of philosophy's
oldest questions.
Not your cupcake dilemma—
the question of whether or not
human beings are inherently selfish.
The idea that humans only act
out of self-interest
is known as psychological egoism,
and there aren't many philosophers
who endorse this extreme stance.
There's simply too much evidence
of humans sacrificing their self-interest,
and sometimes their very lives,
for the sake of others.
And studies by psychologists have shown
that even very young children
demonstrate helpful behavior despite
there being nothing in it for themselves.
However, the idea that all humans
have a deep selfish streak
is something many more philosophers
would agree with.
German philosopher Immanuel Kant noted
that while we often seem to act
for the sake of others,
it's impossible to be sure
we're not truly motivated
by "a secret impulse of self-love."
For example, maybe when people make
large donations to charity,
they're actually more interested
in looking good
or benefiting from tax breaks
than helping others.
It's worth noting that not all
philosophers think self-love
is always a bad thing.
French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau
identified two kinds of self-love.
He believed "Amour de soi,"
our basic need for self-preservation,
is natural and essential.
But he identified "amour propre,"
our toxic desire for recognition
and social status,
as the cause of many unjust disparities.
In a similar vein, Aristotle argued
that humans are social beings
who can only flourish when we seek
the good of others as well as ourselves.
By this logic, true self-love requires us
to work against our selfish tendencies.
For many philosophers,
this is where the real problem lies—
how do we overcome our selfishness?
Some, like Kant, have argued
that our sense of moral duty
is what helps us rise
above our narrow self-interest.
Others, like Rousseau and Adam Smith,
contend that emotions
like pity and sympathy
are what allow us to consider
the needs of others.
But 20th century philosopher-novelist
Iris Murdoch
believed the only true solution
to human selfishness was love.
Or at least,
a certain kind of love.
For Murdoch, selfishness isn't about
trivial things
like taking the last cupcake.
It's about seeing the world in a way
that casts yourself as a star,
and everyone else as secondary characters.
To explain this, Murdoch tells the story
of a discontented mother-in-law.
While the mother is always polite,
she secretly feels her son made
a mistake marrying his "vulgar"
and "tiresomely juvenile" wife.
To Murdoch, this mother
is the picture of selfishness.
By centering her own jealousy
and insecurity,
she's reducing the nuanced reality
of her daughter-in-law to a caricature.
But with some conscious effort,
Murdoch believes the mother can learn to
see her daughter in law as she truly is—
not vulgar or juvenile,
but refreshingly straightforward
and delightfully youthful.
To be clear, this doesn't mean
the mother should simply don
rose-colored glasses.
Love, as Murdoch defines it,
is "the extremely difficult realization
that something other than oneself
is real."
As challenging as this might be,
Murdoch believes we can all reach
this realization
by cultivating what she calls attention.
Partially inspired by Buddhist meditation,
this practice could include engaging
with art, learning foreign languages,
or simply taking the time to observe
the natural environment.
What's important for Murdoch
is that the behavior
helps direct your attention
beyond the self.
Because only by practicing our ability
to attend to the world around us
can we learn to see it as it truly is.
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