Is altruism a motivation, a momentary state of mind that aims at accomplishing the good of others, or a disposition to care for others in a benevolent way, pointing to a more lasting character trait? Definitions abound and, sometimes, contradict each other. If we want to show that real altruism exists and help it spread throughout society, it is necessary to clarify the meaning of this term.
The word “altruism,” derived from the Latin alter, “other,” was used for the first time in the nineteenth century by Auguste Comte, one of the fathers of sociology and the founder of positivism. Altruism, according to Comte, implies “the elimination of selfish desire and of egocentrism, as well as leading a life devoted to the well-being of others.”1
The American philosopher Thomas Nagel explains that altruism is “a willingness to act in consideration of the interests of the other person, without the need of ulterior motive.”2 It is a rational determination to act stemming from “the direct influence of one person’s interest on the actions of another, simply because in itself the interest of the former provides the latter with a reason to act.”3
Other thinkers, confident in the potential for benevolence present in humans, go further and, like the American philosopher Stephen Post, define altruistic love as “unselfish delight in the well-being of others, and engagement in acts of care and service on their behalf. Unlimited love extends this love to all others without exception, in an enduring and constant way.”4 The agapē of Christianity is an unconditional love for other human beings, while altruistic love and compassion in Buddhism, maitri and karuna, extend to all sentient beings, humans and non-humans.
Some authors emphasize putting intentions into practice, while others think it is motivation that defines altruism. The psychologist Daniel Batson, who has devoted his career to the study of altruism, points out that “altruism is a motivational state with the ultimate goal of increasing another’s welfare.”5 He clearly distinguishes altruism as ultimate goal (my explicit aim is to accomplish others’ welfare) from altruism as means (I accomplish others’ welfare with a view to fulfilling my own well-being). In his eyes, for a motivation to be altruistic, the well-being of others must constitute a goal in itself.6
In her book entitled The Heart of Altruism, Kristen Monroe, professor of political science and philosophy at the University of Irvine at California, suggests we reserve the term “altruism” for actions carried out for the well-being of others at the price of some risk for ourselves, without expecting anything in return. According to her, good intentions are indispensable for altruism, but they are not enough. One must act, and action must have a precise goal, that of contributing to the well-being of another.7
Monroe does acknowledge, however, that motivations for an action count more than their results.8 So it seems preferable to us not to restrict the use of the term altruism to external behavior, since actions do not in themselves allow us to know with certainty the motivation that inspired them. Just as the appearance of undesirable and unforeseen consequences does not call into question the altruistic nature of an action meant for the good of the other, so a hindrance to taking action, which is beyond the control of the one who wants to act, does not at all diminish the altruistic nature of his motivation.
Moreover, for Monroe, an action cannot be considered altruistic if it does not bear a risk and has no “cost,” however potential, for the one who performs it. In our opinion, an altruistic individual will indeed be ready to take risks to accomplish good for others, but the simple fact of taking risks for someone else is neither necessary nor sufficient to qualify as altruistic behavior. One can imagine an individual putting himself in danger to help someone with the idea of gaining his trust and drawing personal advantages from it sufficiently desirable to justify the perils encountered. What’s more, some people agree to court danger for purely selfish reasons—to seek glory, for instance, by carrying out a dangerous exploit. On the other hand, a behavior can be sincerely devoted to the good of the other, without bearing any notable risk whatever. The one who, moved by benevolence, gives away part of his wealth or devotes years to a charity organization helping people in need does not necessarily take a risk; but his behavior deserves to be qualified as altruistic, in our sense of it.
Our motivations, whether they are benevolent, malevolent or neutral, color our actions. One cannot distinguish altruistic behavior from selfish behavior, a lie meant to do good from another uttered to harm, by the sole appearance of actions. If a mother suddenly pushes her child to the side of the street to prevent it from being run over by a car, her action is violent only in appearance. If someone approaches you with a big smile and showers you with compliments with the sole aim of swindling you, his conduct may seem benevolent, but his intentions are obviously selfish.
Keeping in mind our limited ability to control outer events or anticipate the turn they will take in the long run, we cannot qualify an act as either altruistic or selfish on the basis of the simple observation of its immediate consequences. Giving drugs or a glass of alcohol to someone who is undergoing a detox cure, with the excuse that he is suffering from abstention symptoms, will no doubt provide him with much-appreciated temporary relief, but such an action will do him no good in the long run.
On the other hand, in every circumstance, it is possible for us to examine our motivations attentively and honestly, and to do our best to determine if they are selfish or altruistic. More often than not, we neglect to do so. It is also easy to misperceive our true motive. This is why Buddhist teachings emphasize the need to look again and again into the mirror of one’s mind to check our motivations.
Valuing the other and being concerned about his situation are two essential components to altruism. When this attitude prevails in us, it manifests itself in the form of benevolence toward others, and it is translated into an open-mindedness and a willingness to take care of them.
When we observe that the other has a particular need or desire whose satisfaction will enable him to avoid suffering or to experience well-being, empathy first makes us become aware of this need. Then, concern for the other gives rise to a desire to help satisfy that need. On the other hand, if we grant little value to the other, we will be indifferent to him: we will ignore his needs; perhaps we will not even notice them.10
The fact of experiencing joy in working for the good of others, or of coming away with unexpected benefits for oneself, does not, in itself, make an action selfish. Authentic altruism does not require that you suffer from helping others and does not lose its authenticity if it is accompanied by a feeling of profound satisfaction. What’s more, the very notion of sacrifice is relative: what seems a sacrifice to some is felt as a gain by others, as illustrated by the following story.
Sanjit “Bunker” Roy, with whom our humanitarian organization Karuna-Shechen collaborates, relates that at the age of twenty, as the son of a good family educated in one of the most prestigious schools in India, he was destined for a fine career. His mother already pictured him as a doctor, an engineer, or an official in the World Bank. That year, in 1965, a terrible famine broke out in the province of Bihar, one of the poorest states in India. Bunker, inspired by Jai Prakash Narayan, friend of Gandhi and a great Indian moral figure, decided to go with friends his age to see what was happening in the villages most affected. He returned a few weeks later, transformed, and told his mother he wanted to go live in a village. After a period of worried silence, his mother asked him: “And what are you going to do in a village?” Bunker replied: “To work as an unskilled laborer, digging wells.”
“My mother almost went into a coma,” Bunker says. The other members of the family tried to reassure her, saying: “Don’t worry, like all teenagers, he’s having his crisis of idealism. After toiling there for a few weeks, he’ll soon become disillusioned and will come home.”
But Bunker did not come home, and remained for four decades in villages. For six years, he dug three hundred wells with a pneumatic drill in the countryside of Rajasthan. His mother stopped talking to him for years. When he settled in the village of Tilonia, the local authorities didn’t understand either: “Are you running away from the police?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Were you unable to get a government job?”
“No.”
Someone of his social standing and with such a high level of education was out of place in a poor village.
Bunker realized he could do more than dig wells. He observed that the men who had completed their studies left for the cities and contributed nothing whatsoever to helping their villages. “Men are untrainable,” he proclaimed mischievously. It was better, he thought, to educate the women, especially the young grandmothers (aged 35–50) who had more free time than mothers with families. Even if they were illiterate, it was possible to train them so they could become “solar engineers,” able to make solar panels. And there was no risk of their leaving the village.
Bunker was ignored for a long time, then criticized by the local authorities and international organizations, including the World Bank. But he persevered and trained hundreds of illiterate grandmothers who supplied solar energy to almost a thousand villages in India and in many other countries. His activity is now supported by the Indian government and other organizations; it is cited as an example almost everywhere in the world. He has also come up with programs that use the ancestral know-how of farmers, especially ways to collect rainwater to fill tanks big enough to provide for the yearly needs of the villagers. Before, women had to walk several hours every day to bring back heavy jars of often polluted water. In Rajasthan, he founded the Barefoot College, in which even the teachers have no college degree but share their experience based on years of practice. Everyone lives very simply at the college, like Gandhi’s communities, and no one is paid more than 100 euros a month.
He has since reconciled with his family, who are now proud of him. So, for many years, what seemed to those close to Bunker to be an insane sacrifice has constituted for him a success that has filled him with enthusiasm and satisfaction. Far from discouraging him, the difficulties he encountered on his way have only stimulated his intelligence, his compassion, and his creative faculties. To this day, and for forty years, Bunker has led to fruition a multitude of remarkable projects in nearly sixty-seven countries. What’s more, his entire being radiates the calm contentment of a meaningful life.
To teach villagers in a lively way, Bunker and his collaborators organize representations featuring large papier-mâché marionettes. As a sly wink to those who used to look down on him, these marionettes are made from recycled reports of the World Bank. Bunker quotes Gandhi: “First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Finally, you win.”
For Daniel Batson, altruism is not so much a way of being as a motivating force directed toward a goal, a force that disappears when that goal is attained. Batson thus envisions altruism as a temporary mental state linked to the perception of a particular need in another person, rather than as a lasting disposition. He prefers to speak of altruism instead of altruists, since, at any time, a person can harbor in himself a mixture of motivations, some altruistic and some selfish. Personal interest can also enter into competition with the interest of others and create an internal conflict.
It seems legitimate, then, to speak also of altruistic or selfish dispositions according to the mental states that usually predominate in a person—all the stages between unconditional altruism and narrow-minded selfishness are conceivable. The Scottish philosopher Francis Hutcheson said about altruism that it was not “some few accidental motions of compassion, natural affection, or gratitude; but such a fixed humanity, the desire for the public good of all those to whom our influence can extend, a desire that regularly urges us to all acts of benevolence, and leads us to learn correctly the best way to serve the interests of humanity.”11 For his part, the American historian Philip Hallie states that “Goodness is not a doctrine or principle. It is a way of living.”12
This lasting internal disposition is accompanied by a particular view of the world. According to Kristen Monroe, “altruists simply have a different way of seeing things. Where the rest of us see a stranger, altruists see a fellow human being. While many disparate factors may contribute to the existence and development of what I identify as an altruistic perspective, it is the perspective itself that constitutes the heart of altruism.”13
The French psychologists Jean-François Deschamps and Rémi Finkelstein have also demonstrated the existence of a link between altruism regarded as a personal value and prosocial behavior, especially voluntary work.14
Further, our spontaneous reactions faced with unforeseeable circumstances reflect our deep-set dispositions and our degree of internal preparedness. Most of us will extend a hand to someone who has just fallen into the water. A psychopath or a person dominated by hatred might watch the unfortunate person drown without lifting a finger, even with a sadistic satisfaction.
Fundamentally, to the extent that altruism permeates our minds, it is expressed instantaneously when we are confronted with the needs of the other. As the Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor wrote: “Much modern moral philosophy has focused on what it is right to do rather than the nature of the good life.”15 This view of things allows altruism to join a vaster perspective and lets us envisage the possibility of cultivating it as a way of being.