What are the forces that oppose altruism, and how can they be overcome? These are two important questions that we must answer if we want to contribute to the development of altruism in society.
Egocentrism is directly opposed to altruism. We will first concentrate on identifying the nature and manifestations of this egocentrism, and on tracing it back to its source, that is, to the formation of the concept of ego and the attachment we form to it. We will show that as egocentrism creates a chasm between self and other, the notion of belonging to a particular group (family, ethnic group, religion, village, city, country, baseball team, etc.) takes on increasing importance to the detriment of the solidarity we feel with others and the value we accord them. This process leads us to define, consciously or not, different groups of people who are close to us, or those less close.1
The divisions thus established are not harmless; they lead to discrimination. Many psychological studies have shown that the individual tends systematically to give preference to members of one’s own group, neglecting any concern for fairness and care. The turning in on oneself that accompanies egocentrism naturally leads to a decline of empathy and altruism. The influence of egocentrism can culminate in violence to satisfy one’s desires or to knowingly harm others.
Looking outward, we solidify the world by projecting attributes onto it—good or bad, beautiful or ugly, desirable or repulsive—which are not inherent to it at all. Looking inward, we fixate our stream of consciousness by imagining an “I” that presides in the heart of our being. We take it for granted that we perceive things as they are. We attribute permanence to what is ephemeral and perceive as autonomous entities what is actually a vast network of constantly changing relationships.
Early childhood psychology studies how a newborn learns to know the world, to situate itself in relation to others. Around the age of one, the infant comes to understand that others are distinct from him, that the world is not a simple extension of himself, and that he can act on it. We have seen that starting from the age of eighteen months, the child begins to recognize himself in a mirror and acquires self-awareness.
Although our body is undergoing transformations every instant and our mind is the theater of countless emotional and conceptual experiences, we conceive of the “self” as a unique, constant, autonomous entity. The simple perception of a “me” has now crystallized into a much stronger sense of identity, the ego. What’s more, we feel that this ego is vulnerable, and we want to protect and satisfy it. That is how aversion for anything that threatens it and attraction for anything that pleases and comforts it manifest. These two mental states give rise to a multitude of conflicting emotions—hatred, compulsive desire, envy, and so on.
The sense of personal identity has three aspects: the I, the person, and the ego.2 The I lives in the present; it is what thinks “I’m hungry” or “I exist.” It is the site of awareness, thoughts, judgment, and will. It is the experience of our immediate condition. The I, especially, is nothing but the present content of our mental stream, which is changing every instant.
As the neuropsychiatrist David Galin explains,3 the notion of person is broader; it’s a dynamic continuum extending through time and incorporating various aspects of our corporeal, mental, and social existence. Its boundaries are more fluid: the person can refer to the body (“personal fitness”), intimate thoughts (“a very personal feeling”), character (“a nice person”), social relations (“separating one’s personal from one’s professional life”), or the human being in general (“respect for one’s person”). Its continuity in time allows us to connect representations of ourselves that belong to the past to those that concern the future. Recourse to the notion of the person is entirely legitimate if we regard “person” as a practical concept allowing us to designate the history of our lived experience, that is, the ensemble of dynamic relationships between consciousness, body, and environment.4
There remains the ego. Spontaneously we think it constitutes the very core of our being. We regard it as an indivisible, permanent whole that characterizes us from birth to death. The ego is not just the sum total of “my” limbs, “my” organs, “my” skin, “my” name, “my” consciousness, but their owner. Descartes, for instance, wrote: “When I consider my mind—that is, myself, given that I am merely a thing that thinks—I can identify no distinct parts to it, but conceive of myself as a single and complete thing.”5, 6
If the ego existed as a distinct entity, we should be able to describe this entity clearly enough to confirm to ourselves that it is something other than simply a concept. In particular, we can ask ourselves, “Where is the ego?” It cannot be solely in my body, since when I say “I’m proud,” it’s my consciousness that’s proud, not my body. Is it solely in my consciousness, then? That’s far from obvious. When I say, “Someone pushed me,” this way of speaking reveals that I sometimes locate my ego in my body. But if we pursue our investigation, we cannot say that the ego does not reside in any part of the body, no more than it is spread throughout the body. Might it simply be the sum of their parts, their structure and continuity? In that case, we can no longer speak of an entity.
We readily think that the ego is associated with consciousness. But that consciousness is also an elusive stream: the past is dead, the future hasn’t yet been born, and the present doesn’t last. How could the ego, regarded as a distinct entity, exist suspended between something that no longer exists and something that doesn’t yet exist?
The more we try to define the ego, the more it eludes us. The only conclusion possible is that the ego is nothing but a mental designation affixed to a dynamic process, a useful concept that allows us to connect an ensemble of interdependent and ever-changing factors that incorporate perceptions of the environment, sensations, mental images, emotions, and thoughts.
We in fact have an innate tendency to simplify complex ensembles to make them into “entities” and hence to infer that these entities are lasting. It is easier to function in the world by taking for granted that the majority of our environment doesn’t change from one minute to the next and by treating most things as if they were more or less constant. I would lose all concept of what “my body” is if I perceived it as a whirlwind of atoms that never remain the same even for a millionth of a second. But too quickly I forget that the ordinary perception of my body and phenomena around me is only an approximation, and that in reality everything is changing at every instant. The mistaken perception of my body as an entity that remains more or less the same and that is separate from the world is a useful simplification in our everyday experience. But it is important to realize that this is only a perception, reinforced by practical necessity, which we have then confused with reality. The same is true for the ego, the perception of which, reinforced by habit, is nothing but a mental construction.
Thus, Buddhism concludes that the ego is not nonexistent—we experience it constantly—but that it exists only as a mere concept. It’s in this sense that Buddhism says that the ego (the I perceived as an entity) is “empty of autonomous, permanent existence.” The ego is like a mirage. Examined superficially and seen from a distance, the mirage of a lake seems real, but when you approach it, you’d be hard-pressed to find water.
The idea of our identity, our image, our status in life, is profoundly anchored in our minds and is constantly influencing our relationships with others. When a discussion goes bad, it’s not so much the topic of discussion that matters to us and upsets us, but rather it’s the calling into question of our identity. The slightest word that threatens the image we have of ourselves is unbearable to us, whereas the same word applied to someone else doesn’t bother us. If we have a strong image of ourselves, we will constantly try to ensure that it’s recognized and accepted. Nothing is more upsetting than seeing it doubted.
But what is the value of this identity? It is interesting to note that the word personality comes from persona, which means “mask” in Latin: the mask “through” (per) which the actor makes his role “resound” (sonat).7 While the actor knows he is wearing a mask, we often forget to distinguish between the role we play in society and our true nature.
We often speak of an individual’s family and social roles: the role of a mother or father, the role of a company director or an artist. In doing this, a constant and subconscious slippage occurs between the idea of a particular function—pianist, athlete, student, teacher, boss, or employee—and the identification of the person with that function, till it ends up defining the individual and distances us from our basic humanity, which we share with all our fellows.
By clinging to the confined universe of our ego, we tend to be preoccupied solely with ourselves. The slightest contradiction makes us angry or disheartened. We are obsessed with our success, our failure, our hopes and fears; as a result, happiness has every chance of eluding us. If ego is nothing but a mental construct, then freeing ourselves from it does not mean tearing our hearts out, but simply opening our eyes. Abandoning this fixation on our image leads to great inner freedom.
Out of fear of the world and other people, out of fear of suffering, we imagine that by remaining entrenched inside a bubble, that of the ego, we will be protected. For all that, we find ourselves at odds with reality, since we are fundamentally interdependent with other beings and with our environment.
When we stop regarding our I as the most important thing in the world, we become more concerned with others. Seeing their suffering more spontaneously rouses our courage and determination to work for their benefit.
Unlike Buddhism, the methods of psychology aren’t much concerned with lessening the importance of the ego, and even less about putting an end to the illusion of ego. In the West, calling into question the notion of ego is quite a new, almost subversive idea, since the ego is usually held as the foundational element of personality.
The idea that it is necessary to have a robust ego stems no doubt from the fact that people suffering from psychic disorders are regarded as beings who have a fragmented, fragile, deficient self. But that is confusing ego with self-confidence. The ego can procure only an artificial confidence, built on precarious attributes—power, success, beauty, physical strength, intellectual brio, the admiration of others—all the elements we believe constitute our “identity,” in our eyes and those of others. When this facade crumbles, the ego is vexed or poses as a victim, and self-confidence is destroyed.
According to Buddhism, dissipating the illusion of ego is freeing oneself from fundamental vulnerability, and thereby winning real self-confidence, which is one of the natural qualities of the absence of ego. Truly, the feeling of security procured by the illusion of ego is eminently fragile. The disappearance of this illusion goes hand in hand with the realization of our potential for an inner freedom that gives us the inner resources to deal with the ups and downs of life in an optimal way. Since we feel less vulnerable, we also become more open to others and eager to care for them.
Paul Ekman, specialist in the science of emotions, notes among people who grant little importance to their ego “an impression of kindness, a way of being that others can sense and appreciate, and, unlike so many charismatic charlatans, perfect harmony between their private and public lives.”8 But above all, Ekman says, “These people inspire others by how little they make of their status, their fame—in short, their self. They never give a second thought to whether their position or importance is recognized.” Such an absence of egocentrism, he adds, “is altogether perplexing from a psychological point of view.” Ekman also stresses how “people instinctively want to be in their company and how, even if they can’t always explain why, they find their presence enriching. In essence, they emanate goodness.”
A study that analyzes and synthesizes a number of scientific studies having to do with the psychological consequences of egocentrism, carried out by the psychologist Michaël Dambrun at the Université Clermont-Ferrand and in which I participated, showed that excessive egocentrism goes hand in hand with a search for hedonistic happiness, that is, happiness based on fluctuating pleasures, and with a diminution of the feeling of well-being. On the other hand, the weakening of egocentrism is accompanied by a search for eudemonic happiness, which is based on a way of being and is marked by a feeling of accomplishment and contentment, as well as by a more stable and deeper well-being based on openness to others.9
A man (an actor) is lying on the lawn at the University of Manchester in England, next to a busy path. He seems to be sick. People go by. Only a few (15%) stop to see if he needs help. The same man is lying on the same lawn, but this time he is wearing a Liverpool soccer jersey (a rival club to Manchester’s, but one that has many supporters among the students from Liverpool). This time, 85% of the passersby, fans of the team, approach to see if he needs a hand. At the end of the path, a team of researchers from the university questions all the passersby, regardless of whether or not they stopped.10 This study, along with many others, confirms that the feeling of belonging considerably influences our readiness to cooperate and help each other.
The feeling of belonging to a group or a community in which everyone feels close to and responsible for everyone else has many virtues. It reinforces solidarity, valorizes the other, and favors the pursuit of common aims that go beyond the individual framework. It allows us, certainly, to grant more importance to we than to me.
But the strong feeling of belonging to a group also has effects that are detrimental to the harmony of human relations. Privileging members of our group is accompanied by a correlating de-privileging of those who do not belong to it, those who are foreigners or who belong to a rival group. This partiality leads to different forms of discrimination like racism, sexism, homophobia, and religious intolerance. And even if the group to which one is attached is the human species in general, this attachment has the corollary of “speciesism,” an attitude by which other living species are regarded as intrinsically inferior.
Studies by the psychologists LeVine and Campbell on prejudice and the behavior of ethnic groups have highlighted the following characteristics: members of a group think that their values are universal and fundamentally right; they cooperate with the other members of their group but also punish them, if necessary, for their crimes (theft, murder, etc.). They want to continue to belong to the group, obey the authorities that represent it, and are ready to fight and die to defend their interests.11
On the other hand, they regard members of other groups as intrinsically inferior, contemptible, and immoral. They rarely cooperate with that group, do not respect the authority of its leaders, blame it for difficulties they themselves encounter, and are ready to fight against them. They fear them and do not trust them. In the education they give their children, they cite behaviors of the other group’s members as examples not to follow. When the feeling of personal value linked to the group is exaggerated—the psychologist Henri Tajfel cites the examples of members of the Ku Klux Klan who dress up in white hoods and robes, or of terrorist trainees who meet in secret—it leads to the worst sectarian behavior and the most violent conflicts.12
Tajfel also showed that even the purely artificial creation of two groups based on whether one prefers the paintings of Klee or of Kandinsky, for example, or based on flipping a coin and choosing heads or tails, quickly leads people to prefer members of their group, to grant them more resources, and to have less confidence in the members of the other group.
In a famous series of experiments, the psychologist Muzafer Sherif and his colleagues arranged a summer camp for boys aged twelve to fourteen. They were divided into two groups each of eleven teenagers, set up at opposite ends of a 200-acre area in Robbers Cave State Park, Oklahoma. For a week, each group thought it was alone in the park, occupying a cabin, finding swimming holes, going on hikes, and so on. The first group called itself the “Rattlesnakes.”
In the beginning of the second week, each group was told of the existence of the other. This information alone quickly aroused a reciprocal feeling of hostility. The group that didn’t yet have a name purposedly dubbed itself the “Eagles” (which, of course, eat snakes). The division between “us” and the “others” was thus quickly made.
Then, the experimenters announced a series of contests between the two groups (baseball games, inspection of cabins and their state of cleanliness, and so on). What’s more, they were made to eat in the same cafeteria, where the prizes and trophies that were going to be distributed to the contest winners were on display. After an honorable beginning, the sporting activities quickly degenerated. The players insulted each other, and after the Eagles were defeated, their leader set fire to the Rattlesnakes’ flag, which incited the latter to do the same to the Eagles’ flag the next day. As the days passed, the situation got worse, tensions took on an unforeseen magnitude, and the experimenters decided to break off the experiment.13
A few years later, the same researchers attempted another experiment. Once a heightened level of tension had been set up between the two groups, the experimenters imagined various stratagems to reestablish peace. First they asked everyone to find and then repair a leak in the water pipe feeding the camp. During this task, hostility lessened, but soon reappeared. The experimenters then organized an evening where they took the boys of both groups to the movies. But again, peace was short-lived.
Finally, they had the idea of overturning the truck that brought food to the camp in a deep ditch, so that fixing it would require the collaboration of all the boys for an entire day, at the cost of enormous effort. One group alone could not have freed the vehicle. It was observed that ties of solidarity and then of friendship were created between the members of both groups, so that they wholeheartedly collaborated in a common aim. The enmity between the two groups stopped, and the teenagers decided to return to town together in the same bus.
For the researchers, such an experiment revealed profound insights into the development of a real culture of peace. It showed that it is not enough for two hostile groups to stop fighting or to live together. They have to work together for the common good.
To reduce tension and conflicts between antagonistic groups, the establishment of personal contact between their members should be encouraged. When they learn to get to know each other by spending time together, they are much more inclined to be kind, since they grant more value to the other by perceiving the other’s needs, hopes, and fears more clearly. As the Robbers Cave experiment shows, it is not enough just to put them in contact with each other, which usually tends to exacerbate hostile feelings.14 One of the most effective techniques consists of proposing to both groups a common goal that can be attained only by joining forces.15 The participants then learn to appreciate each other by working together toward reaching this goal.
Essentially, getting rid of attachment to ego in no way undermines our aspiration to be happy and flourish. What it does do is eliminate the excessive importance we attach to our happiness in relation to that of others. Getting rid of this attachment comes down not to devalorizing our happiness, but in revalorizing the happiness of others.