Reflections on Selfishness and Citizenship
I am a selfish man. By “selfish” I simply mean that, moment to moment, in matters big and small, and whether my goal is fun, comfort or service to others, I decide which of the options I perceive best serves my interests and values. The decision may be reflexive or deliberate, conscious or unconscious. It may be foolish. But what I do – or don’t do – shows what I chose.
As babies, we are naturally, completely selfish: we cry when we are hungry, uncomfortable, or frightened. We sleep when we are more tired than uncomfortable. We smile when comfortable and amused. We develop and grow to the point that our abilities, given free rein, would be dangerous to our physical – or social – survival. Parents and others begin to draw boundaries for us: someone tells us “No!” – “You can’t do that!” – “You have to do this!”
Sooner or later, we get the message - “Don’t be selfish!”
As we grow, we learn the shame of being called selfish and, soon, of feeling selfish. We learn to deny, even to ourselves, what seems obvious: except when addiction or mental illness interferes with free choice, it is up to each of us what beliefs to keep or to reject, and how to pursue our goals, manage our impulses, and balance the duties we have undertaken with care of ourselves. Sometimes we ruminate over these decisions. Sometimes, particularly with beliefs formed in childhood or pressed upon us by family or the culture around us, we don’t give them any conscious thought at all. But what or who we serve, or allow to influence us, are choices. Whether or not to shoulder some of another’s burdens; to vote; to be kind; to take a risk, or even to think about risk; to be patient; to have a drink, or another drink; to give money to charity, or to a panhandler – these are all choices. Getting out of bed may not feel like a choice, but it is. Beyond personal decisions, the law, politics, business, economics from pawn shop to planet, and contracts of all kinds, from mergers to marriages, are based on choices perceived by the decision-makers to serve their interests, all in all.
The conscious and unconscious factors that influence our decisions and actions – habit, desire, experience, analysis, intuition, peer pressure and convenience, to name a few – are innumerable. Others may agree that something we do is the right thing, but our doing it is no less selfish – no less our responsibility – because of others’ approval.
Seeing our lives as a series of decisions for which we are responsible is both clarifying and liberating. Intentionally striving to be faithful to our values and to accept responsibility for our choices provides a sense of control and of purpose, and an internal gyroscope in aid of our purpose. Being responsible for the consequences of our choices, we don’t have to do anything. We can choose to follow the law and to be our best selves because we get much more from doing so – including the satisfaction of contributing to others – than we would from not doing so.
In this light, the proverbial tree of the knowledge of good and evil reveals itself to be only of the perception of the knowledge of good and evil. Conversations and social interactions become deeper and more interesting when, freed from feeling we must appear unselfish, and with growing compassion for those weighed down by that feeling, we seek to understand others’ perspectives. As Ben Franklin urged, we can acknowledge in debates public and private that, beyond objective facts, and particularly concerning the meaning of facts, we speak not in pronouncements but in perceptions.
I could avoid the word “selfish” and use “self-interest” to sum up the chemistry of human decision-making. But what, really, is the distinction? What would be the point, except to avoid, and thus to preserve, the shame associated with being selfish? Why cling to the conviction that selfishness is bad if the result is that it is more important to be right than to admit both responsibility for our choices and the fact that reasonable, honest people will disagree? Fortunately, accepting and admitting that we cannot help but be selfish inoculates us against the shame of being so. Accepting that I am selfish is also an effective antidote to self-pity: if my choices got me in whatever pickle I may be, I may feel foolish, but what’s the point in feeling sorry for myself?
Finally, if I can only be selfish, I ought to be as bright about it as I can be. I can try to understand what is going on around me; to examine my reactions and motives and their roots; to identify my options and their likely consequences; and to be honest with myself and others about my values and priorities as they are revealed by what I actually do. There is one key ethical caveat: selfishness should not be weaponized, that is, turned away from oneself and aimed at others as criticism or put-down. If I admit to being completely selfish, how can I complain that someone else is?
This is just one perspective, one lens among many through which to examine one’s circumstances, options and decisions. Having admitted that I am selfish, far be it from me to criticize anyone else’s choice of perspectives. But I do think it is each citizen’s duty to think for himself or herself, considering from time to time what his or her fundamental perspectives are.
I invite others to whom this perspective makes sense to consider the question of inherent human selfishness directly or, by examining how many of our decisions are really unselfish, indirectly. The key is disconnecting one’s personal decision-making from the shame of selfishness, and from fear of others’ judgments of selfishness. This exploration and its results, though different for every person, will be their own great reward personally and for society.