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.
