Stop Caring About Legacy
Most of our motivation to be altruistic is selfish.
Enemies of Altruism
It seems like ego and vanity can get in the way of purpose, but it also seems like they can get in the way of altruism. In fact, the word altruism is pretty definitively not about the altruist at all.
The problem is that we’ve been sold the idea that, in addition to the great work and huge successes we need to achieve in our lives, we must also consider the afterlife: legacy.
Right. No pressure.
Legacy, as defined by these terms, is the idea that our names are living on after we die. Our children “carry the torch” by picking up the family business, or we generously donate our life’s savings to a foundation in exchange for our names to be posted on a building or a wall or a placard somewhere.
I’m not saying that these actions are bad. In fact, I think there aren’t nearly enough people putting what’s left of their life into social impact work—after all, you can’t take it with you. The trouble is that these gifts are not only about the impact they create, they’re also about the benefactor.
A few months ago, I had an idea.
What if I did some really nice, really good things for people in my day-to-day life, but then intentionally didn’t tell anyone about it? I’m not just talking about holding doors and helping old ladies lift luggage into the overhead compartment on an airplane. I mean full blown good-samaritan stuff. Like stopping what you’re doing in the middle of your day to go buy a Chipotle burrito for that homeless guy who hasn’t eaten in 2 days. Like pulling over on the highway, in the middle of your drive, to make sure that driver has a jack to fix their flat tire. Like giving someone your jacket. Like giving someone your food. I’m talking about making a personal sacrifice to help someone else who needs it more than you.
I’m sure this sounds like a nice idea at this point, but read on because the rest of this post might make you a smidge uncomfortable.
I’m making this point because I feel like the people with the power to support others the most often feel like supporting others should just feel easy. It should be as simple as writing a check. We don’t want to get our hands dirty. We don’t want to take on personal risk. We don’t want to be inconvenienced. We don’t want our own plans to be interrupted. That’s fine, I get it, I don’t really want to be inconvenienced either. Stopping what I’m doing is a tremendous pain. But consider for a minute that not engaging with people directly can remove us from the human connection that altruism is all about.
Altruists don’t need to hear “thank you.”
I’d like to go a bit further here and be even more specific to drive this home. Sometimes, it seems like the people with the power to support others have their own, hidden ideas about how they should be thanked for their generosity. Often, we celebrate them with the recognition of placards and letters, or we hold a gala to make them feel special. I get it. Donations go up when we do this. That part is super practical.
What I strongly dislike is that it seems like the people with the power to support others also get pretty upset if they’re not recognized in the way they want.
Writing a check in exchange for a name on a building doesn’t necessarily hurt anyone, but it also isn’t really true altruism.
In some religions, the person who gives just a few dollars at great personal sacrifice is heralded as more generous than the high net-worth person who writes a check for a thousand times more.
Let me tie this together.
We want to be powerful benefactors more than we want to do good.
It just feels like we’ve displaced the human element (personal sacrifice) with an egotistical one (legacy). It feels like we’ve traded human connection for a shot at some low-level fame. And vanity just doesn’t sit right with me.
And if I’m being honest, it’s not like I don’t feel the pain of not being recognized. I can count a few times when I handed food to a homeless person only to be asked for money instead.
Sure, I didn’t like that, but also, I have no idea what happened in that person’s life to create that response—and the second my ego is bruised because I didn’t get my dopamine hit from being thanked for my generosity, I’ve made it about me. And that’s the distinction I’m trying to make.
Where does your motivation come from?
I’m sure that this will come across as yet another one of my unpopular opinions, but I hope it encourages you to think about where your motivation to help people comes from.
To be clear, we all get a little hit of dopamine when we do something nice for someone else. There’s no avoiding that. I’m not saying that giving or supporting others can ever be purely altruist—but I am saying that we can do better.
There have been several, well-documented studies that show that “pro-social behaviors” are generally the default for people, but also that we always get behavioral reinforcement from brain chemicals. Here’s a decent summary of how psychologists and philosophers think about altruism:
Harvard Health: The Truth About Altruism
So, again, I’m not saying that pure altruism is even possible.
I just think we can challenge ourselves to remove our own long-term interests from the focus we’re intending to make on other people. If we’re truly in it for others, we will be happy to remove ourselves. If we get a little uneasy about not getting credit, it may be an opportunity to evaluate the true origin of our motivation.
I’m saying that I bet we can think of ourselves less.
And I think that’s probably a good thing.
Thanks for reading.
P.S. Does this warrant another post/conversation about “virtue signaling?” Let me know in the comments if it’s useful to dive into how companies tout their altruism to get more customers.