Desirism versus Egoism: The Devil Is in the Details

It is obvious that human beings have a mix of motives and desires in our makeup, some of which are directed toward our personal gratification and others of which intend the welfare or happiness of others. Yet the idea that, at base, all of our desires, no matter how selfless in appearance, have their roots in self-concern is pervasively sensed and sometimes explicitly asserted. This is the thesis of psychological egoism,[1] which both has an obvious appeal and seems obviously wrong. The appeal is twofold: Psychological egoism (from now on just “egoism”) speaks to the cynic and skeptic in all of us, and it lets us off the hook of having to aspire to moral standards of self-sacrifice (for if we are all incorrigibly selfish, it serves no point to tell us not to be, not to mention admonish or punish us for being so). And yet it also seems patent that people are capable of great feats, as well as little gestures, of selflessness out of pure concern for others.[2] 

            Naturally the proponent of egoism will argue that the latter sort of actions are indeed mere seemings, and if we looked carefully we would discover their genuine self-interested source. A typical “move” in this regard is to attribute an otherwise selfless-seeming action, even unto giving up one’s life to save someone else, to the agent’s expectation, or at least desire and hope, of an eternal reward in the hereafter. An even more desperate move is to argue that the mere desiring of (or being motivated to do) something is itself selfish, since, after all, it is what one wants; so even if what one wants is the happiness of someone else, and with no ulterior motive such as winning the other person’s gratitude or affections, it is still selfish, and the simple proof is that oneself will be made happy or satisfied by the fulfillment of the other person’s desire. 

            The second argument is nonsense according to most (but not all) thinkers on the subject (including me). The fact that a desire is one’s own tells us nothing whatever about the character of the desire, and one’s own happiness on learning of the happiness of another person one cares about is proof not of one’s selfishness but of one’s caring about the other. If you didn’t care about her, you wouldn’t be made happy by her happiness. 

            More generally I hold what may be called a desirism about motivation. This is the idea that desire itself is the source of whatever satisfaction arises from its fulfillment, or even in the absence of substantive, psychological satisfaction, a desire provides its own sustenance or maintenance, as evidenced by its enduring motivational efficacy without support by some other desire (such as a self-directed one, not to mention some third-party-directed one). There is no need to add an extra ingredient to account for continuing to be motivated to seek a desire’s fulfilment, or for being made happy by its fulfilment, and in particular, no need to add concern for one’s personal welfare or interests. Thus, a desire for x will give one satisfaction (in the substantive sense) if itself satisfied (in the formal sense) without needing to postulate that x either is or in some way promotes one’s own well being; so if you desired that someone else be happy even to your entire disadvantage, then your belief that they have become happy will make you happy (or satisfied or some such) to that extent, however much you may be saddened by the consequences for yourself (so that you might even be net-dissatisfied) … or even if its fulfilment would not make you happy at all, you will at least continue to be motivated to bring about or sustain the other person’s happiness to the degree that you genuinely desire their happiness. 

The proponent of the inherent selfishness of desires would deem desirism question begging. Even if desire is the source of its own satisfaction (if satisfied), does this not imply the desirer’s having a personal interest in the satisfaction of their own desires? Is that not exactly what a desire is: an expression of one’s personal interest? But I reply that one can have a personal interest without its being an interest in one’s personal well being or satisfaction. Counterreply: But does not one, in the nature of the case, want one’s desires to be satisfied? Yet here again I would say: not necessarily. For example, I desire that my desire to bite my nails not be satisfied. Still, the egoist might deem this only a case of conflicting desires, in both of which I have a personal stake: I have a desire (which I want satisfied) to bite my nails and I have a desire (which I want satisfied) that my nails not be bitten. 

Let me break off from this interminable back-and-forth by taking a different tack. Even granting an inherent self-interestedness to desire as such, what has this to do with egoism? For egoism matters primarily because it is thought to have practical (some would say ethical or moral) implications; as already noted, for example, if we are all overwhelmingly and incorrigibly selfish at base, there would seem to be no point in forever importuning us to be unself-interested. By the same token, it would give us a more effective handle on motivating ourselves and others (a point made by Mercer[3]); we would be sure to offer personal incentives whenever (or on an appropriate reinforcement schedule) trying to get ourself or others to do something.[4] Indeed, then, we could be motivated to promote the welfare of others if we could be convinced that this would work to our own benefit (an idea encouraged by many religious moralists, even to the point of recommending total selflessness on behalf of one’s own welfare).[5] Or there might even be a more direct route from self-interest to social welfare that sidesteps our motivations (this being the idea behind Adam Smith’s invisible hand), so it need not even worry us that we are selfish even if we recognized the importance of contributing to society -- we might even want to encourage selfishness therefore. Moreover, we could point out that egoism can be conceived as the rational pursuit of self-interest, as opposed to merely short-sighted greed. This would again lend itself to the drawing of all sorts of connections between self-interest and catering to the interests and welfare of others. 

But if these are the types of considerations that make egoism matter, then I don’t see how a psychological egoism premised on the inherent selfishness of desire would have an advantage over desirism. It’s a red herring. For all of the above have to do with what we desire. For example, it could hardly be intended by Adam Smith that merely being motivated to help the poor is, simply in virtue of being a desire, sufficiently self-interested to better the lot of the poor. On the contrary, his whole point is that the poor will be better off if we give free reign to our desires to help ourself. 

This, then, brings us back to the first idea broached above, namely, that every selfless desire is in fact in service of some selfish desire. Thus, you would not care about the other person unless there was something in it for you. Your happiness at her happiness or well being is not the whole story. Why do you care about her (such that her well being makes you happy)? Mercer offers an inventory of desires (derived from C. D. Broad) that could be in play to make your caring about the other selfish after all, to wit: 

1.   The desire for self-preservation.

2.   The desire for one's own happiness or contentment; the desire to avoid one's own unhappiness or discontent.

3.   The desire to be a certain kind of person; the fear of becoming a person of some one or more other certain kinds.

4.   The desire to respect oneself; the fear of losing self-respect, the fear of coming to loathe oneself.

5.   The desire to get and keep property; the fear of losing or failing to attain property.

6.   The desire for power over others, to have them do what one wants them to do, whether they want to do it or not; the fear of losing power over others. (This power over others need not be directed against them in any malicious way; team captains, teachers, bus drivers, and ushers, as well as bosses and leaders, have a degree of it, and usually use it benignly.)

7.   The desire that particular others have certain opinions of one; the worry that they will instead have certain different opinions of one. (This is the desire that people have certain cognitive attitudes toward one.)

8.   The desire that particular others have certain feelings toward one, that they love, say, or like or respect or fear one; the worry that they will instead have certain different feelings toward one. (This is the desire that people have certain affective attitudes toward one.)

9.   The desire for one's own pleasure; the fear of being in pain. 

            I agree that there is no shortcut to determining whether a given desire or motivation, not to mention a person’s entire character, or humanity’s very nature, is selfish. Egoism is in the details. If we are to resolve the issue, therefore, we must become acute introspectors and observers of ourself and of the human scene generally: analytical phenomenologists to a literary degree.[6] Furthermore, I would place more faith in self inspection and observation, at least as starting point to better inform the more general inquiry, since we have greater access to our own motives and behaviors, in terms of both fewer firewalls and longer periods for inspection. Granted, we are subject to bias and self-deception even in our own case; but here we can draw on others to offer us different perspectives without thereby turning the project into a study of those others. 

Herein, then, I embark on a self-centered[7] study of egoism. I will present two case studies, one intended to reveal an egoism beneath an apparent altruism, the other the lack of one. The latter will serve to buttress my belief and claim that psychological egoism is false. 

Selfish: the case of generosity 

I am a generous person. I will almost always give to someone who asks, and am in a fortunate enough economic position even to be a philanthropist on a moderate scale. Furthermore, I genuinely enjoy helping others in this way (so this would count as an Aristotelian virtue), and I put aside being able to afford various personal pursuits in furtherance of this giving. I am made happy by the benefit that thereby accrues to others. However, I have begun to notice that the real high I get from helping others could be parsed selfishly, thus: What makes me happy is that I have helped others. 

The evidence that this is (at least part of) my real motive is that I enjoy the appreciation I receive from others for helping them, and I might very well be less helpful to them if they did not show signs of appreciating me (or if I did not expect something in return out of their sense of gratitude or obligation or even their selfish interest in continuing to be a beneficiary). Thus, for example, while on its face my leaving money to a nonprofit that promotes animal rights might seem the epitome of selflessness, since I don’t expect appreciation from the animals and in any case could not enjoy it if I were dead, I now realize that if I did not think my name would be attached to this gift upon its bestowal and presumably in some form of recognition in perpetuity, I might very well choose to donate elsewhere instead. 

This does, however, show that I may expect very little “in return” for my generosity. The “show of appreciation” can be quite attenuated: my name on a plaque somewhere, with no one the slightest bit knowledgeable or curious about who I am (was), etc. It might even be only in my imagination. Indeed, I can also see how this belief or expectation of being posthumously appreciated might be downright magical and itself due more to selfish desire, which is to say, wishful thinking, than to mature observation or reflection. I am perhaps thereby made ripe for exploitation by others, because it does not take much for me to feel someone is genuinely appreciative of my help. Often a momentary smile will do. But that smile might very well be entirely an expression of the person’s happiness at receiving a gift, rather than, as I interpret it, of warm feelings towards me. Just so, my picturing someone smiling appreciatively as a result of my generosity after I’m dead could be as wholly fictitious as the believer’s expectation of eternal reward for good deeds done on Earth. 

            One (including myself) could speculate as to the ultimate source of my selfish generosity. Perhaps I harbor some deep insecurity about my “goodness,” and so I am forever seeking external endorsement of it. Where that insecurity came from would then itself become a question. (It is easy to see how psychoanalysis can take years.) Now that I am of an age where I am taking much more seriously the afterlife disposition of my assets, I realize that I am enjoying tremendously the idea that even people who do not “appreciate” me now will think very kindly of me once they experience the fruits of my largess. And this expectation has been very much conditioned, I realize, from my having come to recognize over the years how appreciative I have become of my father due to (among other things) the benefits I have enjoyed due to his material bequeathal to me, even though I did not think nearly so highly of him when he was alive (although he was generous to me then too, but I was too immature or spoiled at the time to see this as anything other than my due). 

Despite these disappointing self-revelations and uncomfortable speculations, however, I do not doubt that I am also generous “by nature,” which is to say, without ulterior and specifically self-interested  motive. I see the selfishness as perhaps fine-tuning my giving. But the impulse is, I think, direct. Nor would there be any mystery about where it came from, since both of my parents had giving natures, so by nature or nurture (or modeling) I could have acquired it myself. I would assimilate my basic philanthropic[8] impulse to the kind of feeling we experience when watching a tear-jerker movie or exulting in a happy ending, where there would seem to be no self-interest involved in the reaction. The characters may be totally fictitious. Or, whether they are or not, we may very well be motivated to drop something into a collection basket being handed around after the showing (putting aside wanting to show off one’s beneficence to the person one is sitting with, or feeling social pressure; and, again, our immediate emotional reaction to the film has nothing to do with those extraneous influences). 

            A clear counterexample to the requirement of appreciation was my irresistible impulse to make a large donation to a Ukrainian humanitarian nonprofit after hearing about the Russian invasion and its consequences. I had no personal acquaintance with anyone at the organization, and I expected no public, social, or material benefit. Don’t think that my mentioning it herein was part of any intentional scheme at the time to garner eventual recognition and praise for my generosity, although, I suppose, the bragging rights have made me feel more secure about my worthiness in my own eyes and also arrogantly morally superior to others for doing more than simply putting on a show of concern without making any real effort to help in some way. Still, I do not sense myself patting myself on the head for this act, and it seems to me to have been an example of pure compulsion based on compassion. 

            But will it last? I have not found myself to be philanthropically motivated to this degree on behalf of Ukraine beyond this initial response, even though the war and its dreadful effects have continued unabated. I’ll bet I could be, though, by renewed focus on them. Furthermore, I do believe I have been making a simple “calculation” that my limited resources need to be apportioned among several causes (and individuals) I deeply care about (not to mention my personal needs and desires). 

            Now that I think about all of this, I recall[9] what may have been the seminal moment of my generosity turning selfish (to whatever degree it is today). When we were discussing my tax returns, my accountant marveled at one of my philanthropic goals: “Why aren’t you turning this to your advantage?” He recounted to me one of his own philanthropic coups, which was to turn his intended retirement home into a nonprofit property: hatching two eggs in one nest, you might say – an altruist chick and an egoist chick. My intent had been to remain an anonymous donor, whereas my accountant figured I could benefit from having my name known to the beneficiary organization. But I had my own reasons for not wanting them to know it: The beneficiary was the university where I was a professor, and I did not want any professional recognition or promotion that might come to me to be influenced in any way by this gift. It struck me as simply unethical to let the university know I was the donor: a kind of conflict of interest. 

But I also had the motive of wanting to earn my recognition and awards, and this could, I suppose, be interpreted as egoistic, in that I derive pleasure from knowing (or believing) that these indicate that I really am good at what I do. Nevertheless the impulse to make the donation, as opposed to the desire to keep it anonymous, would bring no such benefit to me – only the satisfaction of knowing I was contributing to something I cared about. This was downright baffling to my accountant. And, I must admit, his admonishment has had an effect on all of my subsequent generosity: He handed me the apple of which I did eat. My giving has become tainted with considerations of benefit to myself, and I think this has been a matter not just of making explicit what I had been unaware or only hazily aware of before but has actually increased its frequency. To know the actual degree to which my generosity is now self-interested would, however, require a long and tedious review of many instances (and which project might itself be motivated by an egoistic concern with my moral purity). But no matter the ultimate “finding,” the upshot of this case study for psychological egoism is supportive, since I do indeed sense selfishness to be part of the mix of my philanthropic motivation.[10] 

Unselfish: the case of veganism 

Around fifteen years ago I became a dietary vegan. My overt reason was ethical: I had learned about what actually happens to the animals in the process of turning them or their “products” (milk and eggs etc.) into human food, and I wanted no more to be complicit in that. (I also wanted everyone else to become vegan too due to the same considerations.) Originally I couched my reaction in moral terms: Using animals for food (or anything else equally discretionary) is wrong. The reason for therefore not using them is a principle. Therefore one (a human being) ought not use them. Eventually, however, I came to view the matter as not so much moral as emotional: My compassion moved me to abstain from eating animals, and to want everyone else (that is, every other human) to as well. 

            But is there also some selfishness involved here as in the philanthropy case? I don’t see it. Granted, there have been some benefits to me as a result of my vegan turn. Presumably my relative health and energy and youthful appearance (people not uncommonly take me for 50-something rather than my current 73) could be attributed in part to this diet. But there could be other explanations for that (starting with just not eating the normal American diet), and in any case I myself am not at all convinced that the vegan diet is maximally healthy, and I am even concerned that it might have some unfortunate health implications. Certainly health was not one of my motivations for adopting it. 

            But I have also gotten a lot of professional and even some personal mileage from adopting the vegan diet. It has inspired much of my writing and thinking and led to publications and some academic recognition and status. It also elicits some admiration, and makes me more attractive to some people. However, I do not sense that this formed any part of my motivation. Furthermore, the negatives far outweigh it. I will not even dwell on the loss of so many foods I found (and would still find) delicious. Of much more significance to me is that my personal life has suffered wholesale. Since I do not hang with a vegan crowd, my veganism is at best tolerated by most friends, family, and acquaintances. Many think veganism is either simply ridiculous or else a fanaticism, carrying things too far, like bombing abortion clinics even though you might agree that abortion is wrong. But even those who take my points entirely (that animal use involves gratuitous cruelty and killing on an unparalleled scale) are, I surmise, likely to think ill of me due to the unacceptability to themselves of their own bad conscience, which is thereby transmuted into their concocting or unduly emphasizing something wrong with me, such as my (in their distorted or perhaps even partially accurate view) embodying a holier-than-thou attitude. 

It can then become a kind of parlor game for them to play gotcha with me, both dialectically (“But don’t animals eat animals?”) and behaviorally (“I see you are wearing leather shoes”). My every action and utterance is thereby subjected to a Big-Brother level of scrutiny, which makes my every appearance among people uncomfortable for all concerned and in fact can lead to my turning down invitations or my not being invited in the first place. Needless to say this also has implications for developing intimate relations.           

Furthermore it does little good (for me, not to mention the animals) for me to assure my dinner hosts or companions that I have (as it happens) given up on judgmentalism in all spheres and do not consider them wrong or bad for their omnivorous ways in particular. I simply wish (strongly) that they would be vegan like me and am, of course, saddened (to put it mildly) by the suffering and premature deaths of (countless) wholly sentient beings due to casual dietary habits like theirs. But remarks like that can hardly assuage their own conscience (since, unlike me, most people do believe in right and wrong), if it has been touched. And to introduce the very idea of amoralism is likely to confuse (or even repel) without turning a social occasion into a philosophy seminar.           

But might I still not be getting something out of this? If I go through Mercer/Broad’s list of ways to be personally benefitted or satisfied, is there something for me to hang an egoist hat on? The most likely candidates, I think, are “The desire to be a certain kind of person” and “The desire to respect oneself.” I am sure I possess those desires. But are they a necessary prop to my veganism? I don’t see it.[11] But I also cannot rule out that, say, were I to lose all self-respect (on other grounds) or hope for ever regaining it, I would find my motivation to maintain my vegan regime waning. On the third paw, I feel little need to go in search of such subterranean motivational connections when something so much more obvious is available, namely, that I just don’t want animals (which is to say, anyone, since humans are of course animals too) to suffer or die needlessly. 

Conclusion 

Thus my reason for thinking that psychological egoism is false. However, this at best refutes only the extreme form of psychological egoism that we are always selfishly motivated in the end. A still robust form of psychological egoism could maintain that we, or most of us, are primarily motivated by self-interest, or at least that it will usually help to motivate us, especially on a sustained basis or in tasks calling for major personal investment, if there is at least something in it “for us.” I have hardly refuted that claim. Nevertheless my “hunch” is that all of us are both selfish and selfless in large measure. My main reasons for thinking so are reflective observation of self (as in this essay) and others, and the Darwinian consideration that selflessness can have as much survival value as selfishness, since we are all hugely dependent on the welfare of others. The latter consideration might itself be thought to be self-interested, but my point is that a more effective concern for others would be intrinsic rather than instrumental, and so be “selected for” as the greater guarantor of our individual survival (or, more precisely, as the more likely sort of desire to perdure within and among us, or at least in concert with the other). 

Appendix 

It is relevant to point out that there are other forms of egocentrism, which may or may not come under the heading of egoism. By “other” I mean that their main focus is not the welfare or happiness of oneself, but some other relation to oneself. A few that come to mind: 

A person may believe of feel that they are very important or even, like Calvin in the alas-defunct comic strip “Calvin and Hobbes,” the most important person in the world, or perhaps, like Jackie Gleason, “the greatest”: the most wonderful, the most talented, the smartest, whatever. This we tend to call egotism. It is distinct from egoism, conceived as caring most about oneself of all people or things, since one can believe in one’s own superiority without caring much about oneself (or even about one’s superiority). You can know that Pluto is no longer considered a planet by much of the astronomical community without giving a damn one way or the other. Someone who thought they were the best or most precious person might even wish they weren’t. It could seem a burden. “Oh, I must take responsibility for this project because I am the only one competent to do it right. If only I were just one of the peons!” or “It is a full-time job taking care of myself, but my eminence requires it.” That second lament also indicates that there is a relation of egotism to egoism, since the former can provide an explanation or a justification for the latter: One may feel it incumbent on themself to care most about themself precisely because of the high opinion they hold of themself. 

A person may believe that something they care about is the most important thing in the world. This has the very interesting implication that someone who is, say, a totally pure philanthropist on behalf of children who are at risk of contracting malaria, may nonetheless be self-centered in the way they monopolize concern. “If you don’t devote yourself to the cause I have devoted myself to,[12] then you are heartless and mean and deficient [etc.].” This certainly looks to be a form of egotism, yet it is not egotism as characterized above, which involves placing oneself on the highest pedestal. An egotist of this second sort might think no better of themself than of anybody else, or at least of anybody else who shares their devotion to this favored cause. Perhaps elitist would be the right term there. But why even necessarily an elitist? As I said, the person is supposed a pure philanthropist; so it could be a sheer infatuation of compassion with young malaria victims that motivates them. Or the motive could be a sense of absolute duty by a person who is intrinsically motivated by duty. 

Yet another form of egotism is narcissism, by which I mean deriving pleasure from being recognized as wonderful in some way or other or in general. It is not necessarily egotism tout court since it does not presume a high opinion of oneself; in fact it may be motivated by the desire for reassurance that one is worthy. So one desires to be well thought of, and that presumably because one desires to be worthy; but even so one may not have any need to be the greatest or superior – just “ok,” just relieved that one is not unworthy. But as with the egotist, there is a connection to egoism, since a narcissist would indeed be motivated by concern for themself, specifically, whether they are well regarded or worthy. 

A person may be preoccupied with or even fascinated by oneself without being an egoist in the caring sense, or an egotist either. For example, one might be the sort of personality who is fascinated by everything. (I rather think I am.) The world is marvelous, even in its most awful aspects. As soon as one turns one’s gaze toward something, however humble or even repugnant to outward appearance, its fascination may become apparent to the sensitive soul. Think for example of insects. Therefore such a person could be taken with oneself in similar fashion, and yet for all that hold oneself in no higher (or lower) esteem than anyone else, or even the lowliest bug. Here again there could be a relation to egoism, since a fascination with something might naturally lead to a solicitude toward it. But even here a world-infatuated soul need not single out themself for special attention. Or someone focused mainly on themself might still not desire their own welfare, just as a person preoccupied with some persistent pain might wish only for its elimination. 

A person might make a special point of the personal source of their every thought and feeling. I try to do this. But my reason has nothing to do with caring about myself, or being infatuated with myself, nor even thinking myself the greatest. On the contrary (especially of that last), I am forever trying to make clear that whatever I believe or desire is merely my opinion or preference, and not intended to be an assertion of truth or goodness or rightness. So for example, instead of saying (or even thinking) “Dr. Strangelove is the finest movie ever made, “ I will say, “I love Dr. Strangelove more than any other movie” … the implication being that you might think or feel otherwise, and ultimately there is no deciding between us. In other words I am trying to embody (and promote) a subjectivism in all things. 

Finally it is most relevant to note something obvious, which is that even caring about oneself is not egoism. Egoism is caring about oneself exclusively or primarily. The reason for limiting the use of “egoism” in this way is that nobody thinks there is anything wrong about caring about oneself per se,[13] and the concern about right and wrong is what usually motivates the concern about egoism. I must also note in that regard, however, that in this essay I have said nothing about whether there is anything wrong with egoism. And as it happens I myself have become an amoralist, and so my concern with egoism has to do only with whether (or not) it is an attitude that appeals to me or that I would like to see widely adopted, and even prior, whether I myself am an egoist (psychologically not ethically speaking). 

Acknowledgments 

I would like to thank Bill Irwin for planting the seed of my taking egoism more seriously, and Mark Mercer for an intensive correspondence on the subject, which we both engaged in for self-interested reasons whatever others there may have been as well.

---

[1] See the Appendix for related theses from which it is to be distinguished. Note also that both the egoism and the desirism I will be considering herein are distinct from the ethical theses that go by those names.

[2] A prior question is whether all genuine actions are done out of a concern for someone. In other words, are there actions that are neither selfish nor altruist? For example, does it make sense to suppose that you could want it to be a sunny day without regard to your pleasure or plans or someone else’s?

[3] Mark Mercer (2001), “In Defence of Weak Psychological Egoism,” Erkenntnis 55: 217-237.

[4] A desirist would hold that any desire can be used to incentivize. Thus, if someone strongly desired that children be spared from malaria, then a political candidate’s offering to subsidize large shipments of mosquito nets could motivate that person to endorse and vote for that candidate.

[5] It occurs to me that an egoist pitch could be made on behalf of any of the principles of morality that have been put forward by one moralist or another. Take for example the Golden Rule: Would it not make a very good rule (not law) of prudence? For if you went around treating others with the same kind of consideration you expected from them, might you not find yourself being treated more to your liking in turn (again, as a rule, not always)? That is an empirical question, of course, and it’s possible you might just end up being taken advantage of a lot. Nevertheless, it’s a real hypothesis to consider. (And perhaps Hillel’s formulation in the negative is the more plausible hypothesis: Don’t go around treating others as you wouldn’t like to be treated because if you did, that would be sure to arouse a great deal of animus against you.)

[6] I find it hard to imagine that experimental psychologists could operationalize such a complex category.

[7] Which is not the same thing as self-interested. Cf. the Appendix.

[8] A terrible term, since the concern can, and for me does, extend to nonhumans.

[9] I am an avid practitioner of Wittgenstein’s characterization of philosophy as “assembling reminders for a particular purpose” (Philosophical Investigations, 2^nd edition, 1958, tr. G.E.M. Anscombe, item #127).

[10] This is also supportive of Mercer’s kind of egoism in particular, since he fashions selfishness as at least part of the background of any motivation. My difference from him (if it is a difference) is that I see the selfishness as foreground, though still not necessarily as primary. The next case will seek to deny even that, however.

[11] It is surely an interesting question how a person is able to detect such subtleties in one’s own motivation. I accept the materialist claim that oneself requires the same sort of evidence as an “outsider” to make a sure determination. I would claim for introspection only the advantage of having greater opportunity to examine oneself.

[12] The “I have devoted myself to” is purely descriptive and not intended to indicate that the reason the person thinks the cause is important is that they themself have devoted themself to it.

[13] Indeed, the most popular moral rule of all – the Golden Rule – would appear to be grounded in the assumption that one has a proper regard for oneself.