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David Shariatmadari
As I recently found out, donating money is as much about making ourselves feel good as it is
helping others. But its something that we should embrace
L
ast year, moved by a particularly upsetting news story, I decided to make a big
donation to charity. Christmas was approaching, and I thought: what if I cut back on
presents, and deploy a bit of belt-tightening elsewhere surely I can manage to find
300 to help a group of people whose lives are falling apart?
It was the largest amount Id ever given in one go. I dont know if thats impressive or
embarrassing research reported in todays Times suggests that the British public
regards 278 as a generous donation but its hardly big-time philanthropy. Im lucky, of
course, to be in the position where I can even consider parting with that much money on
a whim. But it was still a significant chunk out of my monthly budget.
My charitable habits are modest. I give a small amount to two organisations each month,
and almost never make one-off donations. I have never been the type to raise money via
feats of physical prowess. I once abseiled down a castle wall as part of a school charity
event, but since Id neglected to find any sponsors at all, no one was any better off for my
vertigo.
One reason, I think, is that I feel a bit uncomfortable giving money away. Thats
convenient, I hear you say. But its true: I suspect my motives. I reckon that Im only
really doing it to feel good about myself, and that makes me uneasy. But if the price of
my purity is that good causes miss out, maybe I should just get over it?
This warm glow is a very real, physiological phenomenon. In one study, researchers used
functional magnetic resonance imaging to look at the effect of donation on the brain.
They found increased activity in the ventral striatum during acts of voluntary giving.
This is a region associated with reward, one of the areas that bursts into life under the
influence of addictive stimulants like cocaine. Charity can get you high.
Its easy to imagine why helping others has become linked with reward pathways in the
brain: a tendency to pitch in to ensure the survival of members of the group (and were
often more motivated to give to those we identify closely with) has obvious evolutionary
advantages.
For some reason, with this cause, I managed to override my wariness at feeling smug.
This crisis was bigger than me. What I was actually doing, I told myself, was putting my
own feelings aside, making a sacrifice for something that felt urgent and worthwhile.
Well, almost. A month later I was confronted with the flimsiness of my commitment. I
hadnt realised it, but when I made the first donation, I had clicked a box that meant it
would recur. When I checked my bank statement in January, I was horrified to see that
another 300 had flown out of my account and landed in the charitys coffers. I gulped.
My first thought was: can I get it back?
Of course I couldnt. The loss of that money would be a serious inconvenience to me. But
there was no way I could pretend I was worse off than the people I had wanted to help
before Christmas. I was stuck with an act of generosity I hadnt intended, and it felt very
strange.
My initial donation had, despite what I thought, been motivated by that warm glow. If it
were pure altruism, I would have been pleased the extra money had found its way to
those in need. Instead, I felt tricked. Well, for a moment anyway, until I realised it would
be morally indefensible to act like I was the one who was hard done by.
It was instructive to be exposed in this way, if only to myself. Im a human being, and the
good feeling I get from being generous isnt something I can rise above. Better to
acknowledge that giving to charity is selfish, and keep on giving, all the same.
Topics
Charitable giving
Opinion
Charities
Voluntary sector
Neuroscience
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