musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise


I’d like to think I’m generous; I may not have as much to contribute as Bill Gates, but I have to hope it’s the thought that counts, not the amount. Still, there has always been a nagging feeling that I could give more if I were -what?- more aware of the needs of others? More caring? More… guilty? Sometimes it’s difficult to parse the reasons for generosity -to rationalize its extent, to feel good, rather than be simply assuaged by it.

Presumably generosity exists for the benefit of those in need, not those who aren’t. It’s a fine line though. For example, just how generous is giving away something you no longer need -and perhaps no longer value, for that matter? There is no doubt someone who could make better use of it than you and appreciate it more- but is that generosity, or mere rationalization on your part? It is obviously beneficial to recycle, and a good use of what you no longer need -and yet…

It still troubles me for some reason. To tell yourself that the motivation was generosity seems duplicitous somehow. Yes, to others it may have seemed generous -especially to the recipient of your ‘largesse’- and yet it seems more of a shedding of something no longer necessary -like a snake’s skin, or a crab’s shell when growth deemed the old item unsuitable.  Although I suspect that many won’t see it in those terms, surely true generosity is more than simply giving. It must still have value -to you.

I was drawn to an essay entitled ‘Being moral means you can never do enough’ written by Michael Mitchell, a graduate student at Tufts University at the time. The title seemed to be on the right track -maybe even an answer. https://aeon.co/ideas/being-moral-means-you-can-never-do-enough

The theme revolves around the quandary of whether or not whatever help you provide to those in need is ever enough. Does morality set any limits on your response? ‘Consequentialism is the moral theory that we are obligated to do whatever would have the best consequences. If that entails great sacrifice, then great sacrifice is what consequentialism demands we undertake.’ So, should we spend all of our money on charity, or is there some other option? ‘Philosophers refer to versions of this concern as the ‘demandingness objection’. Its advocates claim that a moral theory that would ask so much of us cannot be true.’

So, should one merely decide on a ceiling for contributions, or ‘give greater weight to our own wellbeing and projects’? How about arguing that each of us need only do our fair share? Of course, ‘why set the limit there? Why are we obligated to do only that much? Why are we obligated to do even that much? It’s hard to defend a non-arbitrary limit to the demands of morality.’

I was beginning to suspect that the answer for which I had hoped, was as unsubstantial as the shadows the various solutions were casting. But Mitchell peers deeper into the shadows. ‘Let’s assume that there is an adequately non-arbitrary preference to assign to our own interests. Although giving ourselves this extra preference would let us off the hook from some obligations to help others, it would also permit (or, depending on how we formulate it, even obligate) us to harm other people when the costs to them are less than the gains for us.’ Okay, that doesn’t sound good. And suppose other people don’t live up to their share of the responsibility to help? Is it all on my shoulders then, or should I still do only what I think is my fair share…? Well, unfortunately ‘Consequentialism addresses individuals: it speaks to you as a single person, not to us as a group. Its demands follow from its imperative that you identify which action available to you will have the best outcome, and do it, regardless of the sacrifice. That others similarly situated and equally obligated are not fulfilling their obligation simply has no bearing on the criterion you’re supposed to use to evaluate whether an action available to you is right: whether your action will produce the best consequences.’

Great… even wondering about the best approach to the morals of generosity traps me into ever increasing personal sacrifice. It seems a perfectly designed labyrinth with the Minotaur waiting for me at the end. That can’t be right. Surely what counts -what is most important- is the spirit in which the giving is wrapped. It is a gift, not a requirement: a selfless act performed not for notoriety, or self-aggrandisement, but out of -what?- empathy, I suppose. Caring.

My older brother was like that. Several years ago I was going through a divorce, and although I was able to spend a hurried solo Christmas with my parents in a nearby city, I had to be back to my recently rented apartment in Vancouver the next day for work.

Ron, however, had been happily married for decades, so Christmas and the holidays had always involved celebrating with his wife and children at home; it was an important tradition for them I know. And because he lived even further away from me and our parents, he was usually only able to phone us on Christmas day.

I’ve never been particularly enthused with New Year’s Eve celebrations -even when I was married, we seldom went out to parties- but in my new accommodations, although it was still early in the evening, I could hear music and laughter coming through the walls on both sides of my apartment. The street outside my window sounded frenetic, the hall beyond my door was a steady drumbeat of shoes and shouts. Everybody else in the world, it seemed, was enjoying themselves. Loudly.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as lonely and isolated as I did that New Year’s Eve. No solutions offered themselves -there was too much noise to watch TV, too much vibration from the floor, the ceiling and the walls to concentrate on reading; I felt as if I was trapped inside a juddering drum.

I didn’t know what to do in there, to tell the truth. And taking a lonely walk among the noisy revellers in the street seemed an even worse option than staying put.

Suddenly, I became aware of a particular pounding that seemed at odds with the rhythm from the music. I ignored it at first though, assuming it was just someone already too drunk to keep proper time.

But the pounding got louder and more insistent, so I went to the door, in case someone had knocked at the wrong apartment. And there he was: Ron -all six feet of him, standing in the doorway, about to knock again.

“Thought maybe you were out enjoying yourself, G,” he said with a little grin on his face. He knew me better than that.

I was almost speechless. “Ron,” I managed to shout above the din surrounding us. “What are you…?”

He shrugged, a little embarrassed having to explain his presence. “The kids decided to visit their friends, and Shirley said she’d like to spend some time reading the book I gave her for Christmas… she almost shooed me out, in fact…”

“But… the ferry… You had to come all the way over from Vancouver Island on the ferry…”

His smile wavered as he walked past me into the little apartment and shook his head in dismay. “I thought maybe you’d like to go for a walk,” he said and hugged me.

, , , , , , , , ,

gozzter

, , , , , , , , ,

Leave a comment