You may have heard it said that there is no such thing as true altruism. By its very definition — selflessly caring for the wellbeing of others regardless of the effect on oneself — altruism appears to be the opposite of selfishness.
Psychologists and philosophers, however, tend to argue that no matter how altruistic an action seems, we cannot help but be somewhat motivated by our own benefit, even subconsciously or accidentally. Research studies show that unselfish behaviors correlate with increased personal happiness and various other often internal benefits, whether or not external circumstances would suggest gain.
A Psychology Today article posits that, “... the acts that people call altruistic are performed because they lead to pleasant feelings of pride and satisfaction, the expectation of honour or reciprocation, or the greater likelihood of a place in heaven; and even if none of the above, then at least because they alleviate unpleasant feelings such as the guilt or shame of not having acted.”
I’ve read some interesting material on the impact of faith on altruism, the continued impact of our intrinsically selfish natures, and whether or not potentially selfish motives should affect how we perceive functionally unselfish actions. Jesus was arguably the only true altruist, “the supreme historical example” with the ultimate altruistic act in his taking on the sins of the world.
My degree is in sociology, so I could go on and on; I’m so fascinated by discussions like these. Fortunately for you all though, my reason for going into all of this (beyond the selfish motivation of loving it) was to share the example of my “selfless” act last week that needs no discussion of whether it was actually altruistic or not.
(Spoiler alert, it was not.)
My neighbor called to see if our family would have any interest in taking a bucket of fresh-picked garden strawberries off her hands. “It would really help us out; we’re just so tired of them,” she pleaded, while listing off all of the ways they’ve been eating the berries. I stopped her with a wave of my hand, saying as soon as I could pick my jaw off the ground, “I don’t expect us to get anywhere past just eating them straight. I suppose out of the goodness of our hearts we could help you by taking them.”
If only all selfless acts were so tasty.
There is zero question whether we benefited from our charitableness. The smiles, sticky fingers, and stained shirts of my children are proof enough.
In addition to happy mouths and full bellies, we gained a sweet memory together too. The 3 ½ of us carted bowls, cutting boards, and age-appropriate knives out to the porch on a lovely afternoon, and I couldn’t believe how well my 5- and 2-year-old legitimately helped me work through those two gallons of strawberries. We lost a little fruit to Kiah’s unhoned stemming (and unhinged snacking), in spite of her query of “Dis too much?” each berry, but Benson plugged away with remarkable efficiency and self-control — I think he ate fewer strawberries in process than I did!
And true to expectations, we didn’t get far past making Handfuls of Strawberries Shoved in Mouth. These were the kind of berries that you popped in and couldn’t help but marvel at the explosion of sweet piquant flavor; each one seemed to be at the zenith of strawberry-ness.
Selfish altruism at its finest.
Strawberry Gelatin Pizza
We were going to crush strawberries on ice cream one night, but this is the only thing we actually made, and honestly it was more for the sake of this column than for the recipe itself. The kids loved making it (they did most of it!) but got distracted eating the rest of the sliced strawberries and yogurt that I pretty much ate the “pizza” all by myself. Out of, you know, the goodness of my unselfish heart.
Prep tips: use any flavor juice you want, but a yellow/orange one mimics a pizza crust look better. Bulk gelatin is available at bulk food stores.
- 2 ½ cups mango or pineapple juice
- 1 ½ tablespoons plain gelatin
- 2 cups sliced strawberries
- 1 cup vanilla yogurt
- ¼ cup finely chopped chocolate
Sprinkle the gelatin over ½ cup of the juice, letting it “bloom” while heating the remaining 2 cups to a simmer in a small saucepan. Whisk the dissolved gelatin into the hot juice, and pour into a 10” round cake pan; chill for several hours or overnight until firm. Sprinkle strawberries (the “sauce”) over the “crust,” and follow with drizzle/dollops of yogurt (“cheese”) and chocolate (“hamburger”). Slice in wedges and serve.
Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and two small children. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.
