The Generosity Paradox

Each week for one hour I tutor a third grader who is struggling with her reading comprehension. I do this through a volunteer program managed by the San Francisco public library system, called FOG Readers. I took a ten hour class to qualify, and was quickly paired up with a student who requires more one on one coaching so they don’t fall behind. Falling behind in reading comprehension, sadly, seems to be happening all too often. It’s been reported recently that nearly fifty percent of California grade school students are reading behind grade level.1 The cost of tutors typically boxes out families who need it the most, and without one on one coaching, most don’t catch up. It’s an academic crises that needs attention, which makes programs like FOG Readers so critical, and so impactful for young readers.

Part of me cringes writing these words down.

Not because I don’t enjoy the program, or believe in the cause.

Quite the opposite. The one hour I spend with my student is often the most rewarding hour of my week. Playing ice breakers, tracking her weekly progress, teaching the fundamentals of the English language, is all a tremendous joy. The reason I cringe is because I’ve been taught—we’ve all been taught—that it’s not polite to discuss acts of generosity in any public forum. If I was in this for the right reasons, such as progressing my student’s reading comprehension, I would keep this to myself. I certainly wouldn’t write anything about it. Telling other people about a generous act brings into question my motivation, and truly, the only purely generous acts are ones completed in anonymity.

Chris Anderson, the director of the acclaimed TED Talks, disagrees.

In his new book, Infectious Generosity, Chris argues that “generosity is the ultimate idea worth spreading.”2 In his mind, “any generous act can have extraordinary impact if it can make the leap from isolation to infectious.”3 As social media’s power on modern culture continues to grow, and with access to billions of people at the edge of our fingertips, why not have generosity be the message and ethos we spread through the internet? Chris believes we all have the ability to do this, citing his personal experience as the director of TED. He shares the inspiring story of how TED Talks, initially a small grass roots movement, became infectious through free online content and a desire of generous volunteers globally willing to give their time. It’s easy to agree that the world would be a better place if people chose to live more generous lives, or if generosity was a key pillar in our day to day. But what becomes illuminating is how biologically wired we are to do good things.

In Rutger Bregman’s book Humankind, he argues a wild concept—that most people are indeed good people.4 Humans, when given the opportunity to do good things, typically do them. Bregman dissects both theoretical examples, how in plane crashes people are statistically more inclined to help others even if it puts themselves in danger, and historical ones, a real life Lord of the Flies travesty of six young Tongan boys who were trapped on a deserted island. Unlike in Golding’s famed novel, there was no anarchy, violence or struggles for power. There were six boys who took care of each other, divided tasks in an equal manner, and even enjoyed each other’s company while their lives were at risk.

This shouldn’t be a surprise. Yet, at times it can feel impossible to acknowledge. Especially at this moment—with wars raging across the globe, a polarizing political election pending in the US, and a general sense that the world order is eroding. But it doesn’t take much squinting to see that Anderson and Bregman are both quite right.

For a majority of our existence as humans, we lived in small hunter-gatherer bands. These societies were largely egalitarian, where both men and women contributed equally to the well-being of the tribe. The bedrock of these social settings were built on the trust and goodwill of others. For millions of years we evolved in these intimate communities, where trust and companionship were paramount in facilitating a functioning community. It should be no surprise, then, that as our global population has grown into the billions and a foraging lifestyle has all but vanished, these core principles are still imbedded inside us. It does feel good to give and to be kind. In 2010 Gallup completed a survey of over 23,000 people across communities all over the world and found that nearly nine and ten people reported getting an “emotional boost” from doing kind things for other people. In almost all cases, they concluded, “donating money results in a greater return for our well-being than buying material goods for ourselves.”5

Why then, so often, does this feel like a struggle?

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Throughout my college career at Penn State, I volunteered for an organization called THON. Short for the Penn State Dance Marathon. THON is a student run philanthropy committed to enhancing the lives of children and families impacted by childhood cancer. It started in 1973 and has since raised over $180 million in financial support to aid families and fund critical research. In 2023 alone THON raised $16.5 million, a record. THON is a mega-philanthropy on campus, one can’t ignore as a Penn State student. A year long effort that culminates with a forty six hour dance marathon at the Bryce Jordan Center, with a full capacity of 20,000 students and on-going supporters. A small number of students get selected as “dancers”, representing various on-campus organizations. It’s an honor to get chosen as a dancer. An agreement to stay on your feet without sleep or rest for nearly two days. My senior year, I was selected as a dancer to represent my fraternity. I couldn’t have been more honored and excited. At first.

It’s not possible to over-emphasize how big of a deal THON is at Penn State. So much that many choose not to participate for that sole reason. Every year various campus papers and blogs run stories on why students choose “not to THON.” Many cite similar reasons: THON feels like a competition, a resume builder, a cult, a plea for others to see how philanthropic and righteous those who participate are.6 This criticism was something I shoved to the side early on. Who cares, I thought, if millions of dollars each year is still going to support the fight against childhood cancer. But as I got into my Junior and Senior year, I began to agree with the critics. The social media posts leading up to THON started to bug me. The over enthusiastic bragging about the purity of event rubbed me the wrong way, and I couldn’t help but feel that those who participated in THON looked down on students who didn’t. My senior year, when I was selected as one of four dancers to represent my fraternity, I was excited, sure. But why was I excited? Was I making this about me? The focus should have been kept completely on the kids, and their families suffering from pediatric cancer.

But there I was—making posts on Facebook that I was selected as a dancer, letting the world know how honored I was, receiving phone calls from family members who told me how proud they were of me for doing such a good thing. It gave me a high. I knew that friends would see me on the floor during THON and view me as a morally sound person. One who donated his time for the well-being of children. In the months that followed the event, I felt embarrassed. I was just as bad as everyone else. I danced for the glory of dancing, and like so many others—was in it for the wrong reasons.

After I graduated, I distanced myself from THON. I stopped replying to emails asking for donations. When the subject would come up with other college friends, I’d point to the flaws in the organization. I’d mock the over zealous students who were clearly just making the event all about themselves. Years went by without a donation, without so much as an email forward or re-post to share all the hard work going on each year.

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Why do we do this to ourselves?

To be clear, THON doesn’t need me, or any one person. Every donation certainly makes a difference in someone’s life, but THON has the fortune of enthusiastic participation, corporate support and wide-spread local media attention. The issue isn’t that I didn’t give money, or donate my time—it’s that I somehow convinced myself my intentions were in the wrong place. I wanted to be a part of the organization, but for a reason I find hard to explain I removed myself from it (and all charitable causes), for close to a decade.

If we’re biologically wired to be kind, empathetic people. If it’s proven by study after study that it feels good to give, then why do so many of us feel conflicted? The bizarre social constructs we’ve created about pure intentions isn’t helping. There’s no such thing as pure intentions. Almost always, there are multiple reasons why people decide to donate time/money or decide to complete a generous act. Helping the cause, or doing the good deed is usually always one of those reasons. But reputations matter, both in real life and in the online world. Shouldn’t we all want to be perceived as good people? It’s okay for students at Penn State to join THON to meet friends, to build their resumes, to get experience running an organization. It’s okay for people to feel good about themselves after donating their time and money. We shouldn’t be shaming them.

In a world where people are losing trust in institutions (Gallup reported in 2023 the lowest level of trust on record for our nine major institutions at 26%),7 where political divisions are ruining friendships and misinformation is spreading like wildfire—should we also be analyzing every angle of someone’s generous deeds? This isn’t a plea for people to donate more time or money—that’s a personal decision everyone arrives to at their own pace. It’s a plea for us to stop being so judgmental about it. Both to ourselves and to others. If there is obvious nefarious activity, then sure, but almost always we should assume best intentions. We should accept that most people are being generous for a variety of reasons, and it’s okay if some of those reasons are for self-promotion. It’s time for us to accept and celebrate that it feels good to give, and be kind, and open our eyes to the fact that a lot of people are out in the world doing amazing things for humanity.

In one of my recent sessions with my student, after walking away with her dad I heard her say something along the lines of, “I had so much fun today.” That felt really good. For me. Something I’ll choose to celebrate.

Ben Briggs received his MFA from the University of San Francisco. His work has appeared in The Wisconsin Review, The Account: A Journal of Poetry, Prose, and Thought, and Short Edition. He can be found on X at @ben_m_briggs.