Going into this semester, I had the option to take a class on ethics. It was an introductory course, designed for students like me who, despite being too lazy to read philosophers, have strong convictions on life’s biggest questions. I ended up not taking it out of the fear, common to all English majors, that I might have to do real work. I wanted to use this essay, then, to cover one of those ethical questions that are now being discussed, or that I imagine are being discussed, in that class on ethics.

Back in high school I went out to dinner on a double date with my friend and two girls. My friend, upon receiving the bill, not only spurned my offer to pay half of it, but blessed the waitress with a tip that equaled the price of the meal. I had never known him to be generous with money—quite the opposite, in fact — nor had I ever seen him carry money on him, much less the fat wad of cash he pulled, slowly, so that we could all see it, from his pocket. It was obvious to me that his generosity had something — nay, everything — to do with the two ladies sitting across from us, so I was hardly moved by his philanthropy. But the waitress did not know his intentions. She was ecstatic to have chanced upon such a beneficent customer.

The point here is that the motives of his charity did not change the effects of it. It made no difference to the recipient of it — although it did to me, who felt outclassed—that he was acting out of more than the kindness of his heart. And why should she have cared, unless she was especially concerned with performance as a waitress, that the gift came on account of a boy’s ego rather than her own service? She got to spend it, or save it, all the same.

Which brings me to the even larger, dare I say, monumental question, of whether the righteousness of charity depends at all on the motives of the donor — of whether the thought really does count. Can we commend my friend just as we would if he had given the same tip while alone, with nobody watching? I think we can — or at least should.

Charity is rarely given out of altruism alone. Most of it is performative. Take, for instance, the donations that celebrities make, as an apology, to groups of people whom they have either harmed or offended. However much they give to this or that organization, however many pictures they take holding up gigantic checks in front of a group of smiling kids, we know that not a single dollar would have been grudged had public pressure not demanded it. Even for public figures who do not need to atone for a mistake, the publicity helps. Esteem to a large degree can be bought, and many celebrities compensate for their shortcomings in character through charity. It gives them the likability they lack. This charity is no less self-seeking than the kind my friend bestowed on the waitress — and it just as indifferent in its effect.

Normal people, with normal wealth, also have additional motives. There are, as I have mentioned, romantic factors at play. Without having any data at my disposal, I can be sure that a man is more than twice as likely to relieve a beggar in the street when on a date than when alone. At a restaurant, valet, waiters and busboys all prefer to seat a couple over a pair of friends who have no reason to impress one another. Restaurants know that any self-aware man will tip more than he wants to, than he can afford — that he will not pass up the opportunity to appear both more generous and wealthier than he is.

There is a final kind of charity that I am yet to mention, and it is common to rich and poor alike. It is the kind that eases one’s conscience. People are prone to guilt, especially because so many of them are evil. They can only live with themselves if they feel they are doing some good for the world. They seek to offset their guilt by donations. Though this repentance may seem noble, they do it to help themselves. It is not, therefore, “true charity.”

All these examples of charity should be praised equally; only with such a perspective can there be charity. Blind praise of all charity allows people to redeem themselves through donations. It creates social credit that can be earned by giving. Were we to see through the kindness, so to speak, of disingenuous doners, they would have no reason to give anything in the first place. Charity, as I have said, helps the same whether it is given for genuine care or personal ambitions. The more we let people elevate themselves through charity, the more charitable they will become.

I do not quite remember what happened after the dinner with my friend, whether his generosity achieved his aims — and only Gods knows what those were —but I know that he never would have given such a giant tip if he had not perceived some value in doing so.

We are, in short, rather selfish beings, and we ought to pry what goodness we can from one another.