Who gives and who doesn’t? Busting generosity myths
Donating and hoarding may not be what they seem
Co-authored with Dr Chris Merritt
Generosity is a puzzling behaviour. At first glance, it appears illogical from a survival point of view. Giving resources away to others at a cost to ourselves is surely a zero-sum game. Why, therefore, do we do it?
Evolutionary biologists might contend that giving to our own kin makes sense because, if our relatives survive, our genes are more likely to be passed on. Even giving to those unrelated to us may promote our own survival, if the act is reciprocal, or ‘quid pro quo’. The same goes when community rules prompt people with more resources in a group to give to those who have less. Co-operating in this way, everyone’s chances of survival are higher. Someone you help today is more likely to help you tomorrow, or at any future time when you’re in need.
Hard-wired to give
Evidence from psychology appears to support this evolutionary benefit: our brains produce a powerful feeling of reward when we give to others. Giving — whether money, time or resources — is consistently associated with enhanced wellbeing, self-esteem and relationship quality. It only becomes detrimental at the extreme point where we ‘burn out’ and have nothing left for ourselves.
And it’s not just our brains that encourage generosity. Anthropologists and sociologists can point to elaborate social and cultural systems that support giving, from traditional feasts and festivals to religious obligations such as Jewish tzedakah, Christian tithing and Islamic zakat. Donors are assured of rewards, while misers — those who selfishly hoard their money — are frequently the subject of moralising tales in folklore and literature. The miser is commonly depicted as a sad loner, bereft of love and joy and ostracised from a community for prioritising greed over human relationships.
Who hoards?
With such encouragement to give, why would anyone be miserly? One obvious answer could be resources: the poorer person doesn’t have the luxury of giving away what little they possess. However, reality appears to contradict this. While wealthy donors give away more in absolute terms, poorer people give a higher proportion of what they have, making them more generous in relative terms. Theories to account for this include the disadvantaged having greater empathy with those in need and experiencing stronger communal motivation to give. Equally, there are many examples of those who have plenty of money but choose not to give any of it away.
If it isn’t wealth that determines a person’s generosity, or lack of it, what does? For a start, giving may not be as altruistic as we’d like to think. Experiments from behavioural economics show that we consistently give more if we’re being observed, if the donation is made public, or if we’re in the presence of a potential mate we’d like to impress with gestures that display our resources and kindness. We give because we stand to gain socially from the act.
On the flip side, if we’re made aware of others’ negative judgements of us for not giving, or we’re made to feel a sense of letting people down, we donate more to avoid unpleasant feelings of guilt. The self-psychology school of psychoanalysis argues that exhibitions of wealth are a way of strengthening a fragile ego. And other psychoanalysts point to ‘pseudo-altruism’, where giving is simply a way of exerting control over others, buying the power to coerce and avoiding negative feelings such as envy. How can you envy a person to whom you’re giving?
Re-thinking miserliness
So, if generosity might not be what it seems, then is it possible that we’ve also misunderstood miserliness? Wealth hoarding and reluctance to spend can be symptoms of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. Such individuals tend to exercise control and caution to avoid anxiety, keeping money in case of future catastrophe. Parting with money is highly distressing for these people, whose traits frequently overlap with other forms of control and rigidity, like anorexia and autism spectrum disorders. A combination of genes and the environment we grow up in can shape miserly behaviour.
Miserliness may also develop in response to trauma. This could be a literal loss of wealth or destitution, which psychoanalyst Melanie Klein described as an existential childhood fear. Holding on to wealth is a form of protection, a natural response to the trauma of its loss and protection against the anxiety of it happening again. Hoarding money or valuables could even be interpreted metaphorically, as a way of obtaining security in the absence of consistent love from others, particularly from one’s parents during childhood.
Even if a person who has experienced loss and trauma later gains or regains significant wealth, they may still be miserly. In these cases, they might be identifying with the ‘aggressor’, who deprived them in the past, and behaving sadistically towards others as a result. Withholding wealth becomes a way to triumph over one’s enemies.
Common ground
Ultimately, therefore, generosity and miserliness could be reduced to the same basic human drive: the need to be loved by others. We donate our wealth to gain love and acknowledgment, or to avoid the guilt of hoarding. We hoard because we were deprived, or to avoid the anxiety of loss. This might help to explain why generosity appears to be independent of wealth. It could also make us think about why we’re donating, and how we’re judging those who choose to save their cash for a rainy day.
