## 1. Psychological Egoism



All forms of egoism require explication of "self-interest"
(or "welfare" or "well-being"). There are
three main theories. Preference or desire accounts identify
self-interest with the satisfaction of one's desires. Often, and
most plausibly, these desires are restricted to self-regarding
desires. What makes a desire self-regarding is controversial, but
there are clear cases and counter-cases: a desire for my own pleasure
is self-regarding; a desire for the welfare of others is not.
Objective accounts identify self-interest with the possession of
states (such as virtue or knowledge) that are valuable independently
of whether they are desired. Hybrid accounts give a role to both
desires (or pleasure) and states that are valuable independently of
whether they are desired. For example, perhaps the increase to my
well-being brought about by a satisfied desire (or a pleasure) is even
greater if it is a desire for (or pleasure in) knowledge. Or perhaps
the increase to my well-being brought about by a piece of knowledge is
even greater if I desire (or take pleasure in) it. Hedonism, which
identifies self-interest with pleasure, is either a preference or an
objective account, according to whether what counts as pleasure is
determined by one's desires. 



Psychological egoism claims that each person has but one ultimate aim:
her own welfare. This allows for action that fails to maximize
perceived self-interest, but rules out the sort of behavior
psychological egoists like to target -- such as altruistic
behavior or motivation by thoughts of duty alone. It allows for
weakness of will, since in weakness of will cases I am still aiming at
my own welfare; I am weak in that I do not act as I aim. And it allows
for aiming at things other than one's welfare, such as helping
others, where these things are a means to one's welfare.



Psychological egoism is supported by our frequent observation of
self-interested behavior. Apparently altruistic action is often
revealed to be self-interested. And we typically motivate people by
appealing to their self-interest (through, for example, punishments
and rewards).



A common objection to psychological egoism, made famously by Joseph
Butler, is that I must desire things other than my own welfare in
order to get welfare. Say I derive welfare from playing hockey. Unless
I desired, for its own sake, to play hockey, I would not derive
welfare from playing. Or say I derive welfare from helping others.
Unless I desired, for its own sake, that others do well, I would not
derive welfare from helping them. Welfare results from my action, but
cannot be the only aim of my action.



The psychological egoist can concede that I must have desires for
particular things, such as playing hockey. But there is no need to
concede that the satisfaction of these desires is not part of my
welfare. My welfare might consist simply in the satisfaction of
self-regarding desires. In the case of deriving welfare from helping
others, the psychological egoist can again concede that I would not
derive welfare without desiring some particular thing, but need not
agree that what I desire for its own sake is that others do well. That
I am the one who helps them may, for example, satisfy my
self-regarding desire for power.



A bigger problem for psychological egoism is that some behavior does
not seem to be explained by self-regarding desires. Say a soldier
throws himself on a grenade to prevent others from being killed. It
does not seem that the soldier is pursuing his perceived
self-interest. It is plausible that, if asked, the soldier would have
said that he threw himself on the grenade because he wanted to save
the lives of others or because it was his duty. He would deny as
ridiculous the claim that he acted in his self-interest.



The psychological egoist might reply that the soldier is lying or
self-deceived. Perhaps he threw himself on the grenade because he
believed that he could not bear to live with himself afterwards if he
did not do so. He has a better life, in terms of welfare, by avoiding
years of guilt. The main problem here is that while this is a possible
account of some cases, there is no reason to think it covers all
cases. Another problem is that guilt may presuppose that the soldier
has a non-self-regarding desire for doing what he takes to be
right.



The psychological egoist might reply that some such account must be
right. After all, the soldier did what he most wanted to do, and so
must have been pursuing his perceived self-interest. In one sense,
this is true. If self-interest is identified with the satisfaction of
all of one's preferences, then all intentional action is
self-interested (at least if intentional actions are always explained
by citing preferences, as most believe). Psychological egoism turns
out to be trivially true. This would not content defenders of
psychological egoism, however. They intend an empirical theory that,
like other such theories, it is at least possible to refute by
observation.



There is another way to show that the trivial version of psychological
egoism is unsatisfactory. We ordinarily think there is a significant
difference in selfishness between the soldier's action and that
of another soldier who, say, pushes someone onto the grenade to avoid
being blown up himself. We think the former is acting unselfishly
while the latter is acting selfishly. According to the trivial version
of psychological egoism, both soldiers are equally selfish, since both
are doing what they most desire.



The psychological egoist might handle apparent cases of
self-sacrifice, not by adopting the trivial version, but rather by
claiming that facts about the self-interest of the agent explain all
behavior. Perhaps as infants we have only self-regarding desires; we
come to desire other things, such as doing our duty, by learning that
these other things satisfy our self-regarding desires; in time, we
pursue the other things for their own sakes.



Even if this picture of development is true, however, it does not
defend psychological egoism, since it admits that we sometimes
ultimately aim at things other than our welfare. An account of the
origins of our non-self-regarding desires does not show that they are
really self-regarding. The soldier's desire is to save others,
not increase his own welfare, even if he would not have desired to
save others unless saving others was, in the past, connected to
increasing his welfare.



The psychological egoist must argue that we do not come to pursue
things other than our welfare for their own sakes. In principle, it
seems possible to show this by showing that non-self-regarding desires
do not continue for long once their connection to our welfare is
broken. However, evidence for this dependence claim has not been
forthcoming.



Indeed, when examining the empirical evidence, two sorts of approach
have been used to argue against psychological egoism.



First, Daniel Batson and colleagues found that increased empathy leads
to increased helping behaviour. One hypothesis is altruistic: empathy
causes a non-instrumental desire to help. There are many competing
egoistic hypotheses. Empathy might cause an unpleasant experience that
subjects believe they can stop by helping; or subjects might think
failing to help in cases of high empathy is more likely to lead to
punishment by others, or that helping here is more likely to be
rewarded by others; or subjects might think this about
self-administered punishment (e.g., guilt) or reward. In an ingenious
series of experiments, Batson compared the egoistic hypotheses, one by
one, against the altruistic hypothesis. He found that the altruistic
hypothesis always made superior predictions. Against the unpleasant
experience hypothesis, Batson found that giving high-empathy subjects
easy ways of stopping the experience other than by helping did not
reduce helping. Against the punishment by others hypothesis, Batson
found that letting high-empathy subjects believe that their behaviour
would be secret did not reduce helping. Against the self-administered
reward hypothesis, Batson found that the mood of high-empathy subjects
depended on whether they believed that help was needed, whether or not
they could do the helping, rather than on whether they helped (and so
could self-reward). Against the self-administered punishment
hypothesis, Batson found that making high-empathy subjects believe
they would feel less guilt from not helping (by letting them believe
that few others had volunteered to help) did not reduce helping.



One might quibble with some of the details. Perhaps subjects did not
believe that the easy ways of stopping the painful experience Batson
provided, such as leaving the viewing room, would stop it. (For an
account of an experiment done in reply, favouring Batson, see Stich,
Doris and Roedder 2010, as well as Batson 2011 135-145.) Perhaps
a Batson-proof egoistic hypothesis could be offered: say that subjects
believe that the *only* way of stopping the pain (or avoiding
self-punishment) is by helping (though whether subjects have this
belief might be tested for on its own). But on the whole,
Batson's experiments are very bad news for psychological egoism.
(For further discussion of Batson, see May 2011a and Slote 2013.)



Second, Elliot Sober and David Wilson argue that evolutionary theory
supports altruism. Parental care might be explained on egoistic
grounds: a belief about the child's distress causes the parent
pain that the parent believes she can alleviate by helping, or the
parent believes that she will be caused pain if she does not help.
Parental care might also be explained on altruistic grounds: the
parent has a non-instrumental desire that the child do well. Lastly,
parental care might be explained by a combination of these mechanisms.
Sober and Wilson argue that more reliable care would be provided by
the altruistic or combination mechanisms. Given the importance of
parental care, this is a reason for thinking that natural selection
would have favoured one of these mechanisms. The egoistic mechanism is
less reliable for several reasons: beliefs about the child's
distress may fail to cause the parent pain (even bodily injury does
not always cause pain, so pain is unlikely to be always caused by
beliefs about distress); the parent may fail to believe that helping
will best reduce her pain; there may not be enough pain produced; the
combination view has the advantage of an extra mechanism.



This argument has drawbacks. Natural selection does not always provide
back-up mechanisms (I have but one liver). Natural selection sometimes
has my desires caused by feelings that are produced by a belief rather
than directly by the belief (my desire to run away from danger is
often caused by my fear, rather than by the mere belief that there is
danger). And in these cases, as in the case of the imperfectly
correlated pain and bodily injury, there seems usually to be
*enough* feeling. The altruistic hypothesis also has some of the
same problems: for example, just as there might not be enough pain,
the non-instrumental desire that the child do well might not be strong
enough to defeat other desires. Indeed, without an estimate of how
strong this desire is, there is no reason to think the egoistic
hypothesis is less reliable. It may have more points at which it can
go wrong, but produce more care than a direct but weak altruistic
mechanism. (For many of these worries, and others, see Stich, Doris
and Roedder 2010.)



Even if evolutionary arguments can be met, however, psychological
egoism faces the problems noted earlier. In response, the
psychological egoist might move to what Gregory Kavka (1986,
64-80) calls "predominant egoism:" we act
unselfishly only rarely, and then typically where the sacrifice is
small and the gain to others is large or where those benefiting are
friends, family, or favorite causes. Predominant egoism is not
troubled by the soldier counter-example, since it allows exceptions;
it is not trivial; and it seems empirically plausible. (For other
weakened positions, see LaFollette 1988 and Mercer 2001.)


## 2. Ethical Egoism



Ethical egoism claims that I morally ought to perform some action if
and only if, and because, performing that action maximizes my
self-interest. (There are possibilities other than maximization. One
might, for example, claim that one ought to achieve a certain level of
welfare, but that there is no requirement to achieve more. Ethical
egoism might also apply to things other than acts, such as rules or
character traits. Since these variants are uncommon, and the arguments
for and against them are largely the same as those concerning the
standard version, I set them aside.)



One issue concerns how much ethical egoism differs in content from
standard moral theories. It might appear that it differs a great deal.
After all, moral theories such as Kantianism, utilitarianism, and
common-sense morality require that an agent give weight to the
interests of others. They sometimes require uncompensated sacrifices,
particularly when the loss to the agent is small and the gain to
others is large. (Say the cost to me of saving a drowning person is
getting my shirtsleeve wet.) Ethical egoists can reply, however, that
egoism generates many of the same duties to others. The argument runs
as follows. Each person needs the cooperation of others to obtain
goods such as defense or friendship. If I act as if I give no weight
to others, others will not cooperate with me. If, say, I break my
promises whenever it is in my direct self-interest to do so, others
will not accept my promises, and may even attack me. I do best, then,
by acting as if others have weight (provided they act as if I have
weight in return).



It is unlikely that this argument proves that ethical egoism generates
all of the standard duties to others. For the argument depends on the
ability of others to cooperate with me or attack me should I fail to
cooperate. In dealings with others who lack these abilities, the
egoist has no reason to cooperate. The duties to others found in
standard moral theories are not conditional in this way. I do not, for
example, escape a duty to save a drowning person, when I can easily do
so, just because the drowning person (or anyone watching) happens
never to be able to offer fruitful cooperation or retaliation.



The divergence between ethical egoism and standard moral theories
appears in other ways.



First, the ethical egoist will rank as most important duties that
bring her the highest payoff. Standard moral theories determine
importance at least in part by considering the payoff to those helped.
What brings the highest payoff to me is not necessarily what brings
the highest payoff to those helped. I might, for example, profit more
from helping the local Opera society refurbish its hall than I would
from giving to famine relief in Africa, but standard moral theories
would rank famine relief as more important than Opera hall
improvements.



Second, the cooperation argument cannot be extended to justify
extremely large sacrifices, such as the soldier falling on the
grenade, that standard moral theories rank either as most important or
supererogatory. The cooperation argument depends on a short-term loss
(such as keeping a promise that it is inconvenient to keep) being
recompensed by a long-term gain (such as being trusted in future
promises). Where the immediate loss is one's life (or
irreplaceable features such as one's sight), there is no
long-term gain, and so no egoist argument for the sacrifice.



An ethical egoist might reply by taking the cooperation argument
further. Perhaps I cannot get the benefits of cooperation without
converting to some non-egoist moral theory. That is, it is not enough
that I act as if others have weight; I must really give them weight. I
could still count as an egoist, in the sense that I have adopted the
non-egoist theory on egoist grounds.



One problem is that it seems unlikely that I can get the benefits of
cooperation only by conversion. Provided I act as if others have
weight for long enough, others will take me as giving them weight, and
so cooperate, whether I really give them weight or not. In many
situations, others will neither have the ability to see my true
motivation nor care about it.



Another problem is that conversion can be costly. I might be required
by my non-egoist morality to make a sacrifice for which I cannot be
compensated (or pass up a gain so large that passing it up will not be
compensated for). Since I have converted from egoism, I can no longer
reject making the sacrifice or passing up the gain on the ground that
it will not pay. It is safer, and seemingly feasible, to remain an
egoist while cooperating in most cases. If so, ethical egoism and
standard moralities will diverge in some cases. (For discussion of the
cooperation argument, see Frank 1988; Gauthier 1986 ch. 6; Kavka 1984
and 1986 Part II; Sidgwick 1907 II.V.)



There is another way to try to show that ethical egoism and standard
moral theories do not differ much. One might hold one particular
objective theory of self-interest, according to which my welfare lies
in possessing the virtues required by standard moral theories. This
requires an argument to show that this particular objective theory
gives the right account of self-interest. It also faces a worry for
any objective theory: objective theories seem implausible as accounts
of welfare. If, say, all my preferences favor my ignoring the plight
of others, and these preferences do not rest on false beliefs about
issues such as the likelihood of receiving help, it seems implausible
(and objectionably paternalistic) to claim that "really"
my welfare lies in helping others. I may have a duty to help others,
and the world might be better if I helped others, but it does not
follow that I am better off by helping others. (For a more optimistic
verdict on this strategy, noting its roots in Socrates, Plato,
Aristotle, the Stoics, and the British Idealists, see Brink 1997 and
2003.)



Of course the divergence between ethical egoism and standard moral
theories need not bother an ethical egoist. An ethical egoist sees
egoism as superior to other moral theories. Whether it is superior
depends on the strength of the arguments for it. Two arguments are
popular.



First, one might argue for a moral theory, as one argues for a
scientific theory, by showing that it best fits the evidence. In the
case of moral theories, the evidence is usually taken to be our most
confident common-sense moral judgments. Egoism fits many of these,
such as the requirements of cooperation in ordinary cases. It fits
some judgments better than utilitarianism does. For example, it allows
one to keep some good, such as a job, for oneself, even if giving the
good to someone else would help him slightly more, and it captures the
intuition that I need not let others exploit me. The problem is that,
as the discussion of the cooperation argument shows, it also fails to
fit some of the confident moral judgments we make.



Second, one might argue for a moral theory by showing that it is
dictated by non-moral considerations -- in particular, by facts about
motivation. It is commonly held that moral judgments must be
practical, or capable of motivating those who make them. If
psychological egoism were true, this would restrict moral judgments to
those made by egoism. Other moral judgments would be excluded since it
would be impossible to motivate anyone to follow them.



One problem with this argument is that psychological egoism seems
false. Replacing psychological with predominant egoism loses the key
claim that it is impossible to motivate anyone to make an
uncompensated sacrifice.



The ethical egoist might reply that, if predominant egoism is true,
ethical egoism may require less deviation from our ordinary actions
than any standard moral theory. But fit with motivation is hardly
decisive; any normative theory, including ethical egoism, is intended
to guide and criticize our choices, rather than simply endorse
whatever we do. When I make an imprudent choice, this does not count
against ethical egoism, and in favor of a theory recommending
imprudence.



The argument has other problems. One could deny that morality must be
practical in the required sense. Perhaps morality need not be
practical at all: we do not always withdraw moral judgments when we
learn that the agent could not be motivated to follow them. Or perhaps
moral judgments must be capable of motivating not just anyone, but
only idealized versions of ourselves, free from (say) irrationality.
In this case, it is insufficient to describe how we are motivated;
what is relevant is a description of how we would be motivated were we
rational.



Finally, if I do not believe that some action is ultimately in my
self-interest, it follows from psychological egoism that I cannot aim
to do it. But say I am wrong: the action is in my self-interest.
Ethical egoism then says that it is right for me to do something I
cannot aim to do. It violates practicality just as any other moral
theory does.



So far a number of arguments for ethical egoism have been considered.
There are a number of standard arguments against it.



G. E. Moore argued that ethical egoism is self-contradictory. If I am
an egoist, I hold that I ought to maximize my good. I deny that others
ought to maximize my good (they should maximize their own goods). But
to say that *x* is "my good" is just to say that my
possessing *x* is good. (I cannot possess the goodness.) If my
possession of *x* is good, then I must hold that others ought
to maximize my possession of it. I both deny and am committed to
affirming that others ought to maximize my good. (Sometimes Moore
suggests instead that "my good" be glossed as
"*x* is good and *x* is mine." This does not
yield the contradiction above, since it does not claim that my
possession of *x* is good. But it yields a different
contradiction: if *x* is good, everyone ought to maximize it
wherever it appears; egoists hold that I ought to maximize *x*
only when it appears in me.)



One reply is that egoism can be stated without using "my
good." The egoist can hold (as Sidgwick usually does) that she
ought to maximize her happiness or self-interest (Prichard 2002:
176).



Another reply is that one might keep "my good" but deny
that if my possessing *x* is good, others ought to maximize my
possession of it. C. D. Broad writes that the egoist can hold that
"equally pleasant states of mind are equally good things, no
matter whose states of mind they may be. But...each of us is properly
concerned, not with all good things, but only with a certain
restricted class of good things, viz., those which are states of his
own mind" (Broad 1930: 243; also Broad 1942: 44-6, 1971c:
347-50, Prichard 2002: 217, Ewing 1965: 33). As Broad notes,
this sort of position is not unique to egoists; deontologists also
deny that one ought always maximize the good.



There is another way to deny that if my possessing *x* is good,
others ought to maximize my possession of it. One might hold that
"my good" should not be analyzed in terms of what Moore
calls "good absolutely" but rather is a distinct concept,
good-for-me, linked only to agent-relative reasons (Mackie 1976, Smith
2003). It does not follow from "my possession of *x* is
good-for-me" that others ought to maximize what is
good-for-me.



Moore also suggests that the reason for me to pursue my good is the
goodness of the thing I obtain. If what I obtain is good, then there
is reason for everyone to pursue it, not just in me, but anywhere.
Again, moving to good-for-me avoids this consequence. But something
close to this argument is plausible, especially for some bad things.
One might argue that it is the way my pain feels -- its badness
-- and not any connection between me and the pain that gives me
reason to alleviate it. If so, I have reason to alleviate the pain of
others (Nagel 1986, Rachels 2002). (This argument can be directed
against rational egoism as well.)



A second argument against ethical egoism was made by H. A. Prichard.
He argues that self-interest is the wrong sort of reason. I do not,
for example, think the reason I have a duty to help a drowning child
is that helping benefits me (Prichard 2002 1, 9, 26, 29, 30, 122, 123,
171, 188). Similarly, Prichard chastises Sidgwick for taking seriously
the view that there is "a *duty*...to do those acts which
we think will lead to our happiness" (Prichard 2002 135).



This may be convincing when "duty" means "moral
duty." It is less convincing when, as Prichard also thinks, the
issue is simply what one ought to do. He takes there to be only one
sense of "ought," which he treats as "morally
ought." Any other "ought" is treated as really
making the non-normative claim that a certain means is efficient for
attaining a certain end. But ethical egoism can be seen as making
categorical and normative ought-claims. And the historical popularity
of ethical or rational egoism (see Crisp 2019), which Prichard so
often notes, indicates that self-interest is not obviously irrelevant
to what one ought to do.



A third argument, like Moore's, claims that ethical egoism is
inconsistent in various ways. Say ethical egoism recommends that
*A* and *B* both go to a certain hockey game, since
going to the game is in the self-interest of each. Unfortunately, only
one seat remains. Ethical egoism, then, recommends an impossible state
of affairs. Or say that I am *A* and an ethical egoist. I both
claim that *B* ought to go to the game, since that is in her
self-interest, and I do not want *B* to go to the game, since
B's going to the game is against my self-interest.



Against the first inconsistency charge, the ethical egoist can reply
that ethical egoism provides no neutral ranking of states of affairs.
It recommends to *A* that *A* go to the game, and to
*B* that *B* go to the game, but is silent on the value
of *A* and *B* both attending the game.



Against the second inconsistency charge, the ethical egoist can claim
that she morally recommends that *B* go to the game, although
she desires that *B* not go. This is no more odd than claiming
that my opponent in a game would be wise to adopt a particular
strategy, while desiring that he not do so. True, the ethical egoist
is unlikely to recommend ethical egoism to others, to blame others for
violations of what ethical egoism requires, to justify herself to
others on the basis of ethical egoism, or to express moral attitudes
such as forgiveness and resentment. These publicity worries may
disqualify ethical egoism as a moral theory, but do not show
inconsistency.



A fourth argument against ethical egoism is just that: ethical egoism
does not count as a moral theory. One might set various constraints on
a theory's being a moral theory. Many of these constraints are
met by ethical egoism -- the formal constraints, for example,
that moral claims must be prescriptive and universalizable. Ethical
egoism issues prescriptions -- "do what maximizes your
self-interest" -- and it issues the same prescriptions for
people in relevantly similar situations. But other constraints are
problematic for ethical egoism: perhaps a moral theory must sometimes
require uncompensated sacrifices; or perhaps it must supply a single,
neutral ranking of actions that each agent must follow in cases where
interests conflict; or perhaps it must respect principles such as
"that I ought to do *x* is a consideration in favor of
others not preventing me from doing *x*;" or perhaps it
must be able to be made public in the way, just noted, that ethical
egoism cannot. (For sample discussions of these two objections, see
Baier 1958 189-191; Campbell 1972; Frankena 1973 18-20;
Kalin 1970.)



The issue of what makes for a moral theory is contentious. An ethical
egoist could challenge whatever constraint is deployed against her.
But a neater reply is to move to rational egoism, which makes claims
about what one has reason to do, ignoring the topic of what is morally
right. This gets at what ethical egoists intend, while skirting the
issue of constraints on moral theories. After all, few if any ethical
egoists think of egoism as giving the correct content of morality,
while also thinking that what they have most reason to do is
determined by some non-egoist consideration. One could then, if one
wished, argue for ethical egoism from rational egoism and the
plausible claim that the best moral theory must tell me what I have
most reason to do.


## 3. Rational Egoism



Rational egoism claims that I ought to perform some action if and only
if, and because, performing that action maximizes my self-interest.
(As with ethical egoism, there are variants which drop maximization or
evaluate rules or character traits rather than actions. There are also
variants which make the maximization of self-interest necessary but
not sufficient, or sufficient but not necessary, for an action to be
the action I ought to perform. Again, I set these issues aside.)
Rational egoism makes claims about what I ought, or have reason, to
do, without restricting the "ought" or
"reason" to a moral "ought" or
"reason." 



Like ethical egoism, rational egoism needs arguments to support it.
One might cite our most confident judgments about rational action and
claim that rational egoism best fits these. The problem is that our
most confident judgments about rational action seem to be captured by
a different, extremely popular theory -- the instrumental theory
of rationality. According to the instrumental theory, I ought to
perform some action if and only if, and because, performing that
action maximizes the satisfaction of my preferences. Since
psychological egoism seems false, it may be rational for me to make an
uncompensated sacrifice for the sake of others, for this may be what,
on balance, best satisfies my (strong, non-self-interested)
preferences. This conflict with the instrumental theory is a major
problem for rational egoism.



The rational egoist might reply that the instrumental theory is
equally a problem for any standard moral theory that claims to give an
account of what one ought rationally, or all things considered, to do.
If, for example, a utilitarian claims that I have most reason to give
to charity, since that maximizes the general happiness, I could object
that giving to charity cannot be rational given my particular
preferences, which are for things other than the general
happiness.



A different problem for rational egoism is that it appears arbitrary.
Suppose I claim that I ought to maximize the welfare of blue-eyed
people, but not of other people. Unless I can explain why blue-eyed
people are to be preferred, my claim looks arbitrary, in the sense
that I have given no reason for the different treatments. As a
rational egoist, I claim that I ought to maximize the welfare of one
person (myself). Unless I can explain why I should be preferred, my
claim looks equally arbitrary.



One reply is to argue that non-arbitrary distinctions can be made by
one's preferences. Say I like anchovies and hate broccoli. This
makes my decision to buy anchovies rather than broccoli non-arbitrary.
Similarly, my preference for my own welfare makes my concentration on
my own welfare non-arbitrary.



There are two problems for this reply.



First, we do not always take preferences to establish non-arbitrary
distinctions. If I defend favoring blue-eyed people simply by noting
that I like blue-eyed people, without any justification for my liking,
this seems unsatisfactory. The rational egoist must argue that hers is
a case where preferences are decisive.



Second, if psychological egoism is false, I might lack a preference
for my own welfare. It would follow that for me, a distinction between
my welfare and that of others would be arbitrary, and the rational
egoist claim that each ought to maximize his own welfare would be
unjustified when applied to me. The proposal that preferences
establish non-arbitrary distinctions supports the instrumental theory
better than rational egoism.



Another reply to the arbitrariness worry is to claim that certain
distinctions just are non-arbitrary. Which distinctions these are is
revealed by looking at whether we ask for justifications of the
relevance of the distinction. In the case of my maximizing of the
welfare of the blue-eyed, we do ask for a justification; we do not
take "because they're blue-eyed" as an adequate
defense of a reason to give to the blue-eyed. In the case of my
maximizing my own welfare, however, "because it will make me
better off" may seem a reasonable justification; we do not
quickly ask "why does that matter?"



In a much-quoted passage, Sidgwick claimed that rational egoism is not
arbitrary: "It would be contrary to Common Sense to deny that
the distinction between any one individual and any other is real and
fundamental, and that consequently 'I' am concerned with
the quality of my existence as an individual in a sense, fundamentally
important, in which I am not concerned with the quality of the
existence of other individuals: and this being so, I do not see how it
can be proved that this distinction is not to be taken as fundamental
in determining the ultimate end of rational action for an
individual" (Sidgwick 1907, 498). This can be interpreted in
various ways (Shaver 1999, 82-98; Shaver 2020; Phillips 2011,
ch. 5).



On the most natural interpretation, Sidgwick is noting various
non-normative facts. I have a distinct history, memories, and perhaps
special access to my mental contents. But it is not clear how these
facts support the normative conclusion Sidgwick draws. Utilitarians,
for example, agree about these facts. (Some of the facts may also not
give the sharp distinction Sidgwick wants. I may usually know more
about my pain than yours, but this difference seems a matter of
degree.)



Sidgwick might instead be claiming that attacks on rational egoism
from certain views of personal identity fail because they rest on a
false view of personal identity. He might have in mind Humean views
(as in Parfit, discussed below). Perhaps more likely, he might have in
mind Schopenhauer's view -- which Schopenhauer deploys
against egoism -- that there is a "real identity of any one
ego with all others" (Sidgwick 1896: 281; Schopenhauer 1965:
204-7). (Schopenhauer thinks this follows from Kant's view
that space and time belong only to appearances.) But this would only
defend a presupposition of rational egoism -- that there are
separate individuals. It would not follow that the distinction between
them matters.



Finally, Sidgwick might be claiming that my point of view, like an
impartial point of view, is non-arbitrary. But there are other points
of view, such as that of my species, family or country. Sidgwick finds
them arbitrary. It is hard to see why my point of view, and an
impartial point of view, are non-arbitrary, while anything in between
is arbitrary. For example, in favour of my point of view, Sidgwick
could note that I *am* an individual rather than a hive-member.
But I am a member of various groups as well. And if my being an
individual is important, this cuts against the importance of taking up
an impartial point of view just as it cuts against the importance of
taking up the point of view of various groups. Similarly, if the
impartial point of view is defended as non-arbitrary because it makes
no distinctions, both the point of view of various groups and my
individual point of view are suspect.



Debate over rational egoism was revitalized by Parfit 1984 pts.
II-III. Parfit gives two main arguments against rational egoism. Both
focus on the rational egoist's attitude toward the future: the
rational egoist holds that the time at which some good comes is by
itself irrelevant, so that, for example, I ought to sacrifice a small
present gain for a larger future gain.



First, one could challenge rational egoism, not only with the
instrumental theory, but also with the "present-aim"
theory of rationality. According to the present-aim theory, I have
most reason to do what maximizes the satisfaction of my present
desires. Even if all of these desires are self-regarding, the
present-aim theory need not coincide with rational egoism. Suppose I
know that in the future I will desire a good pension, but I do not now
desire a good pension for myself in the future; I have different
self-regarding desires. Suppose also that, looking back from the end
of my life, I will have maximized my welfare by contributing now to
the pension. Rational egoism requires that I contribute now. The
present-aim theory does not. It claims that my reasons are relative
not only to who has a desire -- me rather than someone else
-- but also to when the desire is held -- now rather than in
the past or future. The obvious justification an egoist could offer
for not caring about time -- that one should care only about the
*amount* of good produced -- is suicidal, since that should
lead one not to care about who receives the good. One reason the
present-aim theory is important is that it shows there is a coherent,
more minimal alternative to rational egoism. The rational egoist
cannot argue that egoism is the most minimal theory, and that standard
moral theories, by requiring more of people, require special,
additional justification. (For a very different argument to show again
that an alternative to morality is less minimal than expected --
directed more at the instrumental theory than rational egoism --
see Korsgaard 2005.)



Second, rational egoism might be challenged by some views of personal
identity. Say half of my brain will be transplanted to another body
*A*. My old body will be destroyed. *A* will have my
memories, traits, and goals. It seems reasonable for me to care
specially about *A*, and indeed to say that *A* is
identical to me. Now say half of my brain will go in *B* and
half in *C*. Again *B* and *C* will have my
memories, traits, and goals. It seems reasonable for me to care
specially about *B* and *C*. But *B* and
*C* cannot be identical to me, since they are not identical to
one another (they go on to live different lives). So the ground of my
care is not identity, but rather the psychological connections through
memories, etc. Even in the case of *A*, what grounds my care
are these connections, not identity: my relation to *A* is the
same as my relation to *B* (or *C*), so what grounds my
care about *A* grounds my care about *B* (or *C*)
-- and that cannot be identity. (To make the point in a different
way -- I would not take steps to ensure that only one of
*B* and *C* come about.) If so, I need not care
specially about some of my future selves, since they will not have
these connections to me. And I do have reason to care specially about
other people who bear these connections to me now.



One worry is that psychological continuity might substitute for
identity. Say *F*1 and *F*2 are
psychologically *connected* because (for example)
*F*2 has a memory of *F*1's
experiences. Suppose that *F*3 has a memory of
*F*2's experiences but no memory of
*F*1. *F*1 and
*F*3 are psychologically *continuous*, though
not psychologically connected. (Parfit's view is that
psychological connection and continuity both ground special care, if
special care is grounded at all.) In the cases above, *A*,
*B* and *C* are continuous with me. An egoist might
claim that continuity alone matters for special care; that fits the
cases. If so, I do have reason to care specially about all of the
future selves I am continuous with, and do not have this reason to
care specially about others with whom I am not continuous. (For this
and other worries about Parfit, see Brink 1992, Johnston 1997, Hills
2010 111-116.)



Parfit could reply that continuity might not suffice for special care.
It is not clear that *F*1 has reason to care
specially about *F*3 -- *F*3
might seem a stranger, perhaps even an unlikeable one. When young,
some worry about becoming someone they would not now like. They see no
reason for special care for this future person. This worry makes
sense, but if continuity were sufficient for special care, it would
not. If so, perhaps both continuity and connection, or perhaps
continuity and admirability, are needed. This would let Parfit keep
the conclusion that I need not care specially for some of my future
selves, but would not justify the conclusion that I have reason to
care specially about other people who are merely connected to me now
(or are merely admirable).



A worry is that some do care specially about merely continuous future
selves. With opposed intuitions about when special care is due, the
tactic of arguing from intuitions about special care to the grounds of
this care is indecisive.



There is a much simpler argument. Prichard argued that self-interest
does not give a reason. This might be convincing if
"reason" means "moral reason." It is not
convincing against a rational egoist, whose reasons are
"flavourless" (see previous section). But Prichard's
argument might be improved. Suppose, unlike Prichard, we admit reasons
that are not specifically moral (or think there are moral reasons to
benefit oneself). The egoist still holds a counter-intuitive position.
As A. C. Ewing notes, the egoist thinks there is only one sort of
reason. The egoist denies, for example, that, by itself, the fact that
the child will otherwise drown gives me any reason to save her. The
egoist denies that, by itself, the fact that I have made a promise
gives me any reason to keep it. Even if I have reason to do what
promotes my self-interest, most think I have other reasons as well.
The egoist needs to explain why this is not so (Ewing 1965: 28; Shaver
2022).



One might object to Prichard-style arguments that (a) they are
question-begging, since egoists will hardly agree that my reason for
helping is something other than the benefit to me, and (b) given
disagreement over this claim about my reason, the appropriate response
is to suspend judgment about it. Alison Hills, in 2010 parts II and
III, replies to (a) that moralists can assure themselves by giving
arguments that start from premises like [H] "I have a reason to
help regardless of whether doing so contributes to my
self-interest," provided [H] is not inferred from the falsity of
rational egoism -- perhaps it is self-evident (see also Rachels
1974). In reply to (b), she argues that disagreement over [H] does not
require moralists to suspend judgment about it, although disagreement
over an egoistic premiss like "I have reason to help only
because doing so benefits me" does require egoists to suspend
judgment. The difference, she argues, is that rational egoists (like
others making non-moral claims) aim at knowledge, and for putative
knowledge, in cases of disagreement between epistemic peers,
suspension of belief is required. If we disagree, and both of us know
that one of us is no more likely to be right than the other, we should
each suspend belief. Moralists, Hills argues, have a different aim:
they aim primarily not at knowledge but at the ability to draw, on
their own, true moral conclusions from the evidence. She takes this to
be supported by the thought that moral worth requires this ability.
Since aiming at this ability requires *not* giving weight to the
conclusions of others, suspension of belief in cases of disagreement
is not required of moralists.



Obviously, much here depends on the claim about the aim of moralists.
One might object that moralists care much more about getting true
moral conclusions than about arriving at them on their own. If I could
guarantee that I do the right act by relying on a Moral Answers
Machine (and not otherwise), I ought to do so. In addition, since
moralists do want true moral conclusions, and peer disagreement is
relevant to pursuing truth (see the entry on
 disagreement),
 Hills' moralists both need and cannot (by one means) pursue
truth.



There is another recent argument against rational egoism (Rachels and
Alter 2005, Tersman 2008, and especially de Lazari-Radek and Singer
2014). (1) Believing that rational egoism is true increases my
reproductive fitness, whether or not rational egoism is true. (2)
Therefore my belief that rational egoism is true (or, better, that
rational egoism appears to me true upon reflection) does not help to
justify rational egoism, since I would have that belief whether or not
rational egoism is true. (3) For some other normative beliefs (such as
belief in utilitarianism), having the belief does not increase
reproductive fitness. (4) Therefore my belief that (say)
utilitarianism is true can help justify utilitarianism. (Without (3)
and (4), there is no argument against rational egoism in
particular.)



Here I put aside general objections to evolutionary debunking
arguments (see, for example, Shafer-Landau 2012 or Schafer 2010). I
also put aside the possibility of debunking arguments that would
target the impartiality of utilitarianism (Andes 2019).



One worry is that what best increases reproductive fitness is acting
as a kin altruist rather than as a rational egoist (Crisp 2012, Other
Internet Resources). Presumably, then, it is believing that I ought to
act as a kin altruist, rather than as a rational egoist, that best
increases my reproductive fitness. (If there is a tie between what
increases reproductive fitness and belief, and believing that rational
egoism is true is best for reproductive fitness, one would expect many
to believe that rational egoism is true. But very few do, while many
endorse Broad's "self-referential altruism" (Broad
1971b).) De Lazari-Radek and Singer reply that the recommendations of
rational egoism are very close to those of kin altruism, and much
closer to those of kin altruism than are the recommendations of
utilitarianism (2014 194). But rational egoism and kin altruism do
make opposed recommendations. For example, kin altruism might
recommend that I sacrifice myself for my family, whether I care about
them or not, whereas rational egoism would recommend sacrifice only if
my welfare were to be higher were I to sacrifice and die rather than
not sacrifice and live. It is also hard to think of a plausible
argument which has kin altruism as a premiss and rational egoism as
the conclusion, so doubts about kin altruism do not seem to undercut
arguments for rational egoism. Nor is it clear how noting a difference
in the closeness of recommendations justifies concluding that rational
egoism is debunked and utilitarianism not debunked.



Another worry is that if my belief that I have reason to care about my
own well-being is unjustified, an argument that starts with that
reason as a premiss, and then adds that the focus on my own well-being
is arbitrary and so should be broadened to include everyone, is
undercut. One might reply (with de Lazari-Radek and Singer 2014 191)
that there are other ways of arriving at the conclusion that I have
reason to care about the well-being of everyone. Perhaps something
like utilitarianism is justified as self-evident rather than inferred
from some other reasons. The evolutionary argument targets conclusions
that can be reached *only* by appeal to a belief whose support
can be undercut by noting that we would have the belief whether or not
it is true. It is then open to the rational egoist to say that there
is some other way of arriving at rational egoism. Perhaps this is
unpromising, since the obvious way to justify rational egoism, as
self-evident, is to be undercut by (1) and (2). However, (i) if
believing that one ought to act as a kin altruist rather than as a
rational egoist is what best increases reproductive fitness, rational
egoism is, like utilitarianism, not undercut by (1) and (2). (ii) A
component of utilitarianism (and any plausible theory), the belief
that pain is bad, seems to be a belief that best increases
reproductive fitness whether or not it is true (see Kahane 2011 and
2014; for some replies, see Bramble 2017 and Jaquet 2018). Even if
nothing is good or bad, believing that pain is bad might increase my
motivation to avoid pain and so lead me to survive longer.



A further worry is that it is not clear that having the *belief*
best increases reproductive fitness. De Lazari-Radek and Singer argue,
in reply to the objection that their argument takes away the
justification for believing that pain is bad, that there is no
advantage to believing that pain is bad; I am sufficiently motivated
to avoid pain without any such belief (de Lazari-Radek and Singer 2014
268-269; for the general point, see Parfit 2011 v. 2
527-30). The same seems to go for rational egoism: I am
sufficiently motivated to act egoistically without any belief in the
truth of rational egoism.


## 4. Conclusion



Prospects for psychological egoism are dim. Even if some version
escapes recent empirical arguments, there seems little reason, once
the traditional philosophical confusions have been noted, for thinking
it is true. At best it is a logical possibility, like some forms of
scepticism.



Ethical egoists do best by defending rational egoism instead.



Rational egoism faces objections from arbitrariness, Nagel and
Rachels, Parfit, Ewing, and evolutionary debunking. These worries are
not decisive. Given this, and given the historical popularity of
rational egoism, one might conclude that it must be taken seriously.
But there is at least reason to doubt the historical record. Some
philosophers stressed the connection between moral action and
self-interest because they were concerned with motivation. It does not
follow that self-interest is for them a normative standard. And many
philosophers may have espoused rational egoism while thinking that God
ensured that acting morally maximized one's self-interest. (Some
were keen to stress that virtue must pay *in order* to give God a
role.) Once this belief is dropped, it is not so clear what they would
have said (Shaver 1999 ch. 4; see also Crisp 2019).