Alvaro Rivas

Selfishness and Christianity

29 Apr 2025

Christianity is often celebrated for its ideals of altruism and self-sacrifice. A closer reading of its core teachings, however, suggests that many of its ethical directives — and the conduct they cultivate — are framed in terms of personal gain rather than pure selflessness.

Some theologians, notably Augustine¹ (on caritas) and Thomas Aquinas² (on “charity” as friendship with God), insist that authentic Christian love seeks the good of the other without regard for reward. My aim is not to dismiss that altruistic tradition but to show that, alongside it, the Christian doctrine repeatedly employs a language of exchange that powerfully shapes everyday piety.

The pattern emerges already in the Lord's Prayer: “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”³ The petition implies that forgiving others is not simply a moral good in itself but a strategy to secure God's forgiveness for us.

Jesus makes the exchange even more explicit in Luke 6:37-38:

Here, Jesus tells us that we should not judge or condemn, and that we should forgive and give instead. However, he does not commend non-judgement and generosity for their intrinsic worth; instead, he appeals to the benefit that accrues to the one who practises them.

This is not an isolated case; the same logic appears in Matthew 6:14-15, where Jesus tells his disciples that

Forgiveness is presented as a means to secure divine reciprocity: as a means to an end, not as an end in itself. Jesus could say that we should all “forgive others their trespasses” because our “heavenly Father” wants us to — because it's the right thing to do. Rather, he tells us we should do so because we stand to gain from the reciprocity of our action from God.

Other times, Jesus offers a deal to his disciples. He asks them to act in certain ways, and in exchange he promises to reward them appropriately. In Matthew 19:21, for example, Jesus says that if you “wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.” A Christian follower, reading this teaching from Jesus, will inevitably conclude (out of selfishness) that he should be generous with the poor because he will be more than rewarded as a result, in heaven.

Later, in Matthew 19:29, Jesus continues: “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my name's sake will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.” Thus he asks his followers to give up everything, but immediately reassures them that their loss will be more than compensated. Again, he phrases his commands as a quid pro quo, directly appealing to his follower's personal advantage.

Luke 14:12-14 is another example of how Jesus uses rewards to encourage certain behaviour from us. He says

Here, our reward is received in the final judgement, when we will be “repaid.”

Offering rewards is not the only way that God compels us to act in his desired ways. Punishment is another tool he uses. For instance, in Romans 2:6-10, we are told how our actions will be judged: good will be rewarded with eternal life, whereas evil will be severely punished:

These examples reveal a consistent logic running through the New Testament: generosity and mercy are repeatedly explicitly justified not as intrinsic goods but as reliable strategies for securing divine favour and avoiding divine censure. Whether the promised return is “treasure in heaven,” a “hundredfold” harvest, or simple immunity from condemnation, virtue is portrayed as the means by which believers advance their own ultimate interests. In this moral economy, the good deed is never the final destination; it is the road that leads to safety, blessing, and eternal life. Christianity's ideal of self-sacrifice, then, rests upon a distinctly transactional foundation — one in which righteous action serves as the means to an end, not an end in itself.

Readers may counter that salvation is “the gift of God — not the result of works, so that no one may boast”⁴ and that people are “justified not by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ.”⁵ These texts undeniably complicate a simple works-reward schema. Yet the canon preserves both accents in tension: divine generosity that precedes human effort, and divine recompense that follows it. The coexistence of the two strands explains why, in practice, motivational appeals to fear and reward remain so prominent in Christian preaching and devotion.

This appeal to believers' self-interest extends beyond Scripture to everyday Christian life, repeatedly reaffirmed by the Church.

Within Christian teaching, existence is a journey that extends beyond the grave. The believer hopes to stand vindicated at the final judgement, to enter the kingdom of heaven, and to share in the resurrection of the righteous. As imperfect beings, this journey is not smooth; it is repeatedly jarred by our own sin, with each stumble deviating us from the goal.

Fortunately for the Christian, the Church offers a way to rectify our mistakes and put us back on the right path towards salvation.

Through the Sacrament of Penance — often called Confession or Reconciliation — the believer is invited to acknowledge specific sins before a priest, express contrition, and receive an absolution that restores the ruptured relationship with God. The rite does more than soothe a troubled conscience; it explicitly re-aligns the penitent with the ultimate goal of salvation by removing the penalties that would bar entry into heaven. Even the penance assigned by the confessor — whether spoken prayers, fasting, or acts of charity — serves a calculated purpose: it repairs the damage of sin and, in traditional teaching, remits the temporal consequences that might otherwise delay one's enjoyment of the beatific vision. In this way the rhythms of repentance built into church life — regular examination of conscience, sacramental confession, prescribed acts of satisfaction — function as a continual course-correction for travelers who know that every misstep endangers the prize they seek. Far from undermining the self-interested dynamic, these practices entrench it: the believer often repents not because sin is wrong and they are truly sorry (perfect contrition) but because forgiveness is indispensable to attaining the promised reward and avoiding eternal damnation (attrition, or imperfect contrition).

Catholic doctrine does acknowledge a higher form of “perfect contrition,” motivated purely by love of God. Yet it also validates “imperfect contrition,” which is “born of the consideration of sin's ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner.”⁶ By assuring the faithful that fear-based repentance is still effective, the Church itself sanctions a motivational mixture in which self-interest continues to play a sufficient and decisive role.

The Church encourages daily prayer, yet its content is often framed in self-serving terms. Such prayer is frequently petitionary, as the Lord’s Prayer illustrates⁷:

Our daily prayers commonly focus on egoistic petitions for ourselves or loved ones — asking God for good health and safety, success in our endeavours, financial stability, harmonious relationships, peace of mind, and wisdom to navigate life's challenges.

Indeed, petitionary prayer implicitly assumes that the divine order is somehow incomplete or mistaken. When we ask God to change circumstances, we're effectively saying that either the world he has fashioned needs our insight to be set right — or that, despite his perfect plan, he should nonetheless bend to our wishes. In either case, we place our own judgement above his, edging into a posture that can feel proud and even blasphemous.

Defenders of petitionary prayer respond that its primary aim is not to inform God but to form the petitioner — cultivating dependence, gratitude, and hope. Even on that charitable reading, however, the practice remains structured as a request whose fulfilment redounds to the benefit of the one who prays, thereby sustaining the incentive logic traced throughout this essay.

In the end, what emerges is a portrait of Christian ethics not as pure altruism but as a sophisticated system of incentives and disincentives — rituals, prayers, sacraments, and moral commands all calibrated to secure forgiveness, reward, or avert punishment. From the Lord's Prayer's quid pro quo of debts forgiven to the promise of “treasure in heaven,” from sacramental confession's instrumental penances to daily petitions for personal needs, the faith continually reminds believers that virtue is a means to an end, not an end in itself.

This is not to claim that the Bible, the Church, Christianity, or Christians are wholly self-serving, but it does highlight how considerations of personal benefit shape both the motivations and everyday practices of its adherents.

Notes

¹ Augustine, On Christian Doctrine.

² Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae II-II.

³ Matthew 6:12. Bible citations are for the NRSV.

⁴ Ephesians 2:8-9.

⁵ Galatians 2:16.

⁶ Catholic Church, Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§1452-1453.

⁷ Matthew 6:11-13.