ChatGPT on The Case for Benevolence over Altruism

Am I wasting my time writing articles from scratch?

Recently, I had the idea to write an article comparing and contrasting altruism with benevolence. I was curious what ChatGPT would suggest. I’m not keeping a secret of the fact that I’m greatly inspired by Ayn Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism and that I try to live by it to the best of my ability. However, the mention of her and her philosophy sometimes put up unnecessary barriers among readers. So, while my writing is heavily influenced by Objectivism, I rarely mention it explicitly. I asked ChatGPT (free version) “Hi, can you propose an 800-1000 word article comparing and contrasting altruism and benevolence, both in theory and with examples, from an Objectivist perspective without mentioning Objectivism?”

It came back with a pretty good article that, however, felt a bit dry. I followed up with “I'd like a journalistic version with some humor inserted to lighten it up.” ChatGPT enthusiastically answered: “Great! Here's a journalistic version of the article, lightened with some humor but still grounded in a serious exploration of the topic. This version keeps a clear, accessible tone while contrasting altruism and benevolence from an Objectivist-inspired lens—without ever naming it as such.”

Interested in what it came up with? Here it is (with 15 minutes of minimal editing).

Stop Sacrificing, Start Smiling: The Case for Benevolence over Altruism

Try this at your next dinner party: tell your friends you’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between altruism and benevolence. Watch the room go quiet, the wine glasses pause mid-air. Then, once the awkward silence settles in, ask this: “Is it morally better to help someone because you want to—or because you feel you have to?”

This is more than a conversation-starter for philosophy nerds. The distinction between altruism and benevolence touches everything from how we treat our neighbors to how we justify public policy—and, yes, how guilty we feel ignoring someone’s GoFundMe for their cat’s acupuncture treatments.

Let’s break it down.

Altruism, despite its reputation for halo-polishing virtue, doesn’t just mean “being nice.” In its true sense, it means putting others first—not occasionally, but always. It holds that the moral gold standard is self-sacrifice: the more you suffer for someone else’s benefit, the more ethically admirable you are. So, if you donate to a charity and feel good about it? Sorry, doesn’t count. You were supposed to hate it a little. Bonus points if you gave up your vacation money or sold your car to do it.

Benevolence, on the other hand, is more your friendly neighborhood ethic. It means goodwill toward others—not because their needs are a claim on your soul, but because you like people (well, most of them), and you enjoy living in a world where kindness exists. You help a friend move because you care about them, not because a moral voice in your head tells you to earn your virtue badge.

Altruism tends to run on guilt. If you're doing well, you're expected to feel uneasy about it. Did you work hard for your success? Build something worthwhile? Enjoy what you earned? That’s cute—now start giving it away. Need is the currency in the altruist economy. The more someone lacks, the more you supposedly owe them. Your wants, values, dreams? Morally irrelevant. What matters is what you're willing to give up. Cue the endless cycle of people doing things “for the greater good” while quietly resenting everyone around them and wondering why their backs hurt all the time.

Now imagine a different approach. Picture someone who helps others because it brings joy, because it aligns with their values, or because it feels good to be generous when you choose to be—not when a moral accountant tells you it’s time to pay up. That’s benevolence. It says you don’t have to light yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. You can offer a blanket instead. You can give to a cause you believe in, mentor someone you admire, or even help a stranger change a tire on a rainy highway—not because you’re morally obligated to, but because those actions make the world a little better and make you feel more alive.

Let’s say Martha, a retired librarian, donates to a literacy nonprofit because she loves books and wants every child to read Charlotte’s Web before they touch a smartphone. That’s benevolence. She’s acting on her values. Now imagine Gary, who hates kids, hates books, and just wanted to spend his money on a kayak. But he gives to the same charity because a pundit told him it’s “what decent people do.” That’s altruism. Gary’s kayak dreams? Dead in the water. The irony? Martha’s donation is more sustainable. She’ll keep giving because she wants to. Gary, on the other hand, may start screening his calls—and ducking donation drives like dodgeballs in gym class.

When altruism leaks into public policy, things get interesting—and a little wobbly. If helping others is a moral duty, it’s not a far leap to making it a legal one. Cue statist programs that forcibly redistribute wealth, guilt-trip campaigns about “giving back,” and tax codes that make you feel like a villain for earning money.

Benevolence, in contrast, champions voluntary action. Help who you want, when you want, in the way that makes sense to you. It trusts individuals to act on their values without needing to be morally strong-armed by bureaucrats or lifestyle bloggers with savior complexes.

This is the part where people get twitchy. Isn't benevolence just a fancy word for selfishness? Well, sure—if your idea of selfishness includes loving your friends, helping your community, and pursuing joy with the same intensity you apply to choosing avocado ripeness at the grocery store.

The truth is, the healthiest kind of "selfishness"—rational selfishness—involves building a meaningful life and, along the way, enriching the lives of others, trading value for value—not because you're told to, but because you want to. And honestly, isn't that more inspiring than a parade of grim-faced martyrs marching off to fulfill moral quotas?

So, next time someone praises self-sacrifice as the ultimate virtue, ask them this: Wouldn’t the world be better if people helped one another because it fit into their hierarchy of values, not because they felt guilty? Benevolence is not a loophole in morality—it’s a better foundation for it. It encourages kindness without resentment, generosity without depletion, and community without coercion. In short: be good, but skip the martyrdom. Keep your kayak, hug your dog, and help your neighbor—if you value them.

===

Pretty darn good, if you ask me. Like many aspiring writers, I’ve been using AI for research and fact-checking, but not for direct writing assistance. So, my question for you, dear reader, is: Instead of spending a lot of time writing articles from scratch, should I just hone my skills in asking ChatGPT the right questions, let it produce articles more compelling than I can ever hope to write, and just add some final touches? After all, my initials are AI. Maybe I’m already behind the eight-ball? Am I kicking-in open doors? Perhaps this is what everybody is already doing? I’m looking forward to your enlightened comments—whether your initials are AI or not.