Oh, Go Help Yourself

A young girl is drowning in a small lake. She flails her arms and gasps for air. She’s too distressed now to shout for help. You rush to the shore, but then stop short. You’re wearing your new designer jeans, after all. They cost well over a hundred dollars. Someone else will take care of her.

This is a story told by the philosopher Peter Singer, which I’ve borrowed and simplified a bit here. But his point is this: if we heard this excuse from anyone who let a child drown right in front of him, we’d call him criminal. No matter the price of your pretty pants, the life of a child is surely worth more.

Now imagine you can save that same child, but she is far away instead of right in front of you. In this case, you’ll still need to sacrifice those lovely new jeans. What do you do? What should you do?

It’s a claim that our moral obligations extend farther than what is right in front of us—we have global responsibilities. Failing to share your wealth when you know someone is suffering, even afar, is quite the same as refusing to jump in the lake to spare your pants.

When I taught philosophy, this was one of my favorite lessons. The classroom would divide along these lines: one or two idealists would insist that of course we must share—and they did. They said they did donate to international charities. A couple would simply say the analogy was stupid and didn’t apply. One would say it's the kid's responsibility to save herself. Finally, someone sitting near the back with crossed arms would say, “I’m not sure how it isn’t the same, but it isn’t. It’s different when you see someone drowning in front of you rather than just hearing about it. There are plenty of people in trouble right here. What he’s talking about would mean seeing someone drowning in front of you, but knowing the same thing is happening at a nearby lake, and turning away and going down the road to be heroic. You wouldn’t be doing anything wrong in helping the other person, but there does seem to be something wrong about not helping the person right there in front of you.” The rest of the class would nod their heads.

I’m still not sure what I think about this tale. If I take my student’s version of things, should we help those in front of us or those far away? Are most of us really making much of an effort to do either?

I get down sometimes, feeling as though I could never do enough to really contribute in this world. Particularly now when so many people I hold dear are struggling to get by, the pull to do more rests close to home. Then I feel a little helpless and wonder, what can I do anyway? I wish I could find jobs to everyone, but I can’t.

A friend of mine has been working on a solution. For the last month she’s been using her Facebook connections to link those who are out of work with those who have jobs in similar fields. Jobs aren’t being passed out, but for free and with a generous spirit, they are helping with resumes and doing mock interviews to get people ready. I’ve heard that some online services are charging hundreds of dollars for these types of services. The message being, you’ve got to have money already to get connected and find success in this world. My friend, with her Resume Rescue Month is railing against that.

What’s been most impressive is how well-received her efforts have been. Already nonprofits want to partner with her. She’s getting a website cooking to take her campaign to the next level. She’s named her work Major Impact—and that’s exactly what she’s making, a Major Impact.

So now I think back to the philosopher's story. It’s useful. It makes us think about where we are in relation to those who need us. But then I think about my friend. She’s pouring her heart, soul and own money into this. She’s helping people find the tools to help themselves. Without really meaning to, Major Impact has gone global, as friends of friends heard about her work. She’s helping people in the pond here at home and abroad. And she’s taught me that for all my theories of morality, the motto “just do something already” might be far more effective than all the heady ideas I once taught.