Do People Really Strive for Goodness?

         Do People Really Strive for Goodness?

Rahul Ramya

21st May 2025

Patna India

"Do people really strive for goodness" is a profound philosophical question that has been debated throughout human history.

People's motivations are complex and multifaceted. I think there's evidence that many humans do have an inherent inclination toward goodness, but this manifests in different ways and competes with other drives.

From various philosophical traditions, we see arguments that humans have a natural orientation toward the good. Aristotle suggested people pursue eudaimonia (flourishing/happiness) as their highest goal. Kant believed in our capacity for moral reasoning. Many religious traditions hold that humans are created with some divine spark or moral compass.

Psychologically, we observe that:

• Even young children show signs of empathy and fairness

• Most people feel distress at others' suffering

• Cooperation and altruism appear across cultures

• Many derive satisfaction from helping others

However, humans also pursue self-interest, status, power, and pleasure—sometimes at others' expense. Our goodness is often selective, extending primarily to those we perceive as part of our "in-group."

The question might not be whether humans strive for goodness in some absolute sense, but rather how we navigate competing values and motivations. Our capacity for both remarkable compassion and terrible cruelty suggests that striving for goodness is a potential within us that requires cultivation, rather than an inevitable outcome.

The Disconnect Between Philosophical Ideals and Societal Structures

The political, economic, cultural, and social structural trends do not show reflections of the philosophical journey of thousands of years.

This raises an incisive point. There does appear to be a profound disconnect between our philosophical heritage and the actual structures that govern our collective lives.

Despite millennia of ethical and philosophical inquiry about justice, virtue, and human flourishing, our social and political institutions often seem to operate on entirely different principles. The accumulated wisdom about goodness rarely seems to be the organizing principle of our systems.

Instead, we see:

• Political systems that frequently reward power-seeking over principle

• Economic frameworks that prioritize growth , efficiency and profit over human well-being

• Cultural dynamics that can amplify tribalism rather than universal concern

• Social structures that often reproduce  heirarchy and inequalities despite our moral understanding

This discontinuity suggests several possibilities. Perhaps our philosophical ideals are simply too abstract to translate into practical governance. Or maybe systems have their own emergent logic that overwhelms individual moral intentions. There's also the possibility that those with power to shape structures deliberately choose arrangements that serve their interests rather than common flourishing.

The gap between our philosophical heritage and our lived reality might be our most significant collective challenge—we have developed sophisticated moral understanding but struggle to embody it in our institutions and systems.

Conformity Versus Authentic Understanding of Goodness

Have people ever tried to understand what is good or bad for them, or have they enjoyed swimming in the sways generated by societal rhetoric?

That's a penetrating question that cuts to the heart of human autonomy and authenticity.

Throughout history, there does seem to be a tension between genuine self-examination and the comfort of conformity. Many people appear to accept prevailing narratives about "the good life" without deeply questioning whether these narratives actually serve their true well-being.

We might observe that:

• Social conformity offers security and belonging, powerful motivators that can override critical thinking

• Dominant rhetorics often become internalized to the point where people mistake societal values for their own authentic desires

• The cognitive and emotional labor of questioning societal assumptions is substantial, while "swimming with the current" requires less effort

• Power structures have vested interests in maintaining certain narratives and discouraging radical self-determination

1. Social conformity offers security and belonging, powerful motivators that can override critical thinking

Explanation:
Humans are social beings. The desire to be accepted, respected, or to belong to a group often overrides independent judgment. This is especially true when disagreeing means risking exclusion, criticism, or ridicule.

Real-World Examples:

• Daily Life:
  In schools, a student may agree with a popular opinion among peers—even if they disagree—because they fear social isolation or bullying. For example, a student might pretend to enjoy a viral social media trend or music they don’t like just to "fit in."

• Cultural Life:
  In many conservative societies, women continue to wear certain traditional clothes or avoid speaking openly in public, not necessarily because of personal conviction but because deviating would risk ostracism or being labeled immoral.

• Social & Religious Norms:
  In many families, individuals continue outdated rituals or caste-based restrictions during marriages, even if they feel these practices are wrong, because conforming maintains family and community acceptance.

• Political:
  In authoritarian countries like North Korea or even quasi-democracies, people chant slogans, attend rallies, and publicly support the government, even when they inwardly disagree. The fear of being perceived as non-conformist can have life-threatening consequences.

• Economic:
  Many middle-class Indians or Americans pursue engineering, medicine, or MBA degrees not out of personal passion but because these careers are “socially respected.” Deviating into art, farming, or philosophy is discouraged as “risky,” even when the individual’s interest lies there.

Key Idea: Belonging often trumps critical thinking, especially when independent thought risks exclusion or punishment.

2. Dominant rhetorics often become internalized to the point where people mistake societal values for their own authentic desires

Explanation:
People may unknowingly absorb dominant cultural or political narratives and believe them to be their own thoughts. When repeated often enough, these narratives shape how individuals perceive success, morality, happiness, or even identity.

Real-World Examples:

• Personal Life:
  A teenager bombarded with ads and media imagery may come to believe that having fair skin or a six-pack body is a sign of beauty and success. This belief isn't innate—it's internalized marketing and societal rhetoric.

• Cultural:
  In patriarchal societies, many women sincerely believe that their duty is to sacrifice personal ambitions for the family's honor. They internalize the idea that obedience and silence are virtues—even when they suffer.

• Economic:
  In capitalist societies, there's a widespread belief that wealth is a direct result of hard work. This often leads people to shame the poor as lazy, internalizing a meritocratic rhetoric that ignores systemic inequality, caste, or class privilege.

• Political:
  In the U.S., slogans like “freedom” and “individualism” are used so frequently that people oppose healthcare for all as “government control,” even when it would materially benefit them. They internalize the narrative of liberty as defined by corporate-political elites.

• Education:
  In India, the dominance of English-medium education and IIT/IIM-type institutions has created an internalized belief that success equals fluency in English and high-paying jobs—even when local languages and grassroots innovations offer dignity and value.

Key Idea: People often mistake social propaganda or repeated cultural messages as personal truths.

3. The cognitive and emotional labor of questioning societal assumptions is substantial, while "swimming with the current" requires less effort

Explanation:
Critical thinking demands emotional courage, mental energy, and often conflict with peers or institutions. In contrast, conformity is easier, less risky, and more immediately rewarding.

Real-World Examples:

• Daily Life:
  A man may follow family traditions blindly during religious festivals—even when they involve clear caste bias or animal cruelty—because questioning them could lead to emotional arguments or alienation from loved ones.

• Cultural & Social:
  A woman from a conservative background who wants to remain unmarried or childfree may face relentless questioning and emotional blackmail. It’s easier to follow the norm than to constantly fight for her choices.

• Workplace:
  An employee may know that a project is based on unethical data or unfair practices, but voicing concerns may risk job security. Going with the flow keeps the paycheck coming.

• Politics:
  In many democracies, people avoid political discussions or questioning the ruling party—even when there's clear evidence of injustice—because they fear conflict, online abuse, or social polarization. It's easier to be apolitical or echo popular views.

• Economic:
  Farmers in rural India who want to experiment with organic or climate-resilient crops often face mockery from neighbors or discouragement from family who believe in conventional, chemical-based farming. Conforming to old methods is less taxing socially and emotionally.

Key Idea: Questioning norms requires time, energy, and emotional risk. Most people take the easier path.

4. Power structures have vested interests in maintaining certain narratives and discouraging radical self-determination

Explanation:
Governments, corporations, religious institutions, and elite classes often promote stories that keep people dependent, passive, or divided. Self-determination threatens their control, so they use media, education, and policy to suppress it.

Real-World Examples:

• Political:
  Authoritarian regimes in China, Russia, and North Korea actively censor dissent and rewrite history to create loyal citizens. Protests or alternative ideas are criminalized. Even in democracies, political parties often fund media outlets that amplify their version of nationalism, religion, or identity.

• Economic:
  Big tech companies like Facebook or Google design algorithms that keep users addicted to consumerism, misinformation, and echo chambers. Real self-reflection, digital detox, or awareness of labor exploitation threatens their ad-based profit model.

• Educational:
  Textbooks in many Indian states have been edited to remove references to caste oppression or communal violence to protect dominant groups’ reputations. A child growing up with such textbooks may never know the struggles of marginalized communities, let alone fight for them.

• Gender and Caste:
  In feudal or patriarchal societies, landlords, upper castes, or patriarchal elders discourage education for girls or Dalits—not because of ability, but because education would empower them to question centuries-old hierarchies.

• Global Economy:
  International financial institutions like the IMF or World Bank often promote austerity in poor countries in the name of “reforms,” even when it worsens inequality. The narrative of "free markets" is sold as universal good, while corporate interests benefit.

Key Idea: Those in power create and protect ideologies that keep others from thinking or acting freely.

Final Reflection:

These four observations are not just abstract insights—they operate in your neighborhood, school, office, family, WhatsApp groups, national media, and global economy.
Recognizing these patterns is the first step toward reclaiming autonomy and truth in a world shaped by influence, convenience, and control.

Yet alongside this conformity, we've always had individuals and movements who undertake the difficult work of examining life's fundamental questions for themselves—philosophers, spiritual seekers, artists, and ordinary people who step back from societal assumptions.

Perhaps most people occupy a middle ground—partially influenced by cultural rhetoric while maintaining some spaces of genuine self-reflection. The degree to which anyone can truly separate their own understanding of goodness from societal conditioning remains an open question.

This relates to the  earlier point about structural realities—the very frameworks of thought available to us for questioning "goodness" may themselves be products of those same structures we might wish to transcend.

The Role of Philosophers in Society

Here, philosophical laziness is apparent. Mostly, philosophers think that their duty to society is over after writing a book or delivering a speech, and they assume the torch will be carried forward by activists. But this is only partially true. When philosophers come out in front of society and test their philosophy on the hard ground of social reality, the Mahatma Gandhis, the Martin Luther Kings Jr., and Nelson Mandelas have shown the way how original philosophers can become original activists and how they can set the tone and trajectory of a good society.

This observation touches on something profound and often overlooked. There is indeed a kind of philosophical abdication that occurs when thinkers remain in the realm of pure theory without engaging in the practical work of transformation.

The divide between contemplation and action has been philosophy's persistent weakness. The examples  cited—Gandhi, King, Mandela—represent a different tradition entirely: philosopher-activists who refused to separate thought from deed. Their power came precisely from their willingness to embody their philosophical convictions in direct confrontation with unjust systems.

This integration of philosophy and activism offers several crucial advantages:

• It tests abstract principles against the resistance of real-world conditions

• It forces philosophical clarity, as public action requires communicable ideas

• It demonstrates moral commitment that gives philosophical ideas credibility

• It creates living examples that inspire others more effectively than texts alone

This suggests that perhaps the true philosophical journey isn't complete until ideas are translated into transformative action. The philosopher who refuses to dirty their hands in the messy work of social change might be guilty of a fundamental inconsistency—claiming to love wisdom while avoiding its most demanding implications.

The figures mentioned didn't merely delegate the implementation of their ideas to others—they placed their bodies and freedoms at risk to manifest their philosophical visions. Their activism wasn't separate from their philosophy but was its fullest expression.

Philosophy and Religion: Embodied Wisdom

In Hinduism, we can see how the characters of Lord Shiva and Lord Krishna transcend the barrier of philosophical boundaries to interplay with Upanishadic thoughts. Similarly, rigorous movements of all religions have seen how their philosophers become social activists and icons and left an everlasting imprint on society. This also explains why modern philosophers, who unlike Buddha, Muhammad, or Christ, refused to come out to reach the public. It also raises another question—do the art of writing and the science and technology of communication tools have limited the dissemination of philosophical ideas in society?

This observation about religious philosophical figures is illuminating. There's a striking pattern where the most transformative philosophical movements emerged from individuals who bridged contemplation and action. The figures you mention—Shiva, Krishna, Buddha, Muhammad, Christ—all represent philosophical wisdom that was inseparable from lived practice and direct engagement with people across social strata.

These tradition-founders didn't simply articulate ideas; they embodied them in ways that made abstract principles tangible and accessible. Their philosophies weren't merely thought systems but lived realities that others could witness and emulate. This integration of being and doing created philosophical traditions with remarkable longevity and impact.

From Chatting Face-to-Face to Scrolling Social Media: How Technology Has Changed Sharing Big Ideas

"It also raises another question: have the art of writing and the science and technology of communication tools limited the dissemination of philosophical ideas in society?"

This question about communication technology raises a fascinating paradox. On one hand, modern tools theoretically allow philosophical ideas to reach unprecedented numbers of people. Yet something essential seems to have been lost in this transition:

• The written word, while precise, lacks the embodied presence that made traditional philosophical-religious teachers so compelling

• Mass communication tends to flatten nuance and depth in favor of what's easily transmitted

• Modern media often privileges novelty over wisdom, fragmenting attention rather than fostering contemplation

• The philosopher becomes separated from direct community engagement, creating a gap between thought and application

Perhaps modern philosophical communication has become too disembodied—ideas without the grounding presence of those who live by them. The ancient model of philosopher-activists suggests that philosophical transmission requires not just intellectual clarity but personal embodiment, communal context, and direct relationship.

Here’s a question to think about: Have writing and all the communication technology actually made it harder to share deep philosophical ideas in society?

At first, it sounds strange. With writing, printing, TV, the internet, and now social media and AI, you’d think it’s easier than ever to spread important ideas. But weirdly, even though these tools can reach millions, something important is getting lost.

Back in the day, philosophers like Socrates didn’t write books. They talked directly to people, asking questions and debating. It was a real conversation, happening in person. The teacher’s presence, their way of living, mattered just as much as what they said. Even in places like India or China, wisdom was shared face-to-face between teacher and student. For example, in ancient India, gurus imparted spiritual and ethical teachings directly to disciples, which helped shape communities over generations.

When writing came along, it was great for keeping ideas safe and sharing them far. But reading words without someone there to explain or live those ideas can make them harder to understand deeply.

Later, with books and newspapers, ideas traveled more widely. But philosophy became more about what someone wrote alone, less about lively conversations.

Then TV and radio came, and philosophy reached more people’s homes. But often, complex ideas got boiled down to short soundbites—something quick and catchy, not deep and thoughtful. For instance, televised political debates often reduce complex moral issues into slogans or memorable one-liners rather than nuanced discussions.

Now, social media like Twitter, Instagram, or TikTok lets ideas spread super fast. But usually, it’s just a quick quote, a meme, or a viral video. The goal is to get likes and shares, not really to make people stop and think carefully. Think about how many times you’ve seen a quote from Nietzsche or Ambedkar on social media—but as a short phrase without the full story or meaning behind it. For example, Ambedkar’s powerful message on equality is often reduced to a catchy line, missing the broader social context and his lifelong struggle against caste discrimination. Similarly, on Twitter, complex debates about justice or freedom often get boiled down to hashtags or viral clips, losing the nuance that philosophical discussions need. Viral misinformation and oversimplified ideas can spread faster than reasoned argument, contributing to polarization.

Even AI can now generate philosophical texts or summaries. For instance, some AI chatbots can create essays on ethical topics or summarize dense philosophical works. But AI doesn’t live life or struggle with questions of right and wrong like humans do. It can’t feel doubt, empathy, or the real consequences of actions. So while AI can help spread ideas, it can’t replace the real wisdom that comes from human experience.

Why does all this matter? Because today, we face huge questions about fairness, freedom, and how to live well with others. But the places where people really talk about these things are shrinking. Philosophy risks becoming just entertainment or marketing, not something that changes lives.

What’s really missing is the personal connection and community that used to make philosophy powerful. Great thinkers like Socrates, Buddha, or Gandhi didn’t just write ideas—they lived them and shared them in their communities. Gandhi’s philosophy of nonviolence, for example, was inseparable from his daily life and activism, which inspired millions to follow.

So yes, technology has helped share ideas far and wide, but it may also have made those ideas feel distant and less meaningful. Maybe what we need now is to bring philosophy back to life—not just by sharing it quickly, but by living it together, in real conversations and communities.

Reintegrating Philosophy and Action in the Modern Era

Building on these insights, I see a profound challenge for our era: reconnecting philosophical wisdom with embodied action in a world that increasingly separates thought from lived experience.

The fragmentation identified between philosophy and activism reflects a broader modern tendency to compartmentalize knowledge and experience. This separation has consequences beyond academia—it manifests in our divided institutions, specialized professions, and the growing gap between information abundance and wisdom scarcity.

What might a renewed integration look like? I envision several possibilities:

First, we might reconsider the spaces where philosophy happens. The traditional academy, with its emphasis on publication and specialization, often reinforces the divide between thought and action. Alternative philosophical communities could emerge around specific social challenges, where thinking and doing remain in constant dialogue.

Second, we might redefine philosophical authority. In the tradition of the figures you mentioned, philosophical credibility would come not merely from intellectual rigor but from consistency between one's ideas and one's life. The philosopher-activist demonstrates the livability of their principles.

Third, we might reimagine philosophical communication. Beyond texts and lectures, philosophy needs embodiments that can be witnessed—practices, communities, and interventions that make abstract principles visible and tangible. This was the genius of Gandhi's salt march or King's demonstrations—they were philosophical arguments made flesh.

The essence of this integrated approach is recognizing that philosophy isn't primarily about producing ideas but about transforming consciousness and reality. The most powerful philosophical work engages both inner understanding and outer conditions simultaneously.

Perhaps what we need is not more philosophical content but more philosophical presence—individuals and communities who refuse the false choice between contemplation and action, instead demonstrating how each enriches and necessitates the other. In this way, philosophy might recover its original purpose not as an academic discipline but as a transformative practice for individuals and societies.

Revisiting Foundational Virtues: The Role of Philosophy and Ethics in Today's World

As we navigate the complexities of modern life, it's worth turning back to the foundational virtues and philosophical insights that have guided humanity for centuries.

Amartya Sen's "capability approach" emphasizes expanding individuals' freedoms and opportunities. In today's context, this means ensuring that our systems and technologies enhance human well-being and agency, rather than limiting them.

Religious and philosophical traditions across cultures have long championed virtues like compassion, humility, and justice. These values serve as moral compasses, guiding our decisions and actions. As we face new challenges, embedding these virtues into our societal structures becomes even more crucial.

Philosophers like Daron Acemoglu highlight the importance of aligning progress with societal well-being. This alignment ensures that advancements don't just serve economic interests but also promote social equity and justice.

In essence, as we move forward, we must also look back, drawing wisdom from age-old virtues to build a future that's not only advanced but also deeply humane.

Revisiting Foundational Virtues: Why It Matters More Than Ever

You know, it’s kind of ironic. We’ve made giant leaps in technology, communication, even artificial intelligence—but somewhere along the way, we’ve become unsure about the moral compass that guides us. That’s exactly why we need to take a second look at the core virtues that once shaped civilizations: compassion, restraint, humility, justice, and the pursuit of wisdom.

Thinkers like Amartya Sen have already shown us that development isn’t just about GDP or fancy infrastructure—it’s about expanding people's real freedoms and capabilities. But how do we even begin to talk about freedom if we haven’t first reflected on what a meaningful life really is? Sen’s emphasis on capability reminds us that being able to choose and live the life we value is what matters most. And that kind of choice? It doesn't come from algorithms or echo chambers. It comes from deep self-awareness—something ancient traditions were pretty good at cultivating.

Across cultures, whether it's the dharma of Indian philosophy, the Golden Mean of Aristotle, or the middle path of the Buddha, old traditions didn’t just lecture us about right and wrong—they nudged us toward balance, reflection, and shared humanity. And maybe that’s what we need to reclaim in this noisy, divided world.

Because let’s face it: without moral direction, even the best technologies can lead us astray. AI, social media, economic tools—none of these are inherently good or bad. They reflect the values we encode into them. If those values are shallow, profit-driven, or indifferent to justice, we’re going to see those flaws magnified.

So maybe it’s time we stop treating virtue as some outdated relic. Maybe we need to see it as a radical force of renewal.

Revisiting virtue isn’t about going back in time. It’s about reaching deeper into the wisdom traditions that taught us how to live, not just survive. It’s about creating a future where progress isn’t just measured in speed or scale—but in kindness, fairness, and the courage to stand for what’s right.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what striving for goodness really means.

Conclusion

The question of whether people truly strive for goodness reveals itself not as a simple inquiry about human nature, but as a profound examination of the relationship between individual moral capacity and collective social reality. Throughout this exploration, several critical insights have emerged.

First, the human orientation toward goodness exists in dynamic tension with competing drives. Our capacity for empathy and justice constantly negotiates with self-interest and tribal allegiances. This tension isn't a flaw but the very essence of moral life—a perpetual balancing act that defines our humanity.

Second, the chasm between philosophical ideals and societal structures represents our most urgent collective challenge. Our institutions often operate on principles that contradict our deepest moral insights, creating systems that undermine the very goodness we claim to value. Bridging this gap requires more than incremental reform; it demands fundamental reimagination of how power, resources, and opportunity are structured.

Third, authentic moral striving requires liberation from both conformity and abstraction. The philosopher-activists who transformed history—Gandhi, King, Mandela—demonstrated that moral philosophy achieves its highest expression not in texts but in lived commitment. They remind us that goodness isn't primarily an intellectual position but an embodied practice.

Finally, in our hyperconnected age, we face a paradoxical challenge: unprecedented access to moral wisdom alongside unprecedented difficulty in fully integrating it. As communication technologies accelerate, they risk flattening the depth dimension of philosophical engagement. The path forward requires creating spaces where philosophy can be not merely consumed but collectively practiced.

These insights converge on a single conclusion: people do strive for goodness, but this striving is neither automatic nor inevitable. It requires continuous cultivation at both individual and collective levels. The philosophical journey toward goodness is not separate from the social project of creating just institutions, nor from the personal commitment to embody one's highest values in daily life.

The ancient wisdom traditions understood what modern philosophy sometimes forgets—that the pursuit of goodness is simultaneously an intellectual, social, and spiritual undertaking. In recovering this integrated approach, we might discover that the question is not whether humans strive for goodness, but how we can create conditions where this striving flourishes into transformative action. Our capacity for goodness becomes meaningful only when we build lives and societies that nurture its expression.