As a society, we are obsessed with the pure-hearted. The other week, I donated a very small amount to a GoFundMe that was raising money for a mother and her daughters after their home was destroyed by the Eaton Fire. I didn’t know this family well, and I was merely casual acquaintances with the woman who shared the campaign on her Instagram story. 

Truthfully, I donated because, one, I was still in Texas when the fires broke out Jan. 7, and this was the best way I could contribute, and two, the user who shared the campaign included a list of the victim’s good deeds — apparent evidence of her solid rectitude: I was moved. 

But why do we preface a need for charity with a person’s morality? It almost feels like the act of sympathy and the offering of assistance is conditional to someone’s proven goodness, purity or even innocence. 

I started overthinking the implications of my donation and why I had made it in the first place. I wasn’t sitting with regret; I was sitting with the possibility that I was an awful person. 

Did I have a moral hierarchy on who deserves my philanthropy? Does someone even need to deserve charitable giving to receive it? I like to believe that I am altruistic enough to donate where assistance is needed because I can, but do I have an underlying bias to only donate to “good” people? 

According to researchers Tehila Kogut and Ilana Ritov, we all do. The study “The Science of Giving” found that the “identified victim effect” elicits charitable giving because it reduces the perceived social distance between the giver and the recipient, thus evoking sympathy more easily.

However, it’s not simply the act of distinguishing a singular person, but the “identifiability of the recipient” and how relatable they are. So, it’s one thing if the campaign is singling out “Jane Doe” as the victim, but it’s ultimately more effective when it publicizes, “Jane Doe is a senior at USC who likes to feed pigeons outside of El Huero, and she needs your help.”

However, other studies support that we make these evaluations relative to the person we want to become or hope to be perceived as. “Jane Doe,” with the crumbs for stray birds, may not only reflect you but also who you may want to be. The efficacy of prosocial giving is then partially, if not entirely, subject to our own self-perception of ourselves and how it may improve after donating. 

So, I was a semi-bad, self-involved person. But not entirely — an article by john a. powell for the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy found that most implicit biases we have when participating in humanitarian acts are unconscious and inadvertent. Nonetheless, the moral filters we unknowingly subscribe to have real consequences of inequity.  

I’m convinced it’s because we are conditioned to believe that morality can be surmised by elementary definitions of “good” and “bad.” I may have an underlying bias of donating to “good” people with track records of their probity. On top of all the other unseen forces contributing to my bias, it’s also because I buy into the fallacy that bad things don’t happen to good people.

It is never an intended consequence, but this kind of moral-driven charity often affects those lacking an established resumé of good deeds or a support system that speaks highly on their behalf. It’s not a secret that social definitions of moral worthiness historically and contemporaneously discount people based on, but not limited to, race, gender and criminal history.

In an era already marked by increasing wealth disparities and decreasing social consciousness, addressing unintended acts of prejudice, no matter how mild or initially well-meaning they appear to be, is integral. Fortunately, the first step is always awareness and acknowledgment: Implicit biases exist when making even the most noble decisions with your money. 

Remember, monetary contribution is not the end-all be-all of charity. For example, mutual aid communities are dedicated to cycles of reciprocity and joint support rather than individual donations. Volunteering time is equally generous. Food and clothing are just a couple of the hundreds of other humanitarian necessities we can offer to one another, and we all deserve those items regardless of how arbitrarily “good” we are.

There are more sinister things than donating to a given cause simply because you relate to or sympathize with it, monetarily or otherwise. I don’t think we’re obsessed with the pure-hearted; rather, we are committed to being pure-hearted ourselves.