It is worth commenting further on that idea that "everything we do has an egoistic motive". We need to distinguish here a truism from a falsehood.

The truism is that, when I act, it is as a result of my desires, my intentions, my goals. After all, if my arm moves independently of my desires, e.g. because you want it to move and push it, then we'd hardly say that the movement was my action (it was something that happened to my body despite me).

But even if everything I genuinely do (as opposed to undergo) is as a result of my desires etc., it doesn't follow that everything I do has an egoistic motive. For to say that I do something for an egoistic motive is to say something about the content of my desires -- i.e. it is to say not just that the desires are mine but that the desires are about me or directed towards me or something like that. And it is just false that all my desires are like that. I can want to bring about states of affairs in which I just don't feature at all.

For example: I can want my grandchildren to have a tolerable world, and do what I can for global warming for their sakes. That is, to repeat the point, a desire of mine: but it isn't a desire for something for me (I won't be around long enough for things to get bad). It is a desire for something for them and for their contemporaries too. In no sense is that an egoistical desire. It doesn't have the right sort of content.

"Ah hah," says the cynic, "you don't get it, do you? When people think they are doing something for their grandchildren, that isn't really why they are doing it. They are actually doing it for some selfish reason -- they are doing it in order to feel good (or for some similar pay off for themselves)."

But there isn't the foggiest reason to suppose that that is true. Of course, since I want something badly for my grandchildren, I will be pleased with what tiny successes I might be involved in which might do something towards the fulfillment of my desires. And the occasional pleasurable feedback will no doubt help sustain my desire to fight the good fight. But what I want is the better world for my grandchildren, not the pleasurable feedback. (If an angel were to offer me the choice, modest real successes that I never knew about [so no feedback] vs. no real successes but occasional pleasurable illusions of success -- with my choice to be followed by instantly forgetting the angel's bargain -- I'd of course still choose the first. For it is the successes that I care about.)

Nothing is easy in this subject!

I think most people find the promises inherent to monogamy to be moral ones--though some philosophers have questioned whether promising to another exclusive access to one's own body is one that actually can be morally made. The tricky part lies in finding (and then explaining the morality of) the correct position between extremes that do not look correct to most people. At one extreme, most of us do not think that even an uncoerced agreement to become another's personal possession (as a slave, for example) is acceptable. At the other extreme, we do think that refusing to agree to take part in a sexually exclusive relationship with another--monogamy, in other words--on the grounds that no one has a right to expect such exclusivity from us, is also inappropriate. So the general question goes something like this: How much limitation of personal autonomy are we morally prepared to sanction by the agent's own willing forfeit of that autonomy to another's exclusive use or control? This may seem to be a very stark way of putting the issue, but it seems to me to be also an accurate way to frame the problem.

If we do understand the problem this way, then it is not clear to me why someone's forfeit of their own sexual autonomy to another must be conditioned on the other providing sexual access. People in monogamous relationships frequently deny sexual access to each other temporarily ("not tonight, dear, I have a headache!") and no one seems to think this is a moral problem! Having sex when one is unwilling--even within a committed monogamous relationship--is certainly not something we would regard as a moral duty.

But even so, the situation you may have in mind might be of at least two different sorts. In one case one might imagine, there might be a couple who negotiate their relationship in the terms you describe: A says to B, "Dear B, I will be in a monogamous relationship with you, but the conditions are these: (i) you have sex with no one else, and (ii) you also do not have sex with me." Can B not morally accept such terms? I don't see why not! Can A not morally offer such terms? Again, I don't see why not! There are even cases comparable to this that we generally regard as entirely morally acceptable--e.g. Catholic priests' vows of chastity. Why cannot a vow of chastity be a morally acceptable condition of a relationship?

It gets a bit trickier, however, if the rule of chastity is introduced subsequent to the original agreement of a relationship, and contrary to the understandings that grounded the relationship at its inception. In a case like this, we might imagine A and B becoming involved, committing to a monogamous relationship that is sexually active, and then A decides to renege--permanently. One can certainly see why B would feel a bit put out by A's decision. But, your question remains: Can A not morally make such a decision? I don't see why not. In effect, A is telling B that chastity is henceforth a condition of their relationship continuing. It seems to me that A has every right to insist on that condition as one that must be met for the relationship to continue. It also seems to me that B has every right to reject the condition, and hence, to elect not to continue the relationship on the terms now on offer. I don't see that A can demand that B accept the new terms, all other things equal. But as the old saw goes, relationships have to be renewed every day: If A now demands new terms for the relationship, B can take it or leave it!

But there is at least one further twist. Things can happen to people that change their lives drastically, and part of what wwe take ourselves to be doing, when we agree to monogamous relationships, is to be with the other "in sickness and in health" and all the rest. What if A now demands chastity from B because A is no longer sexually functional because of some accident or disability, but despite the loss of sexual function still expects B to remain faithful to the relationship A and B established and vowed to maintain? Infidelity can be very threatening to relationships, and A may reasonably not wish for B to put their relationship at risk. When B accepted the standard vows people make in entering the relationship, is it reasonable for B to suppose that loss of sexual access for any reason at all would nullify the vows B made? It doesn't seem obvious to me why that should be the case!

There is no question that people feel these issues very deeply, and so it seems to me that the best advice to give to people considering entering into a monogamous relationship is that they do some serious thinking and talking together about the degree to which they are--and the degree to which they would not be--willing to make adjustments to their expectations. But no matter how carefully any couple does this, the unpredictability of the future can produce unexpected and unanticipated problems. Having the sort of relationship in which demands are central features is probably already a bad start. Good communication and great flexibility are far more likely to yield sustainable results. In the end, these will be more reliable than knowing that one has the moral right to make some demand on one's partner.

I think there is a difference between being selfish and recognizing that one has one's own legitimate interests. For example, when I play cards with someone I generally want to win, although I recognize the perfectly acceptable motives of my friends to win also. If I am in love with someone I do want them to be happy, but not at my expense, and since I have my own interests here I am entitled to pursue them. Should I be happy for someone with whom I am love and who was in love with me to break off their relationship with me if they think this would make them happier? No, since although I do not selfishly seek to keep them bound up with me forever, it is in my interests perhaps to continue the relationship I originally had, if I can, since it is a relationship that I enjoy. If I become convinced that the other person no longer has anything like his or her original feelings then it becomes increasingly implausible to keep the relationship up, of course. Here we reach the nub of the issue, because it is often unclear what is happening when relationships come to an end. Are they really at an end or just in a hiatus? And even if they are at an end there is in many cultures something rather noble about unrequited love, very much the stuff of romantic literature. So you can hold onto romance in a reasonably unselfish way, it seems.

It depends on how you define "true love". Indeed ambivalence is one of the strongest features of human beings, so, typically, you have an ambiguous relation with your objects of "true love". My 7 years old son told me last night: "Maman, (he's French) do you know who is the person I love most?" I replied "No" and he said "You". Then he asked again: "Maman, do you know who is the person I hate most?" I replied "No" and he said "You". I think he truly loves me, still this is the best he can do with his love.

Sure, I think there's a parallel, particularly if you consider that a person is not an isolated, self-contained entity, but rather a being-in-relation. Your identity is defined partly by your relationships with particular others, and the more intimate the relationship, the more it contributes to your identity. Intimacy is a matter of sharing first-person perspectives (what the world looks like from your eyes is shared with your intimate, and what the world looks like from hers is shared with you) as well as plans, goals, projects, etc. In fact, in a truly intimate relationship, you'll adopt the plans, goals, projects, etc. of your intimate as your own.

When the relationship ends, especially if it is ended unilaterally, all of this that had been part of you is to some extent alienated, which would suggest that your identity is changed. The person you were, in intimate relation with that particular other, doesn't exist anymore. So it is, in an analogous sense, a death. But it's not as complete or final as death, because you can -- and likely will -- enter into other intimate relationships which will make their own unique contributions to your identity.

One way to answer your question about loving others vs. loving oneself is to ask another question: What do you mean by ‘self’?

There are at least two ways to think about how social life is organized.

(1) The atomistic picture of the self (imagine atoms or billiard balls colliding against one another) tells us that we are each self-contained units – that we are fundamentally separate from one another and are ideally guided by reason and self-interest. I think your friend is an atomist when is comes to selves. That’s why your classmate thinks Antigone is looking out for her own concerns even when she makes her sacrifice.

There is an alternative. (2) The relational picture of the self (imagine a tangle of knots on a string, with some knots overlapping) tells us that we are all connected – that we are fundamentally in relationships with others and our actions are ideally guided by social connectedness and inter-woven interests. I suspect you have a relational understanding of the self.

Myself, I think that you are right and the atomistic understanding of the self is dead wrong. If you want to follow up with a contemporary work of psychology that studies this topic you should check out In a Different Voice by Carol Gilligan. Good luck in class!

Leave him. He's a creep.

Let me explain. From your description of him, your husband seems to regard and treat you as a mere object for his own satisfaction, and his satisfaction consists largely in giving you pain. If this is accurate, then it seems to me that you are under no obligation to continue to tolerate his company.

I don't think you are in any way obligated to make your feelings known, since we are not obliged to tell someone we know everything we think about them. For example, there might be things about a person who is a friend yet which we do not like, and we are not obliged to make this known to them, and many friendships and indeed more romantic relationships would collapse were perfect frankness to be pursued.

There is something rather exciting about unrequited love and also noble about remaining silent in a situation where the object of love is unaware of one's feelings. It might not be much of a consolation, but it is worth reflecting on how banal a relationship can be when both parties are in love with each other, while by contrast where one is and the other is not all sorts of interesting possibities arise.

The idea of a "soul mate" probably has its origins in the speech Plato gives to Aristophanes in the Symposium, where originally human beings were combined, but then later separated by Zeus. This is a mythical explanation of how we look for our "other half." My huncch is that much of what counts for someone as an indication of being a "soul mate" will have to do with shared interests and other common points of view, and given how culture-bound much of this sort of thing is, it seems unlikely that a search of the whole world would be very helpful. This is not to say that two people of different cultures cannot fall in love and have strong and lasting relationships (my own marriage of of this sort, in fact). But I think the idea that two people will be just perfect for one another, before they even meet, so that if they do meet, they can recognize this perfection forever after, is certainly a myth. It may be that most people "settle for what is within their reach," as you put it, but this does not mean that what follows is that they "redefine what love means to them." Relationships begin with two people who are compatible enough to build a relationship. But every relationship takes effort, patience, and persistence. I think it is more likely that one's "soul mate" will be the result of these sorts of efforts, not something to be found antecedent to such efforts.

Whether an act is moral or immoral will vary depending on the moral system that's assumed. For example, some people think morality is matter of doing one's duty, while others think it is a matter of the best overall consequences, or of building a virtuous character, and so on. I'm not suggesting that all of these moral systems are equal, but they do lead to different answers, and which system is better is a different question (a meta-ethical question) than whether a given act is moral or immoral.

That being said, most moral systems would recommend the husband in this scenario not tell his wife. Confession may be good for the soul, but it's not an end in itself. It's a means to something else of moral worth: duty to God, perhaps, or character-building, or good consequences. In the absence of these ends, confession seems to be a rather selfish act.

One consideration in assessing the morality of this confession would surely be whether the wife ought to know: does she have a right to this information? Is it a right she would waive, given the chance? Is she more wronged by the act itself, by having to face the act, or by not having the information she needs to make a decision about continuing the marriage -- or about her own health-care needs, given the prevalance of HIV and other disease?

Another consideration suggests itself from the scenario you draw, in which the husband's act seems not to have been a fully autonomous one. Most moral systems don't ascribe full responsibility (and therefore shame) unless the act is done deliberately and with full awareness. He may be responsible (and therefore shamed) for getting himself drunk in a vulnerable situation, but not necessarily for the act that followed.

As a married woman with a particular view of marriage (who happens to make a living teaching ethics), I personally would want to be told. I would be devastated, yes, but I would be more devastated to have my marriage supported by a false understanding. We'd work through it.

I can well imagine someone else might disagree.