There are those who survived wars because a buddy lept on a grenade that otherwise would have taken out everybody in the foxhole.
You think FEELING good about it explains the saints who volunteered to tend to lepers and plague victims?
Much less interesting example: you think I FEEL good about getting up at 3:00 am to rock my screaming infant daugher?
You cannot relate to ANY of these examples a truly selfless love? How sad for you.
I apologize now if I came across as being too light-hearted in my Original Post for the gravity of the topic at hand

, but my conviction in my original premise remains. Of course, for fear that this all will trigger an emotion-fueled debate rather than an objective discussion, I won’t *directly *answer the examples you laid out, but I will do my best anyway.
First off, my statements here are not the result of questioning other people’s behavior so much as it results from questioning my own (though in the course of this I will probably cite millions of external examples). In the course of my lifetime, I have done thousands of “good things” for others, just as you would expect from any other person.
As a brother, I have tried to be a good role model and teacher to my little brother, and as a camp counselor during the summer, I have tried my dearest to make others learn and grow in a positive manner. On a backpacking trip with teenagers from across the country once, I was often the one who provided servant leadership, calmly scrubbing dishes and taking the loads off other people’s packs while adding them to my own. In one case on that trip, I even once tried to answer a sincere question I was asked about heaven and hell (this was back when I was still a theist, but just thinking about the person who said it makes me cry to this day). It’s no war story, but none of these things were very “fun.”
I’m not saying all this to brag, though.
Rather, I’m saying it to denounce myself. Cause every time I do something like this, I know I’m doing the right thing. In essence, even the greatest “sacrifices” were still for my benefit in some way or another – emotionally, psychologically, mentally, or even spiritually. It’s comforting to think I’ve done good, but realistic to know that I was somehow serving myself.
I’m sorry about the men in the foxholes, though. It’s sort of depressing to think about, so in the interest of objectivity, I’d like to avoid the word “foxhole”. My grandpa was there

, and I am still averse to the fact that my materialistic thinking should have to encompass my own grandpa as well…but it does.
