Between the Extremes of Selfishness and Selflessness

In the modern world, the idea of selfishness and selflessness often stands at two extreme poles—one condemned, the other glorified. “Selfish” has become a word loaded with guilt, a sign of moral failure. To avoid it, people swing to the other side, believing that true goodness means total self-denial. Yet, that isn’t the way. Life cannot sustain itself through extremes. Ignoring your own needs in the name of serving others is not virtue—it’s imbalance. The line between being selfish and selfless is far more subtle than it appears, and understanding that balance is perhaps one of the greatest moral lessons we can learn.

 The Problem with Extremes

We live in a world that rewards overextension and romanticizes exhaustion. From parents who sacrifice their dreams for their children, to employees who work endless hours for recognition, to activists who burn out fighting injustice—many wear self-sacrifice as a badge of honor. Society tells us that the more we give, the more virtuous we are. But what happens when giving becomes self-erasure?

Take the example of a mother who forgets to care for herself while nurturing her family. She never rests, never expresses her needs, believing that love means total devotion. But in time, she grows resentful, emotionally drained, even ill. Her fatigue spills into her relationships; the care she gives becomes mechanical, not loving. The very people she sacrifices for suffer because she has nothing left to offer.

In time, n overtly devoted mother grows resentful, emotionally drained, even ill.  Her fatigue spills into her relationships; the care she gives becomes mechanical, not loving.

Or think of a social worker who dedicates every waking hour to serving the underprivileged but forgets to rest or recharge. Slowly, frustration replaces compassion. Their cause begins to feel like a burden instead of a calling. The intention was noble, but the outcome is collapse.

These examples reveal a universal truth: neglecting yourself in service of others is not selflessness—it’s a slow form of self-destruction. The consequence is not beneficial to anyone, because you cannot pour from an empty vessel. True selflessness must include the self.

 Chinnamasta: The Goddess of Balanced Giving

One of the most powerful symbols of this truth lies in the image of Goddess Chinnamasta, one of the ten Mahavidyas in Hindu tradition. She is often depicted in a startling form—standing nude on a copulating couple, having severed her own head. From her neck flow three streams of blood: two feeding her attendants, Jaya and Vijaya, and one nourishing herself.

At first glance, this image can seem violent or grotesque. But beneath the surface lies a profound spiritual lesson. Chinnamasta’s act is not one of suffering—it is one of balance. She embodies a selflessness so divine that she gives her life force to sustain others. Yet, she does not deplete herself entirely. One of the three blood streams flows into her own mouth, symbolizing self-nourishment even amidst sacrifice.

Chinnamasta teaches that selflessness does not mean annihilation of the self. To feed others, you must first ensure your own vitality. Her figure challenges the modern glorification of burnout, reminding us that giving without replenishing leads not to divinity but to decay. She represents the sacred equilibrium between giving and receiving, between compassion for others and care for oneself.

Chinnamasta teaches that selflessness does not mean annihilation of the self. To feed others, you must first ensure your own vitality.

In today’s language, Chinnamasta would say: help others, but don’t forget to feed your own soul. Her symbolism aligns with a deeper moral law—that true generosity can only come from a place of inner fullness.

The Justice of the Self

This balance is deeply rooted in Indian philosophy, where it is believed that the Atman (soul within) is a reflection of Brahman (the divine consciousness). If divinity resides within each being, then to neglect oneself is to neglect the divine spark that exists in you. Justice, compassion, and morality cannot thrive in a person who refuses to honor their own worth.

To give justice to others, you must first give justice to yourself. You cannot love the world while hating your own existence. You cannot stand up for righteousness if you allow wrongs to persist within you. Self-care, therefore, is not indulgence—it is a spiritual responsibility.

To give justice to others, you must first give justice to yourself. You cannot love the world while hating your own existence.

This is precisely why in the Mahabharata, Yudhishthira’s dialogue with Dharmaraj becomes so significant. When questioned about the highest virtue, Yudhishthira chooses Anrishangsha (non-cruelty) over Ahimsa (non-violence). At first, this seems contradictory—how can one be non-cruel yet cause harm? But Yudhishthira explains that sometimes, complete non-violence allows evil to grow unchecked. Compassion must never be so blind that it tolerates injustice.

Yudhishthira’s insight mirrors our everyday moral struggles. There are times when saying “no” to someone, standing up for yourself, or confronting wrongs may hurt another—but these acts, if done without cruelty, serve justice and preserve balance. Choosing peace at the cost of truth is not virtue—it’s avoidance.

Thus, Yudhishthira’s teaching shows that kindness and compassion must include oneself. You cannot uphold dharma if your goodness becomes a weapon used against your own peace. Real selflessness means standing in truth, not dissolving into guilt or silence.

 The Middle Path: Finding Harmony Between Giving and Being

To live wisely is to walk the delicate path between the self and the other. Both must coexist in harmony. The Buddha called this balance the Majjhima Patipada—the Middle Path. It is neither indulgence in pleasure nor extreme renunciation, but a steady rhythm between the two. The Middle Path reminds us that life thrives not through extremes but through equilibrium. It does not ask us to choose between ourselves and others, but to realize that both are part of the same whole.

The Middle Path reminds us that life thrives not through extremes but through equilibrium.

In practice, this means giving to others without emptying yourself, being compassionate without being consumed, and knowing when to serve and when to rest. A teacher, for example, who takes time off to rejuvenate does not abandon their students—they return renewed, their presence richer, their lessons deeper. A caregiver who seeks therapy or emotional support is not being selfish—they are strengthening their capacity to offer genuine care. A leader who chooses fairness over popularity might cause temporary discomfort but ultimately ensures justice and trust in the long run.

Balance does not mean compromise—it means sustainability. The Middle Path invites us to replace guilt-driven virtue with awareness-driven action. It teaches us that compassion must flow in circles, not in straight lines; what we give must also return, so that it may be given again. When we preserve our own strength, we preserve our ability to serve. When we care for ourselves, we do not withdraw from the world—we prepare ourselves to engage with it more wisely, more patiently, and more truthfully.

The Middle Path, then, is not about doing less—it is about doing rightly. It is the art of remaining whole while serving the whole, of nurturing yourself while nurturing others. It is the quiet understanding that the same divine light that guides your love for others also asks to be tended within you.

The Sacred Balance of Being Human

The logic of sin, if you trace it deeply, lies in imbalance. Sin arises when the self becomes the only center, ignoring others. But virtue too can become distorted when the self disappears completely in the name of serving others. Both extremes are dangerous, both unsustainable.

Chinnamasta’s self-feeding act, Yudhishthira’s wisdom, and Buddha’s Middle Path all point to one truth—the universe thrives on equilibrium. Giving and receiving, justice and compassion, strength and surrender—all must coexist.

To be selfless is not to vanish, and to care for yourself is not to sin. The divine lives both in what you offer and what you preserve. When you nurture yourself, you are not turning away from others; you are fortifying the vessel through which love, courage, and justice can flow.

To be selfless is not to vanish, and to care for yourself is not to sin.

So the next time the world tells you to give more, pause and ask: Am I nourishing myself too? Because true goodness does not demand your depletion—it demands your wholeness. The soul that glows brightest is the one that knows how to share its light without burning itself out.

About the Author

I am Sanchari Mukherjee, a student doing Masters in English from the reputed Presidency University, Calcutta. I love writing and appreciate art in all forms. Being a literature major, I have learnt to critically comment on things of various kinds. I take a deep interest in deconstructing the various essential structures and revealing the mechanisms of their working. Really glad that you came across my blog, hope you found it covering some critical insights essential for progress!