Being ‘good’ isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds

My parents would often say it when they dropped me off to visit a playmate or my grandparents: "Be good." Their tone was not ominous -- rather, encouraging. Cheery. And my response to their admonition was reflexive and enthusiastic: "I will!"

I was well into adulthood before I really examined this culturally scripted exchange. Suddenly the whole thing struck me as odd. What exactly did they want me to do? And what exactly was I agreeing to do?

Among my favorite prejudices about human beings is this: We cannot will our own goodness.

I can't be good. I don't always even want to be good, which is one of the chief ways I know I'm not good.

Which isn't to say that I think human beings are bad. What I think is that we are born a bundle of instincts. All of these instincts are designed for biological survival. None of them plays well for peace and harmony in the sandbox.

We don't punish infants and toddlers for instincts. But we sure expect them to grow out of this primitive humanity into goodness.

Here's a great irony: The passionate pursuit of piety (being good) often leads diametrically away from the goal. It leads either to failure and self-loathing (we can't be good) or falseness (we lie to ourselves and others about how good we actually are) or dullness (we become miserably good) or rebellion (we get sick and tired of being good). Or it leads to hubris; we actually succeed in our pursuit of "goodness," and then we become insufferable.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for effort. Trying to control our tempers, trying to mind our tongues, struggling to change destructive habits -- these are good things. But ...

True piety is a gift and a mystery. Sometimes I do the right thing because it is genuinely the thing I most enjoy doing. Sometimes I do the right thing grousing and rolling my eyes, irritated with myself that I can't not do the right thing. Still other times, I want to do the right thing, but some instinct -- anger, greed, ego -- erupts inside me and I'm truly surprised by my behavior.

But what is really creepy is the way I can look an inferior choice right in the eye, know full well ahead of time that it's potentially destructive or even guaranteed to hurt me ... and I choose it anyway.

Some values are clear, constant and absolute. For example, I can't imagine any circumstances in which a woman should have to give up her right not to be raped or in which a child could rightly be beaten with a baseball bat. But more often our values are rife with contradictions and ambiguities.

We often teach our children to be good by teaching them to pretend, deny and play-act. "I hate you," a child might shout in a fit of pique. Here many parents mobilize classic admonishments:

"We don't say 'hate!' "

(Yeah? If I can't say the word "hate," then how shall I talk when I feel hatred?)

"You don't hate me. You're very angry with me."

(Nope. It's pretty much hate -- the shadow side of love.)

"It's wrong to hate."

(OK then, have it your way. In addition to feeling hatred, I'm also a bad person.)

"Now, now -- you really love me."

(You're saying you'll call me "good" if I pretend to be someone else?)

Our ardent value is "not hating." But why wouldn't we value teaching people how to confess their hatred, and then how to manage those feelings morally and responsibly, how to ameliorate and transform those feelings into creative relationship? Instead, we inculcate self-delusion and call it character.

The psychological term for this is "splitting." And the price is high. Splitting costs us vitality and integrity. It costs us authenticity. It is at the heart of most compulsive behavior, depression, violence and mental illness.

I talked to a woman once who said to me with no little pride: "I'm not perfect. I've made lots of mistakes. But I've never hurt anyone on purpose."

My response? Can't believe it came out of my mouth, but I couldn't stop it: "Really? On purpose is usually the only way I hurt people."

To never hurt anyone on purpose -- this is an ego-wish. But it describes no human being I've ever met.

Real goodness inevitably flows from our acknowledgment of what isn't good within us. Goodness emerges as we are willing to acknowledge our limits and our brokenness.

In the end I'd rather be a human being than be good. Because I no longer trust goodness achieved by any other means.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.