ɫɫ��

Readers of Plato’s Republic will recall one of its most memorable digressions, the story of Gyges’ Ring. This magical band allows the shepherd Gyges of Lydia to become invisible at will. He uses his risk-free licence to seduce the Lydian queen and murder her husband, seizing power. That ancient tale may have inspired J. R. R. Tolkien’s addictive version of a similar super-bauble, the One Ring.

The core ethical issue is clear: would you act justly if actions were divorced from consequences? What force has moral obligation when there is no one around to judge? Darker shades of the idea haunt existentialists like Dostoevsky and Sartre: if god is dead, they ask, is everything then permitted? But if god really isn’t in the picture — if there is no surveilling sky-judge — then it’s not a question of permission at all. We’re on our own, trying to decide whether the pangs of conscience are urgent guidance or just, as Scrooge said of Marley’s ghost, undigested bits of beef.

Now you say you could see no cameras watching you make your inept auto-exit. That doesn’t mean there were no cameras. We live in an unprivate world, the all-too-visible inverse of the magic-ring scenario. In every dimension, from sidewalks and retail stores, to online shopping sites and social-media platforms, nothing goes unseen, unrecorded or unsold. Even by strictly self-serving consequential calculus, you should always act as if you’re being observed.

But come on, that’s not a good reason to do the right thing! Your live-and-live theory of bumps and dings, meanwhile, only reinforces the basic catch-me-if-you-can error. You may be tolerant of the small friction-costs of shared urban space; others will not be so easy-going. Nor, in any case, is it up to you to set the tolerable margins of casual car damage. Do the right thing: leave a note, and pay up when the bill arrives. In the interval, why not practice your parking skills?

I like to help people: if I see someone drop something on the street, I’ll pick it up for them. I hold doors open, help out where I can. Maybe I’m not that great at negotiating. It’s been pointed out to me that I’m “too nice.” What does that mean, anyway, and is it a bad thing to be?

A 1968 work by Iris Murdoch comes to mind. In “The Nice and the Good,” the philosopher-novelist explores, with characteristic tart irony, the difference between those who are pleasant and charming — but ethically flexible — and the actually virtuous. Nice people are often diverting company, Murdoch suggests, but good people, individuals who are serious about behaving rightly, can be prickly and difficult.

Whatever one thinks of that, Murdoch is right that mere niceness is overrated. Despite their prevalence as a standard of human conduct, nice ways often swing a velvet hammer. We all know that smooth politeness and tact can be cutting, for example, or even vicious. The generous helpfulness you describe is a positive trait, sure, but it’s still distinct from the more demanding virtue of civility, which calls for mutual respect across deep differences.

Your friends are correct to think that excessive niceness can also make you seem naive, silly or gullible. Canadians face a particular version of the too-nice conundrum. “Canada is to niceness what Saudi Arabia is to oil,” a British journalist wrote in 2022. “It’s awash in the stuff.” This national myth precedes us in a twisted fashion, at once celebrated and resented. For the record, I have never myself said “sorry” when someone stepped on my foot; and I find my beloved ɫɫ��, despite all the clichés, a pretty rude city, chilly and self-involved.

That’s okay! It’s not about being a good negotiator — that’s Trump talk — it’s about being a good person and good citizen. A soft heart does not mean a soft head, but neither does a sharp mind require sharp elbows.

Never be surly or ill-mannered on purpose. Be helpful when it helps. Hold doors open, by all means. But don’t let anyone walk all over you on their way in.

Need existential advice from a philosophical adviser? Send your dilemmas and questions to agoodlife@thestar.ca and we’ll guide you to your good life.