Most of us would probably agree that being good is a good thing.

It seems almost ridiculous to question it.

And yet Alan Watts once explored a wonderfully uncomfortable idea. Drawing on Confucius, he warned about the “goody-goodies”—people so convinced of their own goodness that they may become dangerous precisely because they believe they are doing what is right.

History offers plenty of uncomfortable examples.

People have persecuted, punished and even killed while believing they were serving God, protecting society or creating a better world.

The problem was not necessarily that they wanted to do evil.

They were certain they were doing good.

Perhaps that certainty is worth examining.

We are complicated creatures. We can be generous and selfish. Loving and impatient. Wise one moment and spectacularly foolish the next.

But the person who becomes completely identified with being good may have something else to protect: an image of themselves.

If “I am a good person” becomes part of who I believe I am, admitting that I have behaved badly becomes surprisingly difficult. I am no longer simply questioning something I did. I am threatening the story I tell myself about who I am.

So perhaps I justify what I did. Blame someone else. Find a reason why, in this particular case, I was still right.

Not because I am consciously dishonest.

Because identities defend themselves.

And once I know that I am good, it becomes surprisingly easy to decide that someone who disagrees with me must be wrong.

Perhaps even evil.

This is where the question begins to sound strangely Gnostic.

The ancient Gnostics were deeply suspicious of appearances and of powers claiming authority. Perhaps the same caution can be turned inward.

What if even the identity of being “good” can become another appearance—another story that prevents us from seeing ourselves clearly?

Maybe goodness does not require us to think of ourselves as good at all.

A tree does not congratulate itself for giving shade.

A dog does not consider itself virtuous for remaining beside someone who is grieving.

Perhaps genuine goodness is sometimes more like that.

Unselfconscious.

Natural.

Something that happens before we have time to construct an identity around it.

Which leaves us with an uncomfortable question.

If I need to believe that I am a good person, what happens when reality asks me to see something about myself that doesn’t fit the story?