How to Be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question

“That list is so long I snuck ‘politics’ in there three times without you even noticing, and you didn’t so much as blink when I claimed he wrote about ‘badminton,’ which definitely didn’t exist in the fourth century BCE.”

Here, Schur comes clean after sneaking a few jokes into a list of Aristotle’s accomplishments. This passage exemplifies Schur’s humorous tone that persists throughout the text, including his tendency to address readers directly in second person, his use of italics for emphasis, and his off-the-wall sense of humor. Readers aware of Schur’s work will recognize his writing style. Schur’s casual and humorous tone invites the reader to engage with the daunting subject of philosophy.

“It’s the ‘Simone Biles doing a perfect dismount off the balance beam’ of ideas.”

Here, Schur compares Aristotle’s golden mean to a perfectly executed maneuver by celebrated gymnast Simone Biles. This passage demonstrates Schur’s knack for pithy, fitting images and comparisons. In this case, the physical balance demonstrated by Simone symbolizes the need for similar balance and judgment in locating the ideal middle ground between any two opposing extremes of character.

“Well, if there’s one thing people are bad at, it’s ‘maintaining composure during minor delays in air travel.’ But drawing correct conclusions is a close second.”

This passage aptly demonstrates the kind of comedic aside that constitutes a significant portion of the text’s footnotes. It serves no real purpose other than to bring a smile to readers’ faces and to lighten the subject matter. Such notes seem to reflect both Schur’s quirky personality and his deliberate attempts to make a text on philosophy fun for readers.

“Perhaps what we need is a real stickler. A stern hardass who crosses his arms disapprovingly when we equivocate. A no-nonsense Germanic dad who will look at our moral report card, see five A’s and one A-minus, and ask: ‘What happened with the A-minus?’”

As he introduces various philosophers, Schur attempts to give a sense of their character as well as an overview of their work. Accurately or not, his characterizations serve as a memory aid to readers in associating various philosophers with their work since Schur typically draws parallels between the two. Here, he presents Kant as an unyielding, difficult-to-impress father figure, the physical embodiment of the exceptionally high moral standards Kant develops in his writing.

“As odd and annoying and unpredictable as the people around us can be, given that they’re the people we have to live with, I think it’s often a better idea to design the moral boundaries of our world with their cooperation than it is to do it abstractly, in their absence.”

Schur is quick to point out that, as far as he is concerned, morality is developed within the context of human society, not in some abstract, cosmological space. Our moral responsibilities include a duty to the people around us (as well as the natural world), and it only makes sense to articulate principles of morality with others’ input and cooperation. While doing so occasionally involves backing away from one’s own preferences, doing so secures the agreement that facilitates mutual respect.

“Masks are physical incarnations of ubuntu.”

Writing during and shortly after the COVID-19 pandemic, Schur does not shy away from commenting on contemporary issues such as the backlash against wearing masks to curb the spread of disease. When Schur compares the act of wearing a mask, which benefits the community, to ubuntu, he is implying that those who resist wearing masks lack an appropriate sense of community and concern for others. To Schur, the extent of the controversy over wearing masks crystallizes a poor commentary on the state of Western society.

“To me, a key part of any ethical system has to be that it can actually work in real life.”

Schur expresses his preference for real-world applications over abstract theories. This is a thread that permeates the text, as Schur reveals himself to be a pragmatist at heart. A theory that simply works, such as contractualism, is often preferred to one that is, in theory, richer but much more difficult to implement, such as Kantian ethics. The difficulty of applying philosophical theories is further complicated by the complexity of the modern world, where it is easy to unknowingly contribute to immoral causes.

“The point is, we need ‘imperfect’ qualities, as long as they are exhibited only in the correct amount to be useful.”

Starting with the title of the book, Schur’s use of the term “perfect” is deliberately provocative. Here, he questions the notion of perfection as the full possession of certain qualities, instead suggesting that perfection consists of finding the right balance between various extremes. His use of the term “useful” is significant, suggesting that the qualities themselves are not the goal, but rather means to an end, presumably the Aristotelian concept of flourishing.

“Take a second and reread that sentence. Have you ever heard anything more impressive than ‘he was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King Jr.’?”

This passage exemplifies Schur’s informal, conversational tone. Schur clearly enjoys sharing information like Thich Nhat Hanh’s nomination for a Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King, Jr., and he wants readers to feel the same way. His use of imperatives (telling readers to go back) and rhetorical questions makes for a light, pleasant reading experience, as opposed to the dense philosophical texts he summarizes (and he warns readers about their difficulty elsewhere).

“That’s what plagues the character Tahani Al-Jamil in The Good Place—her desire for fame and attention overwhelms her, taking her to some dark places as a result.”

Although The Good Place provides an important backdrop to Schur’s work on How to Be Perfect, Schur refers to the show only rarely. Here, he makes a passing reference to one of the show’s characters as a natural support to one of his points. As a result of his decision to only incorporate limited content from the TV show, Schur is likely to pique readers’ interest without making them feel that he is trying to sell them something. This also makes the book accessible to readers regardless of their relationship (or lack thereof) with the show.

“If I’m carbon-dating my own personal journey through moral philosophy, I’d mark that conversation, late at night on the front stoop of our first jointly rented house in Los Angeles, as the point of origin.”

Schur identifies a discrete moment from his past as the start of his journey through moral philosophy. A few elements make this a notable starting point. First, it occurred during Schur’s adulthood, showing that interest in moral matters can grow at any point. Second, it came as a response to external stimulus, after Schur made a decision and felt bad about it. Finally, it involves conversation with another person, showing that moral exploration can be a group effort.

“If there’s some amount of guilt that might help us or shame that could be helpful to other people, I’d wager that the amount of guilt that can be helpful is far higher than the shame. Guilt comes from reckoning with ourselves, and we’re probably more likely to pay attention (and react well) to our own little voices, rather than other people’s.”

Schur distinguishes between guilt and shame as potential motivators for change, concluding based on his own experience that guilt, which comes from within, is a more powerful motivator than shame, which is applied externally. Schur also hints at the power of conscience and intuition as generally helpful guides to morality. In educating oneself on philosophical theories, it is possible for someone to better identify their own intuitive feelings and learn from them.

“When we’re trying to become better people, we should remember how powerful the simple act of conversation can be, to help us navigate these choppy waters.”

Talking about moral dilemmas may not come naturally to most people, but Schur suggests that it is a valuable means of processing tricky situations. Broadly speaking, Schur’s text can be seen as part of a conversation, as well as a continuation of past conversations, as Schur gives voice, to the best of his ability, to philosophers who are long since dead. His conversational tone, meanwhile, sets a pattern for readers to follow in their own discussions of morality, showing that it is not necessary to be an expert to start participating.

“I really don’t mean to argue for perfect living […] Instead, I’m arguing that when we do fail, in matters great or small, we just take a second to acknowledge our failures to ourselves and try to remember that feeling the next time we have a decision to make.”

Here, Schur discusses the possibility for a person to become accustomed to less-than-ideal personal behavior through repeated poor choices, however subtle the process. The antidote to such habituation, Schur suggests, is a willingness to feel and remember the pain that comes with failure and then use that pain as a motivator and guide for future choices.

“One: the work of making better choices is frequently annoying. We just have to accept that. And two: it can be done—if we want to do it, and can summon the time and energy to make it happen.”

Perhaps taking inspiration from Aristotle’s golden mean, Schur strikes a tonal balance between coddling readers with comforting thoughts and affronting them with depressing ones. Here, he acknowledges the hard truth about change while affirming that it is possible and worthwhile. 

“Our lives are our own, and we shouldn’t feel bad about filling them with experiences and even objects that give those lives shape and dimension.”

Here, Schur takes a stance against extreme forms of self-deprivation in the name of moral sainthood. In so doing, he aligns himself somewhat with Aristotle, who emphasized the importance of flourishing, rather than the utilitarians like Singer, who would prefer that those who have excess money keep giving it away until equality is attained. Schur leaves readers to work out for themselves where they ought to fall on the spectrum between self-care and concern for others, while pointing out the warning signs that could begin to appear should one stray too far in either direction.

“The amount of time something has been done is not, by itself, a good reason to keep doing it. By relying solely on precedent and failing to critically examine the problems that precedent might create for us, we’re basically just flipping the middle finger to the idea of progress.”

In addition to highlighting his favorite insights from various philosophical schools of thought, Schur also critiques a few patterns of thinking he finds less than admirable. Here, he attacks the notion of doing things a certain way simply because they have always been done that way. Instead, he urges readers to take responsibility for their own moral journeys, foreshadowing Schur’s later introduction of the existential philosophers to make a similar point.

“The existentialists are there to remind us: it’s always our choice.”

In picking his way through various philosophical schools of thought, Schur manages to find useful elements at just about every point along the way (with the exception of Ayn Rand’s objectivism). He is able to do so because he never fully commits to a single approach, suggesting The Value of a Multifaceted Approach to Ethical Decision-Making; the foundational assumptions of the existentialists, for instance, contradict those made by the utilitarians, but Schur never forces readers to choose between them, except in individual scenarios where one philosophy may prove more fitting and useful than another. Schur’s emphasis on individual choice thus takes on added significance as he keeps as many philosophical doors open to him as possible rather than arbitrarily limiting the options available.

“If you take Jordan’s exact personality, talent profile, and work ethic, and put them in the body of a five-foot-two goat herder in Bangladesh, he does not become Air Jordan, the six-time NBA champion.”

Discussing the role of luck and circumstance in shaping individual outcomes, Schur considers the case of basketball superstar Michael Jordan, who is often cited as an example of the value of hard work. Schur’s point is that even those who put in the time and effort to work their way to the top of any particular field are the beneficiaries of certain coincidences that make it possible for them to accomplish what they do. This may not seem like a moral issue, but Schur links luck to privilege, which in turn relates the moral standards to which we hold ourselves and others.

“It means my moral requirements, on a day-to-day basis, are far greater than average. I owe more to most people than they do to me.”

As a wealthy, well-educated, straight, white male, Schur considers himself to have lived life on the easy setting, so to speak. In confessing his sense of personal responsibility, Schur invites readers to do the same. His audience of presumably middle- and upper-class readers (who are most likely to have the time and resources to access his book) are likely to conclude that they, too, should be held to relatively high standards. Schur’s comment also serves as an invitation not to hold those who are less fortunate to the same standard.

“Minutes go by. Then hours. Day turns to night. No one eats. Phones ring and go unanswered. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howls. The sands of time slowly fall through the hourglass. Civilizations are made and unmade, forests rise and then burn to ash, a reminder of the only true constant in the universe: change itself.”

Here, Schur develops one of his more elaborate jokes, in which he describes the passage of time while waiting for one of his young children to apologize to the other. This illustrates the range and variety of Schur’s humor, as this joke relies on a clash between the epic events described here and the tiny domestic drama at its core. Schur’s versatility as a writer enables him to maintain interest throughout the length of the text, without overreliance on any particular brand of humor.

“Apologies don’t undo whatever bad thing we did, but when they’re sincere and honestly delivered, they can help heal a wound.”

For Schur, morality largely resides in the way that we treat other people. Since mistakes are inevitable, people will inevitably hurt each other in myriad ways. An apology, therefore, becomes a moral imperative not due to some universal law but rather as a courtesy as the bare minimum someone can do to recognize and ease the pain of others.

“Parents and moral philosophers, I’ve come to learn, are annoying in exactly the same way. Both groups spend their lives thinking about what makes a person good and trying to convince other people to buy into their theories.”

Schur draws a parallel between his role as a parent and his perception of moral philosophers (as well as his experience as an amateur philosopher of sorts). His words serve as a metatextual link between the body of the text and the Coda, which is presented as a letter to his children. In the final analysis, Schur implies that we are all responsible for learning from and teaching one another through the ongoing conversations that allow us to discover more about each other and, therefore, the moral standards that allow us to exist peacefully.