Michael: Alright Kevin, I'm going to say the title of a book, and I want your honest, one-sentence roast. Ready? How to Be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question. Kevin: Oh, that's easy. Sounds like the most stressful beach read of all time. Or a book that gives you an anxiety attack in the grocery store aisle. Michael: Anxiety in the grocery store is pretty much the starting point! Today we’re diving into How to Be Perfect by Michael Schur. And what's fascinating is that Schur isn't a philosopher; he's the guy who created the TV show The Good Place and co-created Parks and Recreation. Kevin: Right, so he spent years with actual philosophy advisors for the show, basically turning a sitcom into a massive, hilarious ethics seminar. This book is the result. It even became a New York Times bestseller, so clearly people are desperate for answers on how not to have a meltdown over which brand of eggs to buy. Michael: Exactly. And the book kicks off with this brilliant, soul-crushing story of a guy trying to have one single 'good' day, which perfectly captures that anxiety you mentioned.

Kevin: Let me guess, it doesn't go well for him. Michael: It's a catastrophe. He wakes up, full of optimism, ready to be a good person. He starts by picking up a plastic cup off the street. Good, right? Except that cup will end up in the ocean, choking a sea turtle. Kevin: Oh no. I see where this is going. Michael: He goes to the store and buys cage-free eggs and humane milk. Turns out, the farm is a factory farm that just games the system. He buys veggie patties to be environmentally friendly, but they have a massive carbon footprint because they were shipped from halfway across the world. Kevin: This is hitting a little too close to home. What else? Michael: He wears sneakers made in a sweatshop. He helps an old lady cross the street, and later finds out she's a notorious collector of Nazi memorabilia. By the end of the day, he's just sitting in his apartment, miserable, realizing every single 'good' deed had a hidden, terrible consequence. He’s left with this one, desperate question: "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Kevin: So basically, trying to be good makes you miserable and possibly an accessory to evil. Got it. That’s a bleak start. Michael: It is! But that's Schur's whole point. We live in a world of impossible complexity. Good intentions aren't enough. We need a toolkit. And that's where he introduces the "Big Three" schools of Western philosophy, not as dusty old ideas, but as practical tools to help us navigate this mess. Kevin: Okay, so what's the first tool in this philosophical first-aid kit? Michael: We start with Aristotle and Virtue Ethics. This one is less about your actions and more about your character. Aristotle's big idea is that the goal of life is eudaimonia—which is often translated as 'happiness' but is closer to 'flourishing' or 'thriving.' Kevin: Flourishing. I like that. It sounds better than 'not accidentally helping a Nazi.' Michael: Definitely. And Aristotle says we flourish by cultivating virtues—qualities like bravery, generosity, honesty, and so on. But here's the key: virtue is a "golden mean," a perfect balance between two extremes. For example, with bravery, the deficiency is cowardice, but the excess is recklessness. The virtue, true bravery, is in the middle. Kevin: A 'golden mean.' That sounds reasonable. But how does that apply to everyday life? Like, what's the golden mean of returning your shopping cart? Is there a 'golden mean' of laziness? Michael: That's the challenge, isn't it? Schur uses his own life as an example. He describes himself as an extreme rule-follower, a "Rules Dork." He’d be the guy at a college party telling everyone to turn the music down at 10 PM sharp because that's the dorm rule. He has an excess of dutifulness, which can be annoying. He has to learn to slide back toward the mean. Kevin: I know that guy. I've been that guy. Okay, so Aristotle is about finding balance. What's the next tool? This feels like it's going to get more complicated. Michael: It does. Next up is Immanuel Kant and Deontology. If Aristotle is about your character, Kant is all about the rules. He doesn't care about the consequences of your actions; he only cares if you're following a universal moral law. Kevin: A universal moral law. That sounds… intense. Michael: It is. Kant's central idea is the "Categorical Imperative." The simplest version is: act only according to a rule that you could, at the same time, will to become a universal law. Basically, if you're about to do something, ask yourself: "Would I be okay if everyone on Earth did this all the time?" Kevin: Hold on. So, lying is always wrong? Because if everyone lied all the time, society would collapse. Michael: Exactly. For Kant, there are no exceptions. This is where Schur brings in the classic "Ugly Shirt" dilemma. Your friend is about to go to a job interview. She's wearing a truly hideous shirt and asks for your opinion. What do you do? Kevin: I lie! Of course, I lie. I say, "You look amazing! Go get 'em!" Telling her the truth would crush her confidence right before a huge moment. Michael: A utilitarian would agree with you—the best consequence is that she feels good. But Kant would say you have to tell the truth. Your duty is to the universal law of "do not lie," regardless of the consequences. Kevin: So Kant would have me ruin my friend's career prospects over a shirt? That seems… unhelpful. And what about bigger stakes? Schur brings up the "Murderer at the Door" problem, right? Michael: He does. A murderer comes to your door and asks if your friend is hiding inside. According to a strict Kantian, you can't lie. You have to tell the truth, even if it gets your friend killed. It's a rigid, and for many people, an unsatisfying system. It gives you clear rules, but those rules can lead to absurd or horrific outcomes.

Kevin: Okay, so these perfect, rigid theories from Aristotle and Kant are great in a classroom, but they seem to fall apart when things get messy. Which, it seems, is exactly where Schur goes next in the book. Michael: Precisely. The second half of the book is all about the gray areas, the real-world messiness. And he introduces this fantastic concept he calls "moral exhaustion." It's the feeling of being completely drained by the constant, unending effort of trying to do the right thing. Kevin: That feels so incredibly relevant. It’s the pressure to have the 'correct take' on everything, all the time, from your coffee cup to your politics. It's exhausting. Michael: He tells this amazing personal story to illustrate it. Back in 2005, right after Hurricane Katrina, his fiancée gets into a tiny fender-bender. The other driver, a man in a Saab, later sends them a bill for over $800. Schur, watching the devastation in New Orleans on TV, is outraged. He thinks, "You care about a tiny scratch on your car while people are losing everything?" Kevin: I can see his point. It feels incredibly petty in comparison. Michael: So he gets this idea. He calls the guy and says, "Instead of paying for your bumper, what if I donate the $836 to the Red Cross in your name?" He tells his friends, they love it, and it goes viral. Pledges pour in, reaching thousands of dollars, all contingent on this guy not fixing his bumper. Schur is feeling righteous, like a moral hero. Kevin: But I'm sensing a turn here. Michael: A big one. He and his fiancée are talking about it, and they suddenly realize what they're doing. They're publicly shaming a total stranger. They have no idea what his life is like. Maybe that $836 is a huge deal for him. They're using a tragedy to feel superior. They felt awful. Kevin: Wow. So his attempt to do a 'good' thing actually turned into a pretty 'bad' thing. Michael: Exactly. He ended up calling the guy, apologizing profusely, and sending him a check. It's a perfect example of moral exhaustion and how our own attempts at goodness can get twisted. This leads him into another messy area: what he calls "problematic faves." Kevin: Ah, the "Can I still listen to this artist?" or "Can I still eat at this restaurant?" dilemma. This is a minefield. Michael: A total minefield. He uses the example of Chick-fil-A. The sandwiches are delicious, but the company's leadership has a history of donating to anti-LGBTQ+ causes. What do you do? The writers on his show, Parks and Rec, debated it endlessly. One person would say, "But the chicken is so good!" Another would say, "My boycott of one sandwich doesn't change anything." Kevin: It's the ultimate modern ethical trap. And there’s no clean answer, is there? Michael: Schur argues there isn't. He says you can't just ignore it. You have to hold two conflicting ideas in your head at the same time: "I love this thing" and "The person or company that made it is troubling." You have to acknowledge the problem, grapple with it, and decide where your personal line is. It’s not about finding a perfect solution, because one doesn't exist. It's about the struggle itself. Kevin: That's both deeply unsatisfying and incredibly honest. It feels like the core of the book's message about imperfection.

Michael: And that's the big question the book leaves us with. If there's no perfect answer and we're all morally exhausted and our faves are all problematic, what's the point? Why even try? And for that, Schur offers one final, powerful tool. Kevin: Okay, I'm ready. After all that mess, I need something hopeful. Michael: He introduces the work of a 20th-century philosopher named John Rawls and his most famous idea: the "Veil of Ignorance." Kevin: The Veil of Ignorance. Sounds mysterious. Michael: It's a thought experiment. Rawls asks us to imagine that we are about to create a brand new society. We get to set all the rules: the laws, the economic system, the social safety nets. But there's a catch. We have to do it from behind a "veil of ignorance." Kevin: Meaning what, exactly? Michael: Meaning you have no idea who you will be in this new society. You don't know if you'll be born rich or poor, healthy or with a disability, brilliant or of average intelligence. You don't know your race, your gender, your talents, or your social status. You know nothing about your own position. Kevin: Wow. Okay. Michael: So, from behind that veil, what kind of society would you design? You wouldn't create rules that benefit only the rich, because you might be born poor. You wouldn't design a society that discriminates against a certain group, because you might be born into that group. Kevin: You'd create the fairest possible system. You'd build in protections for the most vulnerable, because you might be one of the most vulnerable. That’s a game-changer. It's not about finding the 'right' answer for me, but the fairest system for everyone. Michael: Exactly! It forces empathy. It forces you to think collectively. And it connects back to the very first point of the book: the importance of simply trying. Schur argues that acknowledging our own luck—the "ovarian lottery" as Warren Buffett calls it—is a moral imperative. If we're lucky enough to be born with advantages, we have a greater responsibility to pull on that veil and work to make the world fairer for those who weren't. Kevin: So it all comes full circle. The book starts with the paralysis of individual choice and ends with a framework for collective responsibility. Michael: It does. And the final message is one of profound, compassionate realism. He quotes Samuel Beckett: "Try again. Fail again. Fail better." That, Schur suggests, is the entire ethical project in a nutshell.

Michael: So, when you step back, the book isn't really called 'How to Be Perfect.' It's more like 'How to Try to Be a Little Less Terrible, and Forgive Yourself When You Inevitably Fail.' The real takeaway is that ethics isn't a destination you arrive at; it's a practice. It's the muscle you build by constantly asking the questions, even when the answers are messy and unsatisfying. Kevin: It’s about the effort, not the outcome. And it’s liberating, in a way. You don't have to have the perfect, unimpeachable moral scorecard. You just have to care enough to keep trying. It makes you think about the small compromises you make every day. The shopping cart you leave in the parking lot, the white lie you tell your friend about their ugly shirt. Michael: And it gives you permission to be human. To fail, to learn, and to try again. The goal isn't perfection. The goal is to be a little bit better today than you were yesterday. Kevin: I like that. It feels manageable. It makes me wonder, for everyone listening, what's one small, 'morally exhausting' decision you face all the time? That one little thing that makes you pause and think, "Ugh, what's the right thing to do here?" We'd love to hear about it. Michael: A great question to reflect on. And a perfect place to leave it. This is Aibrary, signing off.