I have begun to think of “good” as a contranym, one of those words with opposing definitions, like “weather” which can mean to endure or to wear away; or “cleave” means both to join and to split apart.1
Being good and doing good have almost nothing in common: the first is a survival mechanism learned in childhood and the other is a lifelong creative act.
Anyone who was a good girl and lived to tell about it knows the scam. Purity and compliance are equated with morality. Good kids are promised a reward: if you aren’t in trouble, you’ll be safe. It’s a lie, but like most lies told often, it starts to feel true.
The only way to be good is to never do anything bad. And there’s only one way to ensure we do nothing bad: do nothing at all.