What Does It Mean to Be a “Good” Person?

Recently, I posted a quote by Winston Churchill, and a Facebook friend messaged me to say it was a bad idea. In their view, Churchill was not a “good” person. I was startled by the message and immediately took the quote down. I’ve consciously chosen to use my Facebook page to spread uplifting ideas and counterbalance some of the hatred that seems to possess large swaths of our world.

Still, their comment lingered. So I went on a fact-finding mission. I dug deeper into Churchill’s history, only to discover—unsurprisingly—that his legacy is a complicated one. He made decisions and upheld policies that caused harm. But he also made contributions aimed at creating a more stable and peaceful global order. Instead of listing his virtues and faults here, I encourage you to do your own research and come to your own conclusions. Was he mostly good? Mostly bad? That’s not the point I’m here to make.

What I’m more interested in is how we define goodness. How we decide who’s worthy of being quoted, admired, or rejected. What it means to be a good human, especially when we’re all, in some way or another, a blend of light and shadow.

I remember when Obama was first elected. I truly believed he would transform the world. But then came the disillusionment—he retained many of the same financial leaders who contributed to the 2008 economic collapse. I was left wondering: Who am I to judge the decisions of global leaders? What do I really know about the complexities behind those choices? And more importantly—what tools do any of us have to verify the truth in a world saturated with manipulation and misinformation?

Imagine being the person who chooses to go to war. That’s a karmic imprint I would never want to carry. War rarely solves anything. Violence, in all its forms, is destructive. And yet, in my own silent meditation retreats, I’ve seen the wars that rage within me—the aggression, the inner conflict, the judgment. The human mind can be a battlefield.

Unchecked anger gets projected. Wounded hearts lash out. My teacher, Qapel, once said: “If you’re not in a state of love, if you’re full of rage, it’s because you’re holding onto unprocessed hurt. You feel hurt, you protect the hurt, and in the process, you feel isolated and alone.”

And that’s where I land: I’m no longer certain what’s true in the realm of politics and history. But I am certain about the feeling of goodness in my own body. I know what it feels like to act from a wholesome place—and what it feels like when I don’t.

I often ask myself: Is this action rooted in goodness? Or am I just avoiding the difficult work of examining my own dark corners? Goodness isn’t a performance. It’s a commitment—a choice to embody kindness, compassion, empathetic joy, and composure. That’s what I aspire to.

In my early twenties, I made choices that were far from good. I said things I regret. I acted from pain and confusion, not because I was a bad person, but because I was a hurt person—reacting blindly to conditioning I didn’t yet understand. That’s what propelled me to enter a Buddhist spiritual path. It offered a roadmap for transformation: turning hatred into love, greed into generosity, confusion into clarity, pride into humility.

It’s a long path. And being a “good” person, I eventually realized, is setting the bar too low. There are people who transcend goodness—who become great. These are the awakened ones. People who radiate forgiveness, presence, and deep understanding. They don’t spread more ugliness into the world. They know their own shadow, and they don’t run from the shadows of others.

I’ve met a few. When it happens, your body lights up like a Christmas tree.

I committed to a spiritual path because I believe in the power of lineage—a path that has been tested over time and keeps me honest. A true lineage doesn’t let you create a spiritual persona that masks unhealed ego. I’ve gone down that path, too. Fortunately, my teachers and spiritual community pulled me back. They held me to a higher standard. They reminded me that this path isn’t about looking good. It’s about doing the work.

Am I a good person? The honest answer is: I’m more conscious now, in my mid-fifties, than I was in my mid-twenties. I make fewer selfish, harmful choices. But I’m still learning. Still growing. Still catching myself. And I’m grateful to have a community that challenges me to keep evolving.

Being good means being present. It means asking—moment by moment—What are the karmic consequences of this choice? That level of awareness is exhausting, but necessary, if we want to live a sacred, meaningful life.

Very few people are entirely good or bad. Most of us exist in the murky, human middle. My friend who questioned my Churchill quote? He did me a favor. He made me think. He reminded me to be more discerning, to not quote something just because it sounds clever.

What I ultimately realized is this: When Churchill said, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give,” he was speaking from the part of himself that knew goodness. That moment was real. And meaningful. If I only quote people who are perfectly good, I’ll never quote anyone.

Let’s be honest: politically correct fascism is just as dangerous as the old kind. We are all here to finish our inner work. We all have moments of brilliance—and moments we’d rather forget.

Everyone quotes Rumi. He was a master. But have you ever wondered what kind of boy he was? Did he hurt animals? Fight with his siblings? Lie? We don’t know. We only know the Rumi who emerged after doing the work—after falling in love with truth, beauty, and God. He wasn’t born enlightened. He became Rumi.

That’s the trouble with our current world. On social media, we’re obsessed with dividing people into good and bad, oppressor and oppressed, righteous and wrong. But life is far more complex than that. People are more complex. When you judge others, you spread more hatred into an already weary world.

Am I good? That answer changes moment by moment, depending on my intention and my actions. So I keep returning to the work. I try not to hold puritanical views that divide us further. I try to stay honest. I try to stay awake.

May we all have the awareness to come back to the path—again and again—and continue the sacred work of waking up, together.

By Evangelos Diavolitsis