I like to think I'm a pretty good-natured guy and pretty civil

Hearken, O seekers of wisdom, to the words of Gregory Maguire, who spoke with humility and a gentle conscience: “I like to think I’m a pretty good-natured guy and pretty civil and probably not ever truly guilty in any serious way of any legal infractions.” In these modest words lies more than a declaration of innocence—it is a meditation on civility, self-awareness, and the quiet aspiration to live a life of decency amid the temptations and turbulence of the human condition.

Since the earliest ages, humankind has wrestled with the balance between law and virtue. The ancients knew well that the law was the outer guard of society, but civility was the inner law of the heart. Maguire, the storyteller of moral imagination, speaks here as a man conscious of his fallibility, yet striving for harmony between his actions and his ideals. His tone is not boastful, but reflective: an acknowledgment that true righteousness is not in never erring, but in living with intention, respect, and kindness.

Consider the philosopher Socrates, who stood before the Athenian court accused of corrupting the youth and defying the gods. He was, by the standards of his day, guilty of legal infraction. Yet in spirit, he was innocent—obedient to a higher moral order, to truth and conscience. Maguire’s sentiment echoes this paradox: that the measure of a good-natured person is not blind obedience to the letter of law, but a steadfast commitment to the spirit of justice and civility. For what value has legality without goodness, or innocence without integrity?

In this reflection, Maguire reminds us that the human soul is both frail and noble. To be “pretty civil” is not a small thing—it is to resist cruelty when anger tempts, to respond with patience when insulted, to honor peace over pride. The good-natured individual seeks not perfection but balance, striving to live so that harm is minimized and dignity preserved. It is a way of living that the ancients called arete—excellence not of conquest, but of character.

Yet beneath his light tone lies a deeper awareness: that human beings are not free from error. “Probably not ever truly guilty” carries a whisper of humility, as though to admit that small faults cling to all who walk the earth. In this humility lies strength, for the acknowledgment of imperfection is the first step toward moral wisdom. The civil man, unlike the self-righteous, understands that virtue is maintained through vigilance, compassion, and constant self-examination.

History offers examples aplenty of men who obeyed the law but lacked humanity, and others who broke the law to serve a greater good. Think of Antigone, who defied the king’s decree to bury her brother, obeying instead the unwritten moral law of love and duty. Her act teaches us that legality is not always synonymous with morality, and that the truly civil person must learn to discern right from mere rule.

From Maguire’s gentle reflection arises a timeless lesson: that the path of virtue lies not in grand heroics but in everyday decency. Be good-natured in your dealings, civil in your disagreements, and mindful of the small trespasses that erode kindness. The world’s peace depends less on those who govern than on those who live honorably within its walls.

Take this teaching into your life: nurture humility, cherish civility, and act with respect even when unseen. Let your conscience, not mere legal infraction, be your guide. For laws may restrain the wicked, but only civility ennobles the just. In the quiet goodness of ordinary hearts lies the strength that sustains the world—a truth that Gregory Maguire, with his tender humor and moral clarity, gently reminds us to live by.