By Felicia Nimue Ackerman
Suppose you stop for coffee on your way to work. When you try to pay, the cashier smilingly informs you this won't be necessary. "Someone has paid for 20 coffees and you are number 8," she says.
How would you feel?
The editors of Conari Press think that you would feel great. They think that you would feel inspired to do similar deeds, until these random acts of kindness flooded the world like an ocean of coffee purchased anonymously for strangers. Toward this end, they have compiled books with such titles as "Random Acts of Kindness" and "More Random Acts of Kindness," urging you to get with the program and, in case you are not too swift, telling you how to go about it.
You may have seen these books, or websites such as http://www.randomactsofkindness.org/Kindness-Ideas/Browse/
Perhaps you have also seen bumper stickers saying, "Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty." But did you know that Feb. 13-19 was Random Acts of Kindness Week? And does that make you wonder why no stranger paid for your coffee that week?
Or are you instead wondering why anyone would look askance at random acts of kindness? After all, the folks behind the movement think that such acts include contributing to charities and "offer(ing) to help people who could use the assistance to cross streets ― seniors, the blind, small children." Few could take issue with this ― except maybe old or blind people who don't appreciate being considered helpless (such as the blind man I once overheard saying to a benevolent soul, "No, I don't need any help. Do you?").
Some of the deeds touted as random acts of kindness raise additional problems. Here is a lonely person's account of a message that a man left on her voicemail after admitting that he had gotten the wrong number.
"He said my voice on the message had sounded so sad and he just wanted to tell me that it was OK to be sad, that being able to feel that sadness was important. His message went on for almost 20 minutes just talking about how important it was to be able to go through the pain instead of running away from it, and how even though it probably seemed impossible now, things would get better. He never even said his name, but that message was, in a very important way, the beginning of my life."
Would you welcome this message from someone who knows nothing about your situation and has so little interest in any further relationship with you that he didn't even leave his name?
Evidently, some people would. But the potential for offense is so great (suppose that you are allergic to inspirational cliches, and that the cause of your unhappiness is not loneliness but terminal illness) that it seems a better act of kindness to caution people against inflicting unsolicited, one-size-fits-all homilies on strangers.
In addition to its questionable status as an act of kindness, this message, like offers of help to the old and/or blind, is an obvious flop in the randomness department. For randomness we must turn to such acts as paying anonymously for random strangers' coffee. These acts do not single out anyone as needing unsolicited help or advice. They are not intrusive. They will not offend anyone.
But how much good will they do? The same money that buys coffee for 20 people who were planning to pay for their own coffee could help stock a soup kitchen. Your good will may be boundless, but your money is not. Why squander any of it to buy something for strangers that they are about to buy for themselves?
Because it's the thought that counts?
But what is the thought? That you want to buy for strangers some small item that they can afford on their own, although you are not interested in having anything else to do with them? Is this a heartwarming thought?
If you want to make your thought count, why not direct it at a loved one? The money that you spend on 20 cups of coffee could buy a gift for your friend, spouse, parent or child, who would cherish it as a symbol of personal affection that ― let's face it ― means a lot more than a cup of coffee from a stranger.
Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a professor of philosophy at Brown University. The writer is also a columnist for the Providence Journal.
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