Politeness is rarely the object of ethical analysis. (Interestingly, it is women who have pioneered the field of politeness arbitration: Amy Vanderbilt, Letitia Baldridge, Miss Manners.) Yet much of our daily life revolves around our reaction to polite or impolite behavior. We are irritated by the faculty colleague who continually interrupts us in departmental meetings. We know which nephew sends a thank-you note for a gift and which nephew does not. Shortly before Easter I visited our local DMV office, a place not renowned for courtly manners. I was impressed by the courtesy of the clerk as she processed my papers, explained the fees, suggested an allergy remedy and wished me a happy weekend. On Easter morning I passed by the playing fields of Loyola on my way to the university chapel for Mass. I wished a happy Easter to a woman walking her Chihuahua on the campus. She muttered back, “How would you like my dog to sic you?” So much for Easter joy. [...]
In its mature form politeness is a species of charity. In the contemporary church, we seem to be searching for a deeper spirituality of hospitality. But the very term “hospitality” seems rather pale. What we seek is something more than a cozy loveseat by the hearth. Politeness opens our heart to see and respond to the needs of those in difficulty. A good conversationalist knows how to draw out the silent guest and how to avoid topics that provoke anger (Amy Vanderbilt was right about the danger of diving into partisan politics). The polite person exercises a steely asceticism out of love for the wounded other person. The sick must be visited, the grief-stricken must be comforted and the unexpected guest welcomed. An evening at the cinema or before the computer screen can be readily sacrificed for such quiet goods. The discreet charity of the polite is a major grace.
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