The Mystery of Goodness in Children’s Literature
There are books that present mysteries to be solved. The question they pose is, Whodunit? And finding out the answer can be fun. But the best books present mysteries of a different kind, mysteries that are not solved, that do not vanish. These are mysteries that endure, mysteries of life, which the reader does not puzzle out like a detective but into which the reader enters, as a participant. Among these enduring mysteries to which the right book can introduce a young reader, is the fathomable mystery of goodness.
Again and again the great stories we read -- or should read -- to our children explore the mysterious forces that are set in motion by secret, humble, unknown deeds of goodness and kindness. The folk stories and fables and fairy tales we put -- or should put -- on the bookshelves where children will browse, explore entertainingly but deeply the strange and wonderful consequences of generosity and humility. There is the cheerful doing of small favors for strangers, the generosity of giving without expecting to receive, the charity of doing good by stealth, and the outpouring of hospitality and love without measure, all illustrating the proverbial truth that frequently appears in Aesop's fables: "A good deed is never lost."
Goodness in children's stories is usually a simple deed of kindness: doing a favor for a stranger, sharing one's bread, helping with the housework. Goodness consists in performing small, humble, unnoticed gestures that escape public attention but bear great fruit. Goodness never exhausts or depletes itself, the loving heart proving that the source of love is boundless and limitless. Although generous hearts give without expecting to receive, they frequently find, at the story's end, that they have received twofold or fourfold or a hundredfold. Pure hearts that deliberately seek anonymity are surprised when their good deeds come to light A small, forgotten act of kindness may possess the power to change dramatically the course of a life. And the more love one gives, the more love one has to give. These are some of the wondrous mysteries of goodness illuminated by the classics of children's literature.
Aesop's fable "The Lion and the Mouse" portrays a mighty lion disturbed in his sleep by a mouse scampering over him as he dozes. The king of beasts catches the mouse but condescends to release him. But after the lion is captured in a net by hunters, it is the mouse who -- out of gratitude for the lion's mercy -- "with his sharp little teeth soon gnawed through the ropes and set the Lion free." Hence the moral attributed to this fable: "Kindness is seldom thrown away, and there is no creature so small that he cannot return a good deed." In "The Farmer and the Eagle" a farmer, marveling at the beauty of an eagle caught in a snare, frees the bird. Later the eagle returns, snatches the farmer's hat, and drops it some distance away. The man is puzzled at the bird's strange and ungrateful behavior -- only to discover that by going to retrieve his hat he has escaped being buried by a wall that was crumbling and about to fall. Once again the moral states, "An act of kindness is never wasted." In "The Dove and the Ant" a dove pities a drowning ant and throws a stick in the river to rescue the insect. Later, as a hunter is taking aim at the dove, the ant stings him in the foot so that he misses the shot. The moral is that, "One good turn deserves another." The mystery of goodness in these stories is that one can never underestimate the powerful consequences and far-reaching effects of an act of kindness. A good deed is a tiny but potent seed, which may disappear, yet will ripen and bear fruit at some unknown, mysterious time.
In the tales of the Brothers Grimm, goodness assumes such simple forms as keeping a promise, expressing gratitude, doing a favor, showing friendliness, performing a humble task. The ordinary virtues of domestic life prove to have exceptional powers as wonderful blessings follow from these common virtues. In "The Frog Prince" the princess honors her promise to the lowly frog, whom she despises. To get the frog to rescue her golden ball from the well into which it has fallen, the princess agrees to allow the slimy creature to play with her, dine with her, and sleep with her -- a promise she soon regrets when the frog arrives at her doorstep and expects her to keep her word. However, by performing her duty the princess learns that the ugly frog has become a handsome prince who desires to marry her -- an amazing turn of events that followed from the virtue of keeping one's promise. In "The Three Spinsters" a bride who must prove her worthiness for marriage by spinning three rooms full of flax finds the task beyond her powers and begs three deformed spinsters -- one with a flat foot, another with a hanging lower lip, and a third with a broad thumb -- to perform this chore for her. The obliging spinsters agree to help the bride on one condition: She must invite them to her wedding. Indebted and grateful, the bride welcomes them as wedding guests in appreciation for their special favors. When the bridegroom wonders why the spinsters look so grotesque and learns that spinning caused the flat foot, hanging lip, and broad thumb, he vows that his bride will never touch a spinning wheel -- a godsend for the bride, who receives this boon because she felt gratitude and kept her word.
Goodness frequently leads to riches and wealth in the Grimm folktales -- but only for those who know that the value of goodness transcends the worth of gold and silver. In "The Three Little Men in the Wood" a little girl cheerfully greets her new acquaintances, gladly offers to share her breakfast with them, and willingly sweeps the snow from the porch -- deeds that inspire the fairymen to reward the child: "Each time she speaks a piece of gold shall fall from her mouth." In "Mother Hulda" a young girl on her way through a meadow hears cries for help. The bread in the oven begs: "Oh, take me out, or I shall burn." An apple tree pleads, "Oh shake me, shake me, we apples are all of us ripe," and old Mother Hulda asks the child to help with the housework. Because the child performs all these humble tasks industriously and never complains about the lowliness or difficulty of the work, Mother Hulda rewards her humble service with great wealth: "She took her by the hand and led her to a large door standing open, and as she was passing through, there fell upon her a shower of gold, and the gold hung upon her, so that she was covered with it." The story makes clear that even a shower of gold is not sufficient compensation for the worth of the child's goodness, which is beyond price. Simple, genuine goodness in its purity and splendor truly enriches and beautifies the world.
The hero of Hans Christian Andersen's story "The Traveling Companion" is a poor man, but his pure goodness makes him the richest character in the story. John, mourning the recent death of his father, sets out, melancholy and impoverished, to seek his fortune. In the cemetery John prays, "Goodbye, dear father! I will always try to be good, so you needn't be afraid to pray to God that all may go well with me!" And he begins his travels with just a small bundle and a meager purse. Throughout his journey John repeats his prayer in honor of his father: "I will always try to be good." One day, John passes a churchyard with neglected gravesites. He pulls the weeds and rearranges the fallen crosses and places the wreaths in proper order, performing the good deed unnoticed in the quiet solitude of the cemetery. After doing another anonymous good deed -- offering money to old beggars whom he will never see again -- John enters a church at night. There he finds an open coffin with a dead man in it awaiting a morning funeral. In the darkness of the night two men enter the church to desecrate the dead man's body by throwing it outside -- their revenge for his failure to pay them the last penny he owed them. John offers to make reparations for the dead man and pay his enemies, though it will reduce him to utter poverty: "I've only fifty dollars," said John. "It's the whole of my inheritance, but I'll give it to you willingly if you'll promise me faithfully to leave the poor dead man in peace." Once more, John does good by stealth as he performs his good deed in an obscure place in an atmosphere of silence and darkness. Because one of the purest forms of goodness is to do charitable works anonymously, John's spotless heart is rewarded with a childlike vision of the "loveliest little elves at play; they were not in the least disturbed by his presence for they knew that he was good and innocent, and it is only wicked folk who are not allowed to catch sight of them." Though poor, insignificant, alone, and forgotten, John is visited by heavenly dreams and glorious visions -- for the pure heart is always a fitting dwelling place for the holy.
But as John continues his journey through the world, he falls in with a fellow traveler whose good deeds match his own charitable works. Possessing magical powers, performing amazing feats, the companion heals an old woman's broken leg with his ointment; and when he anoints six broken puppets, they begin to dance. Together the travelers perform such corporal works of mercy as burying the dead, healing the sick, and giving alms to the poor. When they arrive in a great city and learn of a princess who kills any suitor who fails to guess her thoughts, John recognizes the princess from an earlier dream in which his father said, "Look what a lovely bride you have!" To woo and win the princess for his bride, John must guess her thoughts -- under penalty of death. With the magical help of his traveling companion (who makes himself invisible and overhears the correct answers) poor John guesses correctly. When his companion must go, John begs his friend not to leave. But the man replies: "No, my time is up now. I have only paid my debt. Do you remember the dead man those wicked men wanted to harm? You gave all you had so that he could lie quietly in his grave. I am that dead man."
John marries the princess and inherits a kingdom because of his respect for the dead man in the church, whom he had defended because of his promise to his father and because of his love of God: "Dear, kind Lord, I could kiss you for being so good to us all, and for giving us all the loveliness there is in the world." So the great events of the story have obscure beginnings and humble origins -- the bond of love between a father and a son, and a poor man's gratitude to God.
Through such stories, children come into contact with the incredible power and infinite possibilities of goodness. Divine in nature, goodness never dies. Instead, true to its divine origin, goodness manifests an eternal, inexhaustible fullness and richness. The depths of goodness and the overflowing copiousness of love in the human heart transcend boundaries and limits.
Hawthorne's story about Baucis and Philemon -- his retelling of a classical myth about hospitality -- illustrates this transcendental aspect of goodness, which dwells in good hearts. When two strangers (Greek gods, in disguise) arrive in a village looking like vagabonds and dressed in ragged clothing, the inhabitants scorn them, unleash their dogs on them, and incite their children to throw stones at them. The only place in the village where they are shown welcome is the modest cottage of an elderly couple. Philemon welcomes them: "Friends," says the old man, "sit down and rest yourself on this bench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper. We are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have in the cupboard." Baucis apologizes for the sparse supper of bread, milk, honey, and cheese -- and then is mortified when the strangers drain the milk pitcher and ask for more, for she knows there is no more. Amazingly however, the pitcher is still full. Baucis watches in astonishment as her guests pour cup after cup of milk from the pitcher without exhausting the supply, as a white fountain gushes from the bottom to keep the pitcher replenished. As the strangers leave, they leave this gift of the miraculous pitcher for Baucis and Philemon, a gift from the gods that corresponds to the goodness in their hearts: "and may your pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for the needy wayfarer."
Thus the fountain of milk gushing from the pitcher resembles the charity springing from the hearts of Baucis and Philemon. Just as there is no end to the milk so long as it is given freely, there is no limit to the love in the human heart as long as it is given generously. The person who gives with a bountiful heart always has more love to give.
Thus the metaphors for goodness in these various stories --the shower of gold, the miraculous pitcher, the bountiful heart--are all images of fertility, abundance, or generosity. Goodness is potent and fecund, a kind of robust vitality and life-giving energy which produces beyond measure -- the good person receiving more than he gives (even though he gives without expecting to receive) and the good deed having greater effects than the doer could ever imagine. The lion escapes with his life for doing a small favor, a little girl is showered with gold for performing humble work, a poor man marries a princess for respecting a corpse, and an elderly couple are divinely blessed for welcoming strangers. But the essence of goodness is the love of virtue for its own sake and as its own reward and as an end in itself. What greater lesson could a child learn from a book? What more thrilling mystery has literature to offer?
Mitchell Kalpakgian, formerly Professor of English at Simpson College in Iowa and as of this fall a Tutor at Magdalen College in New Hampshire, is a frequent contributor to the NOR. This article is excerpted and adapted with permission from his new book, The Mysteries of Life in Children's Literature (Neumann Press, 800-746-2521).
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