Goodness is like charity—it can’t be overdone. Power led to the fall of the angels, and the desire for knowledge caused humanity to fall, but goodness never leads to harm. No angel or person has ever been ruined by being too charitable. The urge to be good runs so deep in us that, if we can’t direct it toward people, we’ll turn it toward animals instead. Even the Turks, known for their cruelty, are kind to animals, giving food to dogs and birds. A traveler named Busbecq once noted that a Christian boy in Constantinople was nearly stoned for playfully gagging a bird with a long beak. This innate pull toward goodness is undeniable.
That said, being overly good can lead to missteps. The Italians have a sharp saying: “Tanto buon che val niente”—”So good that he’s good for nothing.” Machiavelli, with his pragmatic cynicism, argued that Christianity’s emphasis on goodness often left virtuous people vulnerable to the unjust. While his perspective is harsh, it does remind us of the risks of goodness without wisdom. The lesson here is simple: strive to do good, but don’t let others exploit your kindness. Being too soft or trying too hard to please everyone is not goodness—it’s weakness.
Balance is key. Be generous, but don’t waste your efforts on those who won’t value them. As Aesop’s fable warns, don’t give a gem to a rooster that would prefer a grain of barley. God’s example is instructive: He sends rain and sunshine to both the just and unjust, sharing the basics of life with all. But He doesn’t distribute wealth or honor equally—that requires merit. Share common benefits widely, but reserve special gifts for those who deserve them.
And remember, in your acts of goodness, don’t destroy yourself in the process. For example, the Bible teaches to “sell all you have and give it to the poor,” but only if you’re called to a life of service where you can do as much good with little as you could with much. Otherwise, if you dry up your resources helping others, you’ll be unable to sustain yourself or help anyone else in the long run.
Goodness is not just a habit shaped by reason; for some, it’s a natural instinct. Others, however, are naturally inclined toward malice. In its lighter forms, malice shows up as irritability or stubbornness. In its darker forms, it becomes envy and cruelty. Some people take pleasure in others’ misfortune, buzzing around like flies on wounds. People who dislike others and bring them down often fail to create anything worthwhile. Strangely, though, their tricky nature makes them skilled at politics and strategy—like crooked wood that’s good for flexible ships but not for sturdy houses.
Goodness reveals itself in many ways. If someone is kind to strangers, it shows they see themselves as part of a global community, connected rather than isolated. Compassion for others’ struggles reflects a noble soul, like a tree that gives healing balm even when it’s wounded. Forgiving easily shows a mind above petty injuries, untouchable by harm. Gratitude for even small gestures shows depth, valuing people over material things. And the highest sign of goodness? To love others so deeply, as St. Paul described, that you’d sacrifice even your own happiness for their salvation. That’s a rare and godlike form of generosity.
Goodness, when practiced wisely, elevates not just the giver but also the world around them.
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