Unpunished Good Deeds

As children, we learn to ask our mentors “why?” tools for understanding the adult world in which the young must learn to navigate. As we mature, it would be best to ask when faced by the unexpected, ‘How can I use this? Or ‘What can this mean?”

More often than not most will remain arrested in the comfortable childish realm of dependent servitude to others with “why?”

   “Why did you do that?”

  “Why did you say that?”

Then there is the consummate situational exclamation of

   “why me?” 

This introduces the sardonic commentary on the frequency with which acts of kindness backfire on those who offers them. 

“No good deed goes unpunished.” 

  It has been attributed to several noteworthy people: The accomplished American screenwriter, producer, and film maker Billy Wilder; the famous banker, industrialist, philanthropist and art collector Andrew Mellon; (for whom the prestigious Carnegie Mellon University in Pennsylvania carries his namesake), and the renowned Irish writer and poet Oscar Wilde.

  Beyond crediting who spoke the profound observation, the case remains virile and present; so many efforts to do good for others turns out in disaster. (Wizard’s second rule, the greatest harm can result from the best intentions).  A good example of this would be for the Catholic parishioners in the Spanish town of Borja who had hoped for a resorted century-old painting of Jesus Christ by Elias Garcia Martinez, a 19^th century painter.  The painting hung in the Sanctuary of Mercy Church, in Borja, near the city of Zarogoza for more than 100 years.  The culprit was an elderly woman who tried to touch up the weathered ‘ecce homo’ which translates to “behold the man” fresco herself.  She claimed to have had the best intentions and even permission from the parish priest.  Art historians are meeting soon in the church to discuss how to repair the painting.  Many say the damage may be irreversible.

When I read the story I was, like many other art lovers, appalled with the news. Another antiquity destroyed, I thought.  Then slowly I discovered that the hidden gift may be that that the incident galvanized interest.  People will make it a point to see the painting that was defaced.  Of course there’s little that can be said for the sake of the painting, but volumes for the sake of cherishing antiquity.  Something taken for granted will become valueless.  Only in loss can we appreciate presence.  Sadly, this is our method of learning how to cherish. 

  So instead of asking “Why did this happen?” where no suitable answer will fulfill a sense of anguish over loss, we can ask “What can I learn from this?” As for art, learn to take particular care of what we have and keep it well. 

   Now take that premise one step further and apply it to our living, breathing, moments.  If we remain unaware of the treasure, will we treat it casually from our delusion of abundance?  If we keep each moment as a sparkling possibility to do something wonder-full, then are we not all enriched?  If a good deed punishes, then what is the punishment but liberation from a delusion?  And disillusionment leaves us

Only the actual: I can work with that.