“Papa! what’s money?”
The abrupt question had such immediate reference to the subject of Mr. Dombey’s thoughts, that Mr. Dombey was quite disconcerted.
“What is money, Paul?” he answered. “Money?”
“Yes,” said the child, laying his hands upon the elbows of his little chair, and turning the old face up towards Mr. Dombey’s; “what is money?”
Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would have liked to give him some explanation involving the terms circulating-medium, currency, depreciation of currency, paper, bullion, rates of exchange, value of precious metals in the market, and so forth; but looking down at the little chair, and seeing what a long way down it was, he answered: “Gold, and silver, and copper. Guineas, shillings, halfpence. You know what they are?”
“Oh yes, I know what they are,” said Paul. “I don’t mean that, Papa. I mean what’s money after all?”
Heaven and Earth, how old his face was as he turned it up again towards his father’s!
“What is money after all!” said Mr. Dombey, backing his chair a little, that he might the better gaze in sheer amazement at the presumptuous atom that propounded such an inquiry.
“I mean, Papa, what can it do?” returned Paul, folding his arms (they were hardly long enough to fold), and looking at the fire, and up at him, and at the fire, and up at him again.
Mr. Dombey drew his chair back to its former place, and patted him on the head. “You’ll know better by-and-by, my man,” he said. “Money, Paul, can do anything.” He took hold of the little hand, and beat it softly against one of his own, as he said so.
But Paul got his hand free as soon as he could; and rubbing it gently to and fro on the elbow of his chair, as if his wit were in the palm, and he were sharpening it—and looking at the fire again, as though the fire had been his adviser and prompter—repeated, after a short pause:
“Anything, Papa?”
“Yes. Anything—almost,” said Mr. Dombey.
“Anything means everything, don’t it, Papa?” asked his son: not observing, or possibly not understanding, the qualification.
“It includes it: yes,” said Mr. Dombey.
“Why didn’t money save me my Mama?” returned the child. “It isn’t cruel, is it?”
“Cruel!” said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth, and seeming to resent the idea. “No. A good thing can’t be cruel.”
“If it’s a good thing, and can do anything,” said the little fellow, thoughtfully, as he looked back at the fire, “I wonder why it didn’t save me my Mama.”
Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son
Young Paul asks a question at five that most haven’t asked at thirty-five, and many never ask at all. Yet it’s a vitally important question, because our answer has a lot to do with how we live our life.
The answer Paul’s father gives leads to … well, read Dombey and Son and find out what it leads to. I can tell you it’s nothing good.
The answer I’ve given the last many years is:
Money is a tool God gives us to accomplish His purposes.
Dombey and Son would have been a very different book with that kind of grounding; most of our lives would be as well.