Good fathers are surprisingly absent in great works of literature. It would be easier to compile a list of weak, tyrannical, or simply absent fathers vanishing from the pages of the classics than to compile a list of outstanding examples of paternity.
Yet this should not surprise us. The fundamental engine driving all stories is conflict. Tension, opposition, problems, and disorders that characters must overcome form the basis of all that we read. You have no story if you have no conflict. Imagine a tale, for example, wherein the protagonist decides to become president, runs a few ads, gets elected by a landslide, and holds an uneventful eight years in office—not very interesting, is it? Characters must endure the sufferings and tragedies of life and struggle against enemies and obstacles; such a story makes us care, and it is more truthful.
Conflict often has its origin in family relationships and dynamics. Social science, psychology, and literature all teach us the same thing: Problems within families and society are greatly reduced when good fathers are in place. On the other hand, when good fathers are scarce, societal and family issues abound—which happens to make for great drama—"King Lear,” anyone? Hence the number of bad or missing dads in the great books.
But, of course, not all fathers in literature are failures. There are many moving examples of fathers who sacrifice themselves for the good of their families and provide us with models of the potential for heroism in paternity.
Hector From ‘The Iliad’
Hector is, in the words of Homer himself, “the lone defense of Troy” against the attacking Greeks. He leads the Trojans into battle, hardens and tempers their resolve, preserves morale, and kills droves of the enemy in combat.
He is also a devoted family man. In fact, his motivation to be a terror on the battlefield is precisely his love for his family. J.R.R. Tolkien’s words from “The Two Towers” could well be placed on the lips of Hector: “I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”
She [his wife] joined him now, and following in her steps A servant holding the boy against her breast, In the first flush of life, only a baby, Hector’s son, the darling of his eyes and radiant as a star … The great man of war breaking into a broad smile, his gaze fixed on his son, in silence … Shining Hector reached down for his son. … And … laughed, [Andromache] laughed as well, and glorious Hector, quickly lifting the helmet from his head, set it down on the ground, fiery in the sunlight, and raising his son he kissed him, tossed him in his arms, lifting a prayer to Zeus and the other deathless gods. … So Hector prayed and placed his son in the arms of his loving wife.
The Knight From ‘The Canterbury Tales’
Among Chaucer’s group of pilgrims processing through “The Canterbury Tales,” there is a knight. Chaucer tells us that he is a noble man, loving “chivalrie, Trouthe, honour, fredom, curteisie.” His manner is gentle and courteous, though he, like Hector, knows how to fight ferociously for the things he loves, and he has seen service in the wars.
Joining him on his journey is his son, the Squire. He’s 20 years old, and like youth throughout history, he’s infatuated with the latest fashions. His hair has been curled to fit the style of the time, and “he was embroidered like a meadow bright. … Short was his gown, the sleeves were long and wide.” Moreover, he’s girl-obsessed. “A lover and lusty bachelor, … he loved so hotly that till dawn grew pale he slept as little as a nightingale.” Courtly love, too, was in fashion at the time, and the Squire has embraced this idealized form of love completely.
Prospero From ‘The Tempest’
The central figure of Shakespeare’s play “The Tempest” is the magician Prospero, who has been wrongly deprived of his dukedom in Milan and exiled with his baby daughter to a mysterious island. Prospero orchestrates the events of the play as, using his magic and his faithful servant, Ariel, he draws his shipwrecked enemies to the island and to repentance.
He also plays matchmaker when he brings the prince, Ferdinand, to his now-grown daughter, Miranda, and tests the young man’s quality, chastity, and resolve—as a good father should—before giving him Miranda to be his wife.
Recounting the tale of his exile in a little boat with few possessions, from Milan, Prospero expresses what all good fathers know. The sight of one’s child can provide intense motivation to perform almost superhuman tasks for that child’s welfare. Speaking to Miranda, he says: “O, a cherubim/ Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile./ Infused with a fortitude from heaven,/ When I have deck‘d the sea with drops full salt,/ Under my burden groan’d; which raised in me/ An undergoing stomach, to bear up/ Against what should ensue.” Prospero takes heart and regains his strength in this darkest moment of his life due to the presence and love of his little baby girl.
Bob Cratchit From ‘A Christmas Carol’
In Dickens’s cherished Christmas story, Bob Cratchit endures long hours as a clerk under a despotic employer (Scrooge) for little pay—all for the sake of his family. Cratchit represents all those countless fathers throughout history who may never have distinguished themselves by a singular moment of extraordinary heroism or bravery, but rather attained a no less significant, though less noticeable, degree of nobility and sacrifice by persevering through the daily slog.
Summer and winter, year after year, these men set their shoulders against the boulder of often inglorious duty simply to support those who depend on them. We might call this “ordinary heroism,” which every family man can aspire to.
Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. […] [I’d speak] indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?
On top of poverty, Cratchit—like so many ordinary fathers—has the added burden of family medical difficulties. His son Tiny Tim is ill, but the family doesn’t have enough money to properly treat him. In spite of this, Cratchit carries his invalid child on his shoulder and cheers him as best he can. Cratchit possesses a patience and dogged cheerfulness in the face of hardship. And in the end, his patience is rewarded.The Father From ‘The Road’
Cormac McCarthy set his novel “The Road” against an incredibly bleak, post-apocalyptic background. After a catastrophic event has wiped out civilization as we know it, a father and son make a trek across a wasted, ashen America because the father doesn’t think they can survive another winter in the north. They seek some place “better.”
Part of the poignancy of the story, however, is that the father knows on some level that there is nowhere to go, nowhere “better.” But he struggles to keep hope alive in his boy, his son, the only thing he has left in this bitter world.
The few survivors the man and boy encounter along the way are mostly killers who have lost their humanity in their desperation and despair. But the father works hard to instill a moral sense in his son in an age that has abandoned all standards of right and wrong: He tells the boy that they are “the good guys” who are “carrying the fire.”
The starkness of the backdrop only places the heart of the story in greater relief. The darker the background, the greater the contrast with the light at the story’s core, and that light is a father and son’s love and sacrifice for one another. The father has only one object that he will pursue even to the point of death: to care for the son.
His words to his boy are words that would resonate with any father speaking to his child: “You have my whole heart. You always did. You’re the best guy. You always were.”
