The act of giving. Not necessarily as in the giving of a gift, as part of a ritualistic practice, or in observance of a holiday. Or to demonstrate or represent feelings one has for another. But the act of giving as in the coming to the aid of others. Acts of charity. Some believe this kind of giving is actually intended to benefit those who give, even to a greater extent than those who receive. Benefits beyond the scope of the gift's actual value, as it's measured materially or monetarily. Benefits to those who volunteer, beyond all the tangible results produced by their efforts, as well as to others who reach out in other ways.
These benefits are available to those who make themselves eligible by personal investment, having actual contact with those they come to aid. This usually requires more than writing a check, or the even more convenient, a deduction from your wages to donate to a charitable organization. Although there certainly is proof that many have benefited, and much good has been done, and still even more will be served with this type of philanthropy.
Referenced instead is the unexpected coming to the aid to someone who you have no connection to, or even have made no prior acquaintance with, in a way that taxes your own time and resources, and not at your convenience and comfortably out of your excess. Something that involves some risk. This type of giving not only serves the physical and material needs as it's intended to, but perhaps even more, the spiritual side of both the one who is giving as well as the one who receives. Imagine the effect that must have on one who has been touched by just such an experience. Someone who has been helped by someone they didn't know, who put themselves at some risk or disadvantage. Where, because of the circumstances there's little prospect of offering anything more than a "thank you" as kind of repayment or reimbursement. Someone who helped someone they weren't required to. Someone who helped someone who they felt no obligation to. Someone who helped someone who, if they chose not to, no one would blame, nor would anyone know who to blame for not helping. Someone who, choosing to remain anonymous, came to the aid of another, which tends to nourish the soul of the giver, in contrast to those who seek to build themselves up and feed their own ego with recognition, which more often than not is purchased at the expense of the other's dignity. Someone who sacrifices something for someone else to which there is a cost, regardless if that expense can be measured by money.
It's different isn't it, when we set the terms. We decide, or rather choose, who we help. Based on whatever criteria we feel most comfortable with, as well as the circumstances of their need. And at what safe distance we can keep from those we choose to benefit with our generosity. How to help or how much to give. When to help or give. When we choose who we prefer to help, plan how to help or how much to give them, based on the comfortable margin of the excess of our time and resources, financially and otherwise, and when it's the most convenient time to do so, it robs us of much of the spiritual benefits available to us, and only partially reveals our character and our heart and soul.
Humility too plays a significant part with those who decide whether or not to give or help. You may not feel qualified, or in other ways inadequate. Who you are, or what you offer either isn't enough or good enough. And you shrink from the opportunity as this would certainly be exposed for all to see. Bitterness and resentment can also enter in to the picture. Why should you help? No one helped you when you were in need. You survived, and if you did, they should have to. What have you to share? Nothing. You barely have enough for yourself and your family, and sometimes not even that.
What about those who have virtually nothing, what should be expected of them? What could they have to give that could possibly be of use to help anybody? They're takers, not givers. They usually rely on others to meet their needs. Who could they be of any use to? Maybe a feeble-minded old man and his juvenile granddaughter guardian, who happen to be homeless and occasional beggars.
Those familiar with "The Old Curiosity Shop" by Charles Dickens will recognize the reference. In chapter forty-four, Nell and her grandfather travel to a large industrial city, broke and fleeing from their difficulties. They enter the city at night and seek shelter from the rain in a dark, deeply recessed doorway and experience a surprise encounter with a man of exceedingly humble means. Considering the circumstances, the principals decide that it might be better to finish making their acquaintance bathed in the light of the street lamp as well as, if not in spite of, the pouring rain. The man is affected by their words and the spectacle that the little girl and her grandfather make. He can only give them warmth and a safe place to sleep. He takes them to a large manufacturing facility, where he tends the furnace. The bed he offers them is nothing more than warm ashes gathered from the furnace and piled a short distance from it. In the morning he shares his breakfast with them, which is described as "a scanty mess of coffee and some coarse bread". It's during this time the girl reveals her firm intentions that her and her grandfather need to return to the peaceful country, and would be grateful if he could point the way out of town. He answers that he will and "wishes he could do more". As he begins to give directions he senses that this opportunity is coming to an end and he is reluctant to let go. He begins giving directions in great detail and rambles on and on. Dickens writes that the girl thanks him fervently, but had to tear herself away from him, and stayed to hear no more.
So what happened here? This may have been the first time in this man's life he felt good about himself. He felt needed and useful. He was a provider. But that's not the way it started out. At first he was frightened when they came upon him in the doorway. Then his heart was moved. But really, what could he do? He listened. The Spirit that gave him rise, Providence, or whatever label you feel most comfortable with, whispered gently in his ear, "Help me help them". The Spirit called him. Him. Who wouldn't be apprehensive and hesitant, especially under these circumstances, not to mention that getting involved in this would probably be going against all his instincts. He certainly could have reasoned that there was nothing he could do for them but wish them well. His circumstances weren't much, if any better than theirs. besides, if he took them to the place where he works, that might not be looked on to favorably by those in authority there, as that was a place of business and they probably had no desire to turn it into a homeless shelter. There was some real risk involved in helping these two, but he trusted the Spirit and put the old man and his granddaughter before himself. And it felt good. And now it was coming to an end. So he watched them go, and probably thought that he may never feel like that again. When could he expect something like this to happen again? He may never be called to serve the Spirit again. Just before the girl and her grandfather were out of his sight, he took off running to catch them. When he caught up, he pressed something in the girl's hand. It was two pennies, so crusted by dirt and grime, they were almost unrecognizable.
Imagine for a moment, resting so transparently in the Spirit, to confidently run after someone to give them your last two cents. But it was only two cents, right? Why not give it all away, not much of a loss. Dickens wrote that the girl and her grandfather purchased penny loaves of bread, which was sufficient enough to sustain them. If they did, so could he. He could probably stretch two penny loaves of bread to cover a lot of meals. He took them in at night and provided a warm, dry place to sleep. He shared his food. He gave them all his money. He probably would have given them the shirt off his back if they needed it, and would have been glad to do it because he was filled with the Spirit and his soul vibrant with love. He risked all he had and he didn't even know their names. Who was the most blessed here?
In the following chapter Dickens provides the example of a man so filled with bitterness and resentment that he turned poor Nell away from his door, thus increasing his own misery. Too bad he lacked the perspicacity to recognize the Spirit reaching out to him. Even starting with a selfish heart, the good he could have done himself by forgetting himself, his loss and suffering, and focusing on the needs of others, as our friend the furnace watcher did, could have turned his whole life around. What an opportunity. The Spirit literally knocked on his door and he took a pass in favor of wallowing in self pity. Maybe he thought he was punishing God, the Spirit, or all that is good by refusing to respond, but all he did was reject the opportunity to resuscitate his heart. The Spirit that gave both him and Nell rise was not depending on him to help, the Spirit was demonstrating his love for him by offering him the opportunity to be a part of it. He chose instead to close his heart to charity and the Spirit, and the only love capable to heal his wretched heart.
Right. So what does any of this have to do with David Milch, or the price that tea demands on the Asian continent? Two words. Didactics and pathos. Combine those with an ear to hear the Spirit and the heart prepared to be moved by it. Isn't it reasonable to conclude that those are favorable conditions to work with, to produce such works of art?
Pathos is a potent ingredient to salt the didactics in the efforts of those bold enough to include it. Milch, Melville, and Dickens are masters who know to use it judiciously, as they gently stir our hearts.
This is just one of the many examples available so chosen to offer as an appetizer, representing the first of three parts. The second course will be Melville, and we'll save Milch for desert. After all, "How can you have your pudding if you don't eat your meat?"
s.i., l.i.g., & g.i.t.G.
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