Charity, Didactics and Pathos, what Milch knows, what Dickens and Melville knew.

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.

People who have made this page a better place to visit

I suppose I could have just as easily titled this post "More Great Resources". Anyways, here's two good-hearted souls who wrote about David Milch, who I've enjoyed reading.
Stacey, at Stacey's Respite wrote a very insightful piece about "John From Cincinnati". I've read it a couple of times and I'd bet you would enjoy it as much as I have.
Chris Zawadzki effort on "Big Apple" is also a must read.
I'm sure I will be checking back with them in the future, and I'm sure you'll appreciate their work.
My thanks to you both for being so generous.

Art, Commerce, Faith, Bears, Boys and Butterflies.

Art and commerce. David Milch, if I understand him correctly, believes that each can subordinate their priorities to a purpose that serves a greater good. Others believe it would be easier to bring peace to the Middle East.

Art and commerce, after all, are only the results of the efforts produced by those who populate the collections of people so labeled. People who gravitate toward and accumulate in groups of similar-mindedness. Reducing it down further, people. And if all are members of the same body, why can't those who are so inclined, work together?

If not for faith in this principle, what makes you begin yet again, all the hours, the enormous effort, the attention to detail, and the "getting it right". The pouring out of the spirit, and risk that they won't let you finish telling this story either?

John from Cincinnati, I believe, was born from faith and the need to deliver an urgent message that transcends all risk.

At some point, before the production of John From Cincinnati, David Milch pledges to forsake the modern drama. So what changed between the time he said that, and John From Cincinnati?

It's already a matter of record what John From Cincinnati was about. A spiritual "reaching out" to stop a genocide the next time a terrorist's act prompts a response.

It's also a matter of record that Milch has shown interest in the Apostle Paul as well as the spiritual side of things in general, and it's relation to art.

But some people would rather not be bothered to consider the consequences of the extermination of a race. Who has the time to ponder the possibility of a genocide? And it may be considered rather ambitious to impose on those any subject requiring the effort of deliberate thought. Some spend impressive amounts of energy, busying-up their lives in an effort to obfuscate anything inconvenient enough to trouble their minds.

whether or not the compelling need to communicate this threat was generated from within, or his burden was the result of some spiritual experience. The importance of such a message, and the need to communicate it, could certainly account for his change of heart.

HBO canceled Deadwood. The idea that he abandoned it in favor of John From Cincinnati is absurd. Milch wasn't finished with Deadwood and had at least one more season in mind before HBO pulled the plug. Many jumped to the conclusion that it was Milch's fault based on the fact that John From Cincinnati followed so close on the heels of Deadwood's premature cancellation.

On the surface, it seems that HBO knew their decision to cancel such a critically acclaimed, award winning, and popular series, wouldn't be received with much enthusiasm, especially in the light that their decision was based primarily on production costs. If this were true, you could reasonably conclude, that it was HBO's effort to placate their subscribers, critics, and anyone else looking for consolation, when they offered Milch carte blanche on his next series. If they could make their pecuniary point with Milch, who then creates another series at a significant reduction in costs, and then, yields to their suggestion to make it about surfers "because it's young and hot", it would be like having your cake and eating it too.

The question now becomes, can John from Cincinnati be considered a successful example of art and commerce subordinating their own priorities in the service of a greater good?

With Milch to represent art, yes. Considering that he amended his attitude to abandon the contemporary drama, went back with HBO, and went with their suggestion to incorporate surfers, was all done in the service to deliver the message he was compelled to.

As far as HBO goes, in it's role to represent commerce, well, I guess you would have to know more to develop an informed opinion, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot there to suggest that they subordinated many, if any priorities, in the service of any purpose greater than their bottom line. They did, however, broadcast the series, which may be enough to qualify them as having done their part, even if their participation were judged more accurately as accidental, in the service of the greater good.

Perhaps Milch was offering us some insight into his perspective on this matter during a scene in the last episode of John From Cincinnati. Barry, the Snug Harbor's new owner, was speaking with Ramon, the Snug Harbor's manager, about his stuffed bears, who, much to his surprise, recently demonstrated, if only in his own mind, that they were capable of peacefully coexisting despite their obvious dissimilarities.

Algebraically speaking, is it too much of a stretch to interpret the bears as representations of art and commerce in the equation of subordination to the greater good? Choosing to believe that they can play nicely. To live and learn. Was this scene an expression of Milch's faith in this principle? Perhaps, even to the magnanimous extent to include HBO, favoring his immediate experience with them, thus far, rather than focus on their decision to cancel Deadwood?

Further indications that there may be more to this scene than meets the eye were presented when Freddy dispatches Palaka to Barry, " Tell the queer I don't like those bears sitting together ". That prompted me to recall a scene in NYPD Blue in which Sipowicz exhibits an exaggerated reluctance to accept the new guy. Milch successfully employed the persuasive tactic of vitalizing his audience's fears in a way that they could face them in their appropriate light, and in a voice that was unflattering, as they must associate themselves with Sipowicz, if they insist on adapting his line of thinking. Now consider Milch using Freddy, like Sipowicz, in the service of anticipating and expressing the views of the purist, who believe that they should be separate, and in a voice every bit as unflattering as Sipowicz.

So much, though, for Milch's faith, right? HBO canceled this series too. Ironically, right after it aired the episode that included this scene. I suppose, if you base your opinion solely on that fact. But not if you take into account that a key element in measuring it's success is based on the idea that art and commerce, worked together, toward the purpose of serving the greater good. The message was delivered. The purpose was served. Milch's faith proved out.

Art and entertainment. Not always synonymous. If we do, in fact, live in a time when facts are used as articles for commerce, and commerce, with it's avaricious appetite, abandons art and the qualities that it's respected for, and chooses instead to churn out articles of entertainment whose value is based primarily on it's ability to generate revenue, then it shouldn't comes as a surprise that the airwaves are filled with the egregious examples of the offspring that is produced when the lion "gets over" on the lamb, rather than to merely lay down with it.

The circle and line on the wall. Art, in all it's forms of expression, produced by the movement of the Spirit, establishes the flow of communication with God. Art benefits from it's association with commerce as it tends to the more mundane and earthly tasks of administration, organization and structure, all necessary to serve as a vehicle to carry it to the public. Commerce, for all it's trouble, should not only be compensated, but profit, ideally, to the degree that it's further participation in future endeavors are encouraged.

John From Cincinnati would probably fare better, judged as a work of art, and based on it's content, rather than an article of entertainment, with an upside marketing potential, to include ancillary items. Not that it wouldn't have achieved, or even surpassed the popularity familiar to Milch's other works, had it been given the chance. Although none of his series, despite their success, would suffer the insult of being classified in the category of mainstream. Such honors, while good for business, doesn't always benefit the respected artist, or his work. Imagine an Andy Sipowicz action figure, or a fast food restaurant chain, acquiring the rights to release a scale version of the Snug Harbor Motel as a piece-a-week promotion to be included in their kid's meal. I would, however, find it difficult to resist the temptation to collect a series of talking John Monad bobblehead dolls, each repeating a different Monadism, should they ever become available.

Art's universal availability is secondary only to the opinions offered by it's critics. And exposure to it doesn't always mean that you'll understand. Who was it that asked, " Do you have to know you'll understand before you listen?" As facts need not be believed to be true, neither great art requires understanding, profit, or praise to either artist, or sponsor, to qualify it as great art. Sometimes, that comes with patience and the passage of time.

So, John From Cincinnati is a work of art, and therefore, not entertaining? Even if you chose to ignore, or couldn't comprehend the message it carried, judged solely on it's merits as fiction, it's pure Milch genius. It's all there. The writing. The story. Trademark Milchian characters, speaking in trademark Milchian dialog. It easily meets the criteria set forth by his teacher, Robert Penn Warren, being a story told in this century, and moment, of mania. It was certainly a story of great distances and starlight. And absolutely a story of deep delight.

Art typically draws more from it's patrons than casual engagement. Milch, too, works purposely to engage the full participation of his audience's imagination. Those who place their trust in Milch's process are rarely disappointed, and are much more likely to experience the satisfaction that justifies their faith, that is, in the work he's permitted to finish. That's the real tragedy. Milch wasn't permitted to finish telling this story either.

You can't help but hear it in his voice, if not in his words, as he began the commentary of the last episode produced of John From Cincinnati. You can't help but be affected by it, either.

As John and Shaun were coming in from the water, he remarked on his emotions. As I heard him, I was reminded of the words I read in "Hawthorne And His Mosses" found in "Herman Melville, The Complete Shorter Fiction", which, I'll admit, was reading only because of my interest to study Milch. The words are a reference that Melville makes, that can be found in Hawthorne's, "The Artist Of The Beautiful", which are, " When the Artist rises high enough to achieve the Beautiful, the symbol by which he makes it perceptible to mortal senses becomes of little value in his eyes, while his spirit possesses itself in the enjoyment of the reality".

Even before I read Hawthorne's "The Artist Of The Beautiful", as I heard Milch's comment, I instantly recalled those words as remarkably appropriate. If they don't apply in this instance, then I'm not capable to place them in one that does. After I heard the commentary, I was compelled to find out more. I went to the library and read "The Artist of the Beautiful ". Perhaps it's me, persuaded by my predilections, but I began to draw numerous parallels, one of which, the body of art, manifested as John From Cincinnati, that Milch offered, appears to have been received much in the same way as Owen Warland's work, when he presented his. Even more significant, strikingly significant, is how closely the principle, "...while his spirit possesses itself in the enjoyment of the reality", compares to what Milch teaches of Kierkegaard, which is, " To rest transparently in the Spirit that gives us rise". And this Spirit that gives us rise, can it be identified as the same "Spirit of Beauty" which Melville describes that , "...ubiquitously possesses men of genius?" So then, I am not mistaken when I recognize that Spirit as, not only familiar, but the very same that moved the pen of Dickens, and moves in Milch, as well as other artists, in all forms of expression.

If we are not separate, but all connected, and part of the same body, and the pain that registered in the body when Milch expressed his, during that commentary, if we accept that we have a place in the body, we are, therefore, both eligible and capable, as any member, to feel that tremor of pain. We can, therefore, testify to the evidence of the Spirit as we recall those words.

Milch is repeatedly recognized for his gift of weaving the didactical, with his storytelling. Milch is as good with a pen, that is, if he actually used one, as the guy he refers to that's so good with a knife, "You'll go a block before you know you're stabbed". Similarly, Milch is already winding up the story before you even realize you got the message, or at least the seeds of it. Which, again, brings us back to John From Cincinnati. There may elapse a considerable amount of time before we see the full impact of that work of art.

David Milch formed a company named Red Board Productions. At the end of every episode they produce, there is an illustration of a boy running down a path with his dog. As the result of some deliberate thought, I'd be curious if that illustration could possibly, or partly resemble the image in Hawthorne's mind when he described the scene Owen Warland carved on the top of the box.

As those that heard Paul, and were persuaded by his message, so count me among those who are affected by the art of David Milch. It's his art, that prepares us for the message. It's his art, that makes the didactic palatable. It's through his art, that the Spirit is revealed. That's the beauty of his art.

s.i., l.i.g., & g.i.t.G

Great Resources

Humility and learning. It takes a measure of the former to achieve the full benefit of the latter.
Here's a couple of great resources that I turn to over and over again: "The Idea of the Writer" and a video produced by MIT titled "Televisions Great Writer". I urge repeated examination of these materials. I've found it's been worth every minute of my time. It's also been my experience that more and more is revealed every time I consult them. I have learned so much, and continue to learn every time I approach them with a "right heart". Continuous reference to these, combined with repeated viewings of available DVDs and other recorded, broadcasted episodes have been the catalyst of my increased understanding. Light bulbs are constantly illuminated over my head, "That's where that comes from" or "That's what that's all about", and other expressions are common as I revisit them on a regular basis. I hope you benefit from these at least as much as I have. As for me, I'm still working out all that it means to: "Rest transparently in the Spirit that gives us rise".