Idiot Productions

Hello all,

Firstly, prayers for all families--thanks for candor and testimonies and, above all, faith. I always think of Elijah's cave in the preponderance of confusions and tumult. The 'still small voice' is more than our philosopher's stone.

Secondly (and rather distant, at that)--the events of the world remind us that ethics cannot be made on the fly. North Africa's revolutions are every bit as significant and complex as Eastern Europe's in 1989, and though events in Wisconsin or New Zealand may seem like nonsequiturs, I think there is good reason to pause and consider definitions and applications of 'civilization'. The polemic is mostly Ruskin's, not mine: Unto This Last challenges us to think about the sometimes arbitrary way any situation is governed, whether in catastrophe (as in Christchurch or Libya) or civil debate (as in Cairo or Madison). Jon and I have spoken about this quite a bit, Ruskin's five great intellectual professions: the Soldier to protect, the Pastor to teach, the Physician to cure, the Lawyer to enforce, the Merchant to provide--and all to the ultimate point of self-sacrifice, even if there's less predictability in the Merchant's loyalty to the collective. All hands need to be on board, hell or high water. And whatever the master pays, 'unto this last', is not a matter of priviledge but of grace.

But that's where the problem begins and ends: we (the pharisees) constantly want to be the master. We prorate which profession or product deserves prioritization and dig ourselves in, rather sanctimoniously. As Americans, we all adhere to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"--probably in that order--then we divide on appropriations of the Bill of Rights, Supreme Court decisions and the melange of federal, state and municiple legislation. We come together when disaster strikes and pull apart when expenditures become public. The firefighter, symbolically and literally, is at the fulcrum of this dichotomy.

Czech doctors are paid a pittance. They threatened a massive strike, caused a 'stink', adhered to the Hippocratic oath and earned what most analysists would call an average cost of living wage increase. I would guess doctors in Hungary, less fiscally astute, would go through a similar process. What does that mean, though, in the lens of my dependence on that great profession after a near-fatal accident there in 2002? Why would I ever doubt the value of a doctor's, or nurse's, or teacher's, or soldier's, or lawyer's, or merchant's value in an ethical society? And here is where Ruskin becomes contemporary: the merchant doesn't have to die for the cause. He can go to greener pastures and claim independence from the other professions (if not his necessary consumers). There's no money to be made in cleaning up Christchurch, and Mubarek (the third richest man in the world) will not fund a new start for Egypt. One hopes in the beleaguering and rather petty debate on taxes and deficits that an eye for greater ethics will prevail. Or, at the risk of being sanctimonious, grace will remain grace.

Thirdly, I spoke with a friend last night about Karamazov/Woebegon (shouldn't we just settle on 'Idiot'--Dostoevsky's most enchanting novel?) Productions. As the 21st century compels us to cobble together professional ventures that are evolving month-by-month, we talked in Venn diagrams, the 'day job' stabilities, the contract opportunities, the passions that constitute themselves as investments (as least in terms of time). It wasn't hard to convey the first and second ring: in my case, teaching literature to students & consulting in the same to adults; but the third ring--writing poetry, jamming with a compositional sense, crafting narratives, homily, tips and anecdotes--was a hard sell. My friend is 50 and maybe beyond all that. Who would constitute an audience for you 'Idiot Productions'? Probably Garrison had the same question and misgivings. What I'll hope is that our children will be more than audience enough. I remember rummaging in the semi-attic at Lac La Belle and paging through the illustrated story of the moose with ski-feet, called "Ski-doo", if I'm not mistaken. Was it a Loftness or Elstad relative who wrote that, Mom? I remembered feeling that if no one else ever saw this beautiful muslin-page book, the value was infinite in my hands, as somehow I'd pass on that legacy. I.e., there never needs to be a more official codification of published success than that a younger generation gets the point and inspiration.

love, faith and hope,
Dan