4

Mr. Monk and the Virtuous Habit

LINDA LEVITT

 

 

 

 

 

As Monk began its fourth season in 2005, USA Network unveiled the “Characters Welcome” campaign. The tagline fits series on the network that feature protagonists like Adrian Monk, Gregory House, and Shawn Spencer: unique characters who defy social norms with their quirky, often socially-challenging behavior and their unparalleled brilliance. Viewers are accustomed to the idiosyncrasies that make Monk this kind of character: his insistence on using antibacterial wipes after shaking hands with strangers; his need to right anything out of order, from window blinds that are askew to a disorganized closet; and his lengthy list of fears that interfere with his professional and personal life. As Monk tells Captain Leland Stottlemeyer, “It goes: germs, needles, milk, death, snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds, in that order.”

Monk’s obsessive-compulsive disorder plays out both painfully and humorously. His need for order and control can provide comedic moments, like when he sets a coaster under the saucer for a coffee cup, or cleans the kitchen of Lieutenant Adam Kirk while stopping by his house to ask him a few questions. He’s socially awkward and damaged, but brilliant. Many who encounter Monk for the first time tend to dismiss him, placing him outside of social norms because of his unusual behavior and his inability to effectively relate to other people. Monk is judged and ostracized not only by strangers by also by police officers who watch his curious methods of investigation. Monk’s anxiety and tension are palpable, and it’s difficult for officers to reconcile his great intellect with the awkward mannerisms of the so-called “defective detective.” Yet when Monk solves a crime, he typically earns the respect, if not the awe, of those who listen while he describes how a particular homicide was committed. That sense of awe only furthers Monk’s outsider status, as it provides more evidence that Monk is simply not like other people.

Even Monk’s relationships with those closest to him—his assistants Sharona Fleming and Natalie Teeger, as well as Stottlemeyer, his former partner on the force—are fraught with strangeness as they try to compensate for Monk’s social shortcomings. There are a handful of exceptional circumstances in which people who meet Monk accept him at face value, leading to encounters that surprise both Monk and the audience. Sheriff Margie Butterfield is smitten with Monk in “Mr. Monk Visits a Farm,” even after she’s been briefed on Monk’s OCD by Lt. Randy Disher. In “Mr. Monk and the Lady Next Door,” Marge Johnson doesn’t hesitate to befriend Monk, who is standing uncomfortably at an intersection, waiting for the “Walk” sign to light up, granting him permission to cross. After acknowledging that she herself is seen by the local police as “just a crazy old coot,” she simply hooks arms with Monk and encourages him to “be a pirate” as they cross the street together. Marge does not judge Monk, as so many others do.

Monk’s personal habits and his crime-solving techniques defy norms. He sees things no one else seems to see until he explains them, and solves crimes no one else can. Yet Monk is not only a quirky character, he is also a man of character, whose virtue and morals are at the center of who he is.

A Blessing and a Curse

Before his wife Trudy’s murder, Monk’s professional life as a police officer was one of character: a member of the force takes an oath and is expected to uphold ideals of virtue, integrity, and courage. Monk is ravaged by Trudy’s death. He could not prevent it, he could not solve it, and his everyday life is completely undone in her absence. The conflict between who he was and who he has become plagues Monk, who finds himself unable to act instinctively as he once did. Monk is devastated when he allows a suspect to run past him near the beginning of “Mr. Monk Takes His Medicine”—an event that leads him to try medication to better manage his OCD (although the results are not what he hopes for).

Aristotle can lend insight into Monk’s conflict and the resolution he desires. We live in an Aristotelian world: although Aristotle lived from 384 to 322 B.C.E., Aristotle still has a tremendous influence on our contemporary perspectives. He studied, taught, and wrote about everything from the natural sciences and physics to rhetoric and ethics. Like Monk, then, he knew something about everything. As Captain Stottlemeyer says of Monk, “He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the strangest, most arcane things” (“Mr. Monk Goes to the Carnival”). Monk, like Aristotle, is compelled to figure out how things work. He also has an extraordinary capacity to remember things, from the minutiae of everyday life to details of significant events. His memory, Monk says, is both a blessing and a curse. It is also both part of what makes him a character and part of what makes up his character.

Aristotle believed that individuals fundamentally want to find happiness and live a good life, and that we can find happiness through our virtuous character—the moral and ethical principles we establish for ourselves and live by. Aristotle believed that philosophical endeavor should be a common pursuit: don’t we all want to understand what happens in the world, why it happens, and our place in it? Spending time thinking about how we conduct ourselves and live in concert with others is valuable because it is a path to improving our lives.

Aristotle’s idea of happiness is not necessarily a state of joy but rather a fulfilled life in which you live up to your potential, which is the highest goal of being human. And what sets humans apart from other animals is our ability to reason, so it follows that reason is fundamental to living well. Reason also leads us to moral virtue: through reasoning, we come to understand what is right and good. Our virtues are revealed in our habits, as how we act in the world is a reflection of what we think. We develop these habits through experience, in two ways: first, careless acts can be instructive about future actions and we learn (hopefully) from our mistakes; and second, the more often we act virtuously—courageously, for example—the more accustomed we become to doing so. So the virtuous person, acting with practical wisdom, will act without harm to others or himself, and with goodwill in mind; and virtuous actions lead to virtuous habits, which leads to becoming a virtuous person.

The virtuous habit is also an expression of balance, finding a mean between excess and deficiency. With regard to relating to others, for example, Aristotle sees friendliness as the mean between being obsequious, which is excessive, and standoffishness, which demonstrates deficiency. As Monk works through his social awkwardness, finding the right mean is a particular challenge.

Doing Good and Being Good

For Aristotle, a person’s character is reflected in both thought and action. Thinking virtuously must precede acting virtuously, but virtuous thought does not necessarily always result in virtuous action. Monk thinks virtuously, but his fears keep him from acting. Aristotle claims that it is immoral not to act when we know we should, whether in defense of someone who needs support or to right what we perceive as wrong. Monk has knowledge of virtue, he knows what is right, but his anxiety makes it difficult for him to take right action, even though he knows what he should do.

Monk’s struggles between what his moral compass tells him and the phobias that keep him from acting create an emotional connection for the audience. These struggles also often create a good deal of the humor of the show. In the pilot episode, “Mr. Monk and the Candidate,” Sharona is taken hostage by a suspect being pursued by Monk, Stottlemeyer, and other members of the police force. Monk knows he must follow the killer and try to save Sharona, but he must fight against his misgivings about descending into the germ-filled sewer. Rather than feeling angry or disappointed with Monk, the audience is able to have empathy for him. This is possible in part because the scene becomes comedic as Monk maneuvers down the ladder, trying to protect his hands from contact with germs, only to splash down into the filthy sewer.

Aristotle would see Monk’s occasional inability to do what he knows is right as a sign of weakness of will—the Greek word is akrasia. His inability to act in accordance with his beliefs makes it difficult for Monk to think well of himself and enjoy his life, which would be the result of virtuous action. In Aristotelian terms, akrasia is a sign of unwillingness rather than a lack of ability, but it plays out as inaction regardless of its cause. Those who are close to Monk know that his inaction is rooted in fear and not lack of concern, and they don’t view Monk as immoral, although akrasia is still a kind of failure—a man of character, we think, does the right thing, even when it is difficult, unpleasant, or filthy and germy.

Having virtue should lead us toward happiness, but throughout the series, virtue creates conflict for Monk. In “Mr. Monk and the Bad Girlfriend,” his suspicion that Captain Stottlemeyer’s girlfriend has committed murder is the cause of a moral dilemma. Stottlemeyer should be the pinnacle of virtuous character—how could he be in love with a murderer? To suspect Linda Fusco is to call Leland’s character into question. Monk confronts the captain when the evidence strongly suggests that, as Monk says, “she’s the guy”:

MONK: This isn’t easy for me.

STOTTLEMEYER: (raising his voice) Oh really? Well, what is? You’re talking about the woman I love, Monk.

MONK: I know. I know.

STOTTLEMEYER: I think I know what’s going on here. You look at me and you can’t stand it. I have what you want. The badge, a woman, a life ...

MONK: That’s true.

STOTTLEMEYER: This is not my problem, Monk, this is your problem. You deal with it.

Stottlemeyer angrily tells Monk that for old time’s sake, he’ll forget the incident ever happened. Yet even after Monk shows how Linda Fusco murdered her business partner and she is led away in handcuffs, Stottlemeyer doesn’t apologize to Monk. An unspoken aspect of the relationship between these two men is that while they recognize each other’s weaknesses, they also see each other as men of character. Stottlemeyer’s apology would take something away from Monk. Although the badge, the woman, and a normal life are locked in Monk’s past, to retract his statement would mean that Stottlemeyer believes Monk isn’t capable of restoring his life, or his career. Getting his badge back would mean regaining both his virtue and his manhood, and would be public and institutional affirmation that he is a man of character.

What Appears to Be the Case, and What Others Overlook

The badge is a sign of character. A police officer’s badge is a symbol of dedication, bravery, courage, and duty. When Monk lost his badge, he lost a core aspect of his identity, not only professionally but also personally. As the series begins, Monk is gingerly stepping back into his professional life by serving as a consultant. His reputation—for both his brilliant detective work and his OCD—precede him. In the opening scene of the pilot episode, Monk and Sharona are at a crime scene, the home of a woman who has been murdered. Monk is distracted, thinking he’s left the stove turned on at home. Sharona pulls Monk aside and tells him, “Forget about the damn stove, okay? You are on a job here. You’re a private consultant. ... You’ve got to shut up. The department thinks you’re nuts. You’re never gonna get reinstated. You’re never gonna get hired. We’re both gonna be unemployed. Do you understand the importance of what I’m saying? Now, pull yourself together. Concentrate. You’ll be brilliant. You’re brilliant.” Sharona plainly lays out the circumstances: Monk must control his OCD if he hopes to have members of the police department focus on his strengths rather than his shortcomings. She also reminds him of his virtue, encouraging him to focus on what he knows.

Monk’s desire to be reinstated to the police force is mirrored by Lt. Randy Disher’s crisis of confidence in “Mr. Monk Visits a Farm.” After bungling an arrest, Randy’s self-assurance is destroyed and he decides to resign, taking up residence on the farm he inherited from his uncle. Monk figures out how Randy’s uncle was murdered, but Oates, the farmhand, convinces Monk to try to let Randy solve the case, knowing it will restore his confidence. Randy has been listening to motivational CDs while he sleeps, and in the early hours of the morning Monk turns off the CD player and tells a sleeping Randy how the murder occurred. The next morning, Randy calls the sheriff and, following Monk’s typical scheme, lays out the story, beginning with Monk’s trademark phrase, “Here’s what happened.” In a moment of doubt, Randy turns to Monk, who encourages him to continue. The suspect is arrested, and Randy returns to the police department, once again self-assured.

Randy’s self-doubt relates to Aristotle’s three artistic proofs in persuasive speaking: ethos, the appeal of the speaker’s character; pathos, the emotional appeal to the audience; and logos, the rational appeal of the message. Ethos requires the speaker to have credibility, which Randy lacks. If the audience is skeptical about a speaker’s trustworthiness or doubts his intentions, the speaker is less likely to have his message well received. We are far more willing to listen to—and believe—speakers we respect. We see Monk’s ethos when it is more difficult for Randy to convince the sheriff of the suspect’s guilt than it typically is for Monk. Monk doesn’t have the badge, as Randy does, but he has earned his credibility through solving dozens of seemingly unsolvable murders.

Logos, or logical reasoning, is fundamental to Monk’s detective work as well as his persuasive abilities. In “Mr. Monk and the Candidate,” he runs through a series of assertions: the murderer was tall, he was a smoker, he waited in the victim’s house, and he was looking for something, perhaps on the victim’s computer. Somewhat surprised by Monk’s statements, the officer on the scene asks for clarification:

LT. GITOMER: I’m sure that you’re right, but how do you know all that? I mean, about the computer ...?

MONK: It’s patently obvious, isn’t it? There are no prints on the keyboard, not even hers. Why? He used it, he wiped them clean.

LT. GITOMER: Right, and you said that he was tall.

MONK: The victim’s short, maybe 5’4”. Look at the chair. It’s lowered almost all the way.

LT. GITOMER: We’ve been here all morning and nobody even noticed that.

Monk’s logos is often strongest when his reasoning enables him to see what others overlook, as is often the case.

Pathos is the third artistic proof, which Natalie uses to persuade Monk to support her decision to continue in her run for the school board despite attempts on her life (“Mr. Monk and the Election”). She explains that in the investigation following the death of her husband Mitch, a Navy pilot, he was accused of cowardice, and she feels she must be courageous to maintain her daughter’s respect. Natalie appeals to Monk’s sense of compassion as well as his belief that courage is a virtue.

Despite the credibility Monk earns from Stottlemeyer and Disher, his OCD and phobias still stand in the way of him rejoining the force. In “Mr. Monk Goes to the Carnival,” Stottlemeyer testifies before the review board considering Monk’s reinstatement. The captain has confidence in Monk’s ability to be a good detective—to solve difficult crimes, to demonstrate the honor and loyalty expected of a member of the police force, and to be an exemplary citizen. But Stottlemeyer can’t recommend Monk because he doesn’t trust his ability to carry a gun and provide the necessary support for another armed officer. He doesn’t doubt Monk, he doubts his illness. Although he’s devastated by Stottlemeyer’s decision, in later seasons of the series, Monk may begin to agree that he did do the right thing by not recommending him for reinstatement. Monk may not get his badge back, yet his work as a consultant and his interactions with other people improve his quality of life and begin to restore his sense of self. His actions are better aligned with his virtues, leading Monk toward a more fulfilled life. Being able to act without thinking, rather than being rendered unable to act by his fears, becomes more of a habit.

The Pleasure of His Company

While Monk learns how to contend with Trudy’s death, her absence is a continual presence in his life. He cannot regain what he’s lost, but he’s found reason to go on with his life, difficult as it may be. In “Mr. Monk Goes to the Ballgame,” Monk has a candid, intimate conversation with a professional baseball player, Scott Gregorio, who is mourning the murder of the woman he loved. Monk tells him, “When Trudy fell in love with me, I was a detective. I was on the street, breaking cases. So I keep working. I keep trying to be the man she loved. That’s all you can do. Be the man she loved.” Monk determines that Gregorio’s lover was killed to distract him from his quest to break a season home run record. Monk and Sharona are in the locker room when the baseball player is interviewed after failing to break the record. Glancing over at Monk, Gregorio tells the reporters, “I met a man recently. He’s become a good friend. He reminded me there are a lot more important things in life than baseball. What matters most are the people you love. Being true to them or their memory. That’s the real ballgame. My friend isn’t giving up on that, and neither am I.”

For Gregorio to call Monk a good friend is an overstatement. He uses the term casually to describe the honesty he shared with Monk and the solace Monk provided. Yet the detective doesn’t have friends, save for the close circle of those with whom he works. When Marge Johnson seeks out his friendship, Monk thinks there must be a catch, since no one would simply want to be his friend (“Mr. Monk and the Lady Next Door”). Not only is Monk a challenging companion, he also lacks the trust needed to develop strong interpersonal relationships.

Like Monk, Aristotle had few close friends and was difficult to get along with, as seen in his relationship with his teacher Plato, who he constantly disagreed with. Aristotle pursued his interest in friendship as part of his study of ethics. What brings people together, and why do we pursue friendship with certain people but not others? What can we gain, and what can we give? Aristotle believed that friendships form around one of three aspects: goodness, utility, or pleasure. In friendships based on goodness, we find virtue in another person and choose to spend time with them in order to exercise our virtues and theirs.

Monk’s friendships are largely based on utility: what binds him to other people is the benefits each can gain from the relationship, rather than the pleasure to be found in each other’s company. Friendship based on utility might seem contrived or lacking deep emotional connection, yet that doesn’t detract from the value of such friendships.

Monk’s relationship with Captain Stottlemeyer is grounded in utility: that Monk solves cases for the department serves them both. The department gets the arrest, and Monk develops a new career as a consultant and is able to regain his sense of self-worth. Early in the series, Monk’s relationship with the captain is tenuous as best: Stottlemeyer finds Monk difficult to contend with and resents him solving cases the police department should be able to manage on its own. “Mr. Monk and the Three Pies” shows that the captain’s friendship with Monk extends beyond utility. At the crime scene, Stottlemeyer is brusque and dismissive, trying to get Monk to leave since he hasn’t been hired on the case. By the time the case is solved, the captain’s perspective softens. The murder suspect, who lives next door to Monk’s childhood home, has set the house on fire and Monk courageously saves his agoraphobic brother Ambrose from the blaze, leading him out of the house after years of being homebound. Stottlemeyer sees the love between the brothers, and sees the risk Monk is willing to take for another person. Monk is made a bit more human in that moment, and the captain sees his goodness and virtue.

Sharona aspires to a friendship with Monk based on pleasure, in which two people enjoy pursuing a common interest or activity. In “Mr. Monk and the Candidate,” she tells her date that a sense of adventure—feeling like Lois Lane—is the primary benefit of working for Monk, but dealing with his phobias at times outweighs the pleasure she gains. Their relationship is also based on utility, as Monk needs Sharona in order to function in society. She is the intermediary between him and other people, facilitating his awkwardness and making it possible for him to do the work he does. Sharona gains financially as well, as being Monk’s nurse and assistant is her job.

Natalie, however, has a different relationship with Monk. While their friendship is primarily rooted in utility, there is a common sense of virtue shared between them. When Monk first offers Natalie a job, she declines. She accepts the offer after Monk chooses to save her daughter Julie’s fish instead of grabbing a priceless, stolen moon rock when both are dropped by the suspect he is pursuing. Natalie says only one other man would do such a thing: her husband Mitch. She sees the goodness in Monk, and develops her friendship with him for the mutual pursuit of virtue made possible through their relationship.³¹

You Don’t Have to Be Like Him to Like Him

Rhetoric and poetics are among Aristotle’s significant philosophical interests and legacies. Aristotle believed theater was fundamentally about catharsis, the purification or emotional cleansing that we experience at the end of a drama. In order for catharsis to take place, the audience must have a connection with the characters in a performance. Our appreciation of a television series or film often comes from its characters and how we relate to them. We laugh when they laugh, we cry when they cry, and we cheer them on when they face challenges. Through identification, audience members can try on different identities as we imagine ourselves standing in the shoes of the characters we admire, as well as those we despise.

Jonathan Cohen maintains that there are four aspects to identification: sharing the character’s feelings, sharing the character’s perspective, sharing the character’s goals, and losing your own sense of self while being absorbed by the plot.³² Identification with Adrian Monk is more complicated than identification with other TV protagonists. It’s difficult to share Monk’s perspective. We may not readily relate to a man of such extraordinary intellect, yet Monk’s social shortcomings make it possible for us to identify with him in spite of his uncommon brilliance. An intense sense of pathos is created for the audience as we watch Monk try to piece his life back together. In this context, Monk’s unease and impatience are not only tolerated but enable the audience to feel affection for him.

There are times when Monk’s lack of consideration poses a challenge for identification. He tends to be self-involved, as a result of both his phobias and logic that guide his actions in the world. For example, in “Mr. Monk on Wheels,” Monk is unrelenting and rude toward Natalie, as he holds her responsible for his having been shot in the leg. His expectations for her help far exceed his usual demands, and he seems unaware of it. In scenarios like this, it’s difficult for the audience to identify with Monk. Instead of feeling empathy toward him, we are more likely to feel empathy toward Natalie, who bears the brunt of Monk’s anger and frustration.

Conversely, the conflict Monk experiences in “Mr. Monk’s Other Brother” creates identification with and compassion for the detective. When Monk’s half-brother, Jack Jr., escapes from prison and breaks into his apartment, he is faced with a moral dilemma: do obligations to the law outweigh obligations to family, especially when the family member in question is one without a close bond, and a criminal? But Jack Jr. comes looking for help, and it is precisely the kind of help only Monk can offer. More than providing him with a hideaway, Jack Jr. wants Monk to solve the murder of the prison’s social worker, for which he is being framed. It’s likely than many viewers have, to a lesser degree, faced similar circumstances. We can understand Monk’s feelings as well as his motivations. Although harboring a fugitive is illegal and unethical, Monk wants to help his half-brother, despite his constant doubts about Jack’s honesty. He grapples with understanding his familial relationships, which have not been easy: his father abandoned him, his mother was detached and controlling, and his wife was murdered. Throughout the series, Monk works to resolve his difficult past, trying to unlock doors toward a happier future.

In identifying with Monk, viewers wish for his wellbeing, that he can find happiness in his life. This might seem impossible. Monk himself doubts the possibility of contentment and is terrified when he sees a note in his file in Dr. Kroger’s office that he reads as “No hope” (“Mr. Monk Gets a New Shrink”). The audience experiences pathos, fearing along with Monk that the psychiatrist thinks his patient is a hopeless case. When Monk finally has the opportunity to raise the issue, Dr. Kroger tells him, “I would never say that about anyone, especially about you.” He recalls that he wrote “N. Hope,” an abbreviation for New Hope, where Monk’s father was born. Viewers who identify with Monk may feel relieved not only for him, but for themselves, with Dr. Kroger’s assertion that there are no hopeless cases. Aristotle’s work on character shows that there’s hope for Monk, that it’s possible for him to move from akrasia to a state of balance and contentment by acting virtuously.

Monk is a man of virtue, and his struggles to be virtuous are essential to the audience’s appreciation of the series. The desire to live a fulfilled life by thinking and acting with virtue is part of the human condition. By watching Monk work through both his conflicts and his moments of contentment, viewers can reflect on their own ethical perspectives. The audience’s identification with Monk can be ennobling: not only can we imagine ourselves as both clever and virtuous, we can also forgive ourselves for our foibles and shortcomings, as we forgive Monk for his. Through identification, we can see ourselves as characters with character.