Date of last letter: 17 Dec 2007

January 3, 2008

Dear Colleague:  

    The older I am the fonder I grow of Samuel Johnson (1709-84). He was a man of wit and common sense. The two don't always go together. Wit too often reminds me of Oscar Wilde as something brittle and precious. Common sense, on the other hand, can be rather dull and predictable. In Johnson, the two qualities unobtrusively combine. Take the following exchange between Boswell and Johnson. Boswell enquired, "Is not the Giant's Causeway [basaltic columns and a tourist attraction] worth seeing?" Johnson replied, "Worth seeing, yes, but not worth going to see." I wish I have the wit to say that when I am invited to visit one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Whisk me over on a magic carpet and, sure, I'd grasp the opportunity. No natural or manmade wonder can, however, entice me if the only way to get there is on a donkey's back or flying economy class.

    Can mere place make a difference to one's happiness? Johnson was doubtful, being a strong proponent of the view that the true source of happiness or misery lies within ourselves. On the other hand, the thought occurred to him that the famous passage "The mind is its own place, and in itself/ Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven" was spoken by Satan in Paradise Lost. It was "the boast of a fallen angel... External locality has great effects, at least upon all embodied beings." To this, we geographers say, "Amen."

    Johnson suffered from periodic attacks of melancholy, during which he was inclined to see little good in life. "One day, said Miss Reynolds, he was again asserting that 'the pain and miseries of human life far outweighed its happiness and good.' At this particular moment he was sitting comfortably in a chair, and the company was friendly and pleasant. Doubtless thinking of this, a lady who was present gently asked him, "whether he would not permit common ease to be put into the scale of happiness and good.' At this, Johnson "seem'd embarrassed... and answering in the affirmative, instantly rose from his seat to avoid the inference" (W. Jackson Bate, Samuel Johnson).

    I have known contentment but not genuine happiness. They are not the same. I can see happiness in others, however. A long time ago, when I still lived in Minneapolis, I dined periodically in my building's restaurant. I liked the food there but even more its intimate atmosphere. One evening, I happened to sit in a booth next to one occupied by a man and his two teenaged children—a girl and a boy. The girl ordered walleye pike, the boy cheese burger, the man lamb chops. I could see them eating heartily, joshing one another between bites. Half an hour or so later, the girl got up and said to her father, "I've got to go, Dad. Thanks for the dinner." She planted a kiss on her father's forehead. The boy then got up. He too thanked his father, and then also planted a kiss on his father's forehead—something he would never do, I dare say, on his own. The father finished his coffee, glanced at the check and reached for his wallet. I looked in his direction and saw a smile of pure happiness.

    Now, why do I remember this incident from thirty years ago when hundreds of more glittering ones occurred since? Dr. Johnson won't be the least surprised. He has always believed that what really give joy to life are just these seemingly inconsequential moments. Catch them, dear colleague, as they—by chance or the grace of God—fly by.

Best wishes,

Yi-Fu