. . . he uniformly adhered to this strange opinion, which his indolent disposition made him utter: ‘No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.’ Numerous instances to refute this will occur to all who are versed in the history of literature. (Boswell)
What would Dr Johnson think of us blogheads? “Blogheads not blockheads, Sam! It’s a word that’s not in your Dictionary. Your name is still held in honour two centuries later, but no one reads your books now. You wanted money and you got it, but your devoted friend and biographer James Boswell was the greater writer. On his Life of Johnson your immortality depends.”
The coffee-houses of London were the Internet of Johnson’s day where networking happened. You could pick up gossip and try out witticisms on others; see and be seen. Men of science and founders of banks favoured coffee, which promoted clear thought, not the ale and wine which aroused sentiment and passion.
Why do we write? I keep coming back to this question. I’ve deciding that writing “because I must”—to keep my psychic equilibrium—is the best guarantee of sound content. “Writing for money” would be too corrupting. There are few honest ways to make a living. My current job hardly improves the world but does less harm than the prostitution of literary talent for gain.
In Dr Johnson’s time, you could be transported to the Colonies for poaching or stealing a loaf of bread to feed your starving children. You were a victim of economic conditions punished for trying to survive. You’d be sent to the Province of Georgia but after American Independence the British Government had to find somewhere else for their convicts, and that is how the Botany Bay settlement started in Australia. I am proud to be descended from such sons and daughters of simple need.
Necessity may be harsh, but it carves out clean lines. This is the basis of my infatuation with the ordinary. I’ve found joy in this rented accommodation in the scruffy side of town, taking as I find, dependent on the bounty of angels for my blessings. “Must” means absence of choice. Fie to choice and “freedom”! They breed pestilence of the worst sort.
I’m aware of course that necessity embraces shanty-towns and all the terrible compromises of poverty. Though I am not writing for money, I don’t think Johnson would call me a blockhead, once he understood today’s world. He too understood necessity, for having been brought up poor, he could hardly help being fixated on money. I feel that he didn’t enjoy writing & that’s why we don’t enjoy reading him, except through Boswell. By vocation he was a conversationalist, but not a blagger. Blagging, says Dictionary.com, is Caribbean English: “informal conversation in a public place, often deceitful”. Johnson was a trenchant man of principle, even though I disagree with many of his opinions. Everyone has the right to express their own truth, for it’s only falsehood which messes up this world.
What would Johnson have thought of those who not only write for money, but blag “spirituality” in their self-help books? The “New Age” is so tainted that it’s part—the worst part—of the consumerism it purports to replace. I was once told that priests reincarnate as dogs, by someone I view in retrospect as a kind of priest himself. Why did this assertion impress me so much that I can recall the time, the date (May ’72) and the exact spot where he said it—without recalling anything about the person? Perhaps because he’s a dog now.
a wayfarer’s notes 