Dear Marion,

Thank you very much for your letter, for all your letters,
but most immediately and specifically for the most recent one,
about laughter taken seriously. You are endearingly respectful
of me, crippled as I am with intellectual and emotional
idiosyncracies. Such deference is not required. The Americans
with Disabilities Act of 1990, as amended, does not apply to
private correspondence, and would, in any event, not apply to
one whose American nationality is only nominal. It's obviously
as great a challenge to do justice to laughter by writing about
it with a straight face, as it is to explain sobriety with a
pint of Jack Daniels on board, or to presume to explain what it
means to be intoxicated if one hasn't had even a single drink
for ages. Ultimately what laughter is can be explained only
when one is roaring with laughter. A person who doesn't laugh,
won't get it. To what extent, if at all, this stricture applies
to me personally is another matter.

In your letter of September 4, you wrote:

_     "Im surprised and entranced and delighted
_     by your apparent affection for Mozart opera.
_     This doesn't at all fit my "picture" of your tastes
_     in music and emotion and worldview.
_     However my "picture" of you is a fractured mess,
_     totally incoherent.  If you like Mozart opera,
_     you must laugh, yet you never imply that you
_     are given to laughter. I am confused."

Of course, I'm flattered that you should express an interest
in obtaining a coherent "picture" of me. I reciprocate. You
should, however, keep in mind the possibility that the picture
you describe: "a fractured mess, totally incoherent," is a
true image, and that your confusion will dissipate only when
you accept the picture as a valid representation of reality.

To expatiate on laughter, let's forget about "free will".
One doesn't "decide" to laugh. One laughs as one sweats or
shivers or weeps, or becomes angry as a response to given
stimuli. Different persons differ with respect to sensitivity
for stimuli that make them laugh. Some giggle all the time;
others find nothing in the world even to smile at. I suspect
that in general the sensitivity that precipitates laughter
decreases with age. If so, that may be the case because over
the years one becomes accustomed to the world's incongruities
and learns to accept them as inevitable; but also, if in a
given situation one is not moved to laughter, that may be the
case because one has learned to understand, to accept and
to intellectualize the irony of the absurd. Clowns are for
children and for those adults who have not outgrown their
childhood: Let's not disparage childhood. What could be better!
Jesus said: Suffer little children to come unto me,
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm sure his invitation
did not exclude childlike adults, even when splitting with laughter.

When I wrote about Mozart operas I know well, I forgot to mention
Die Entfuehrung aus dem Serail, where the comic figure is Osmin
whose fantasies of CIA-type cruelty are made ridiculous,
i.e. hypothetical objects of laughter. However it's characteristic
of me that the horror that Osmin inspires is sufficient to quench
my sense of humor.  In this context, I'm mindful of the tradition
that ascribes much of the "humor" in Shakespeare's dramas to the
author's felt need to satisfy the "groundlings" who helped to make
his plays successful.  I think much of the silliness in the libretti
of Mozart's operas - his music is never trivial - are ascribable to
similar motives.

As I review them in my memory, The Abduction, Figaro, 
Cosi Fan Tutte, the Magic Flute, and in a limited perspective
also Don Giovanni, are all of them operas that confront
the (pre)marital Ordeal (Pruefung). Most explicitly, of
course in the Magic Flute where exhibitions of steadfastness,
obedience and courage are prescribed as prelude to a glorious
marriage. I interpret Cosi Fan Tutte, notwithstanding the
coarse, primitive humor, as spiritual Odysseys for each of the
four protagonists, albeit compressed into a single day. The
moral is obvious: affection for a specific individual is
an illusion; and in the end it doesn't make much difference,
if any, to whom you get married. I suspect ultimately
one outgrows laughter just as one outgrows marriage.
(Don Giovanni might be construed in part, as pre-marital
ordeal for Ottavio and Anna, as well as Masetto and Zerlina.
I admit, it's a far-fetched interpretation, but I like
to consider it nonetheless.)

Write again, soon.

Jochen