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A student, while reading for an impending examination in his college library, came across a volume of The Life and Work of Sigmund Freud (9). He decided to read it, although it had nothing to do with his studies. Glancing through its pages he came across 'serendipity', (p. 350), a word he had not met before. He put down the biography, turned to the dictionary for help, and there read, 'the faculty of making happy and unexpected discoveries by accident'. He exclaimed to himself, as he invariably did when he made a minor discovery, 'Well, would you believe it!' Pleased with this new addition to his knowledge he walked out of the library leaving Jone's monumental work on the table, unread.
The humor of the situation was entirely lost on him; namely, that he had by this piece of behavior provided a most apt illustration of the definition. And the reason he never saw the joke was because in all things connected with learning he was himself a confirmed serendipitist. Whenever he set out to acquire information on a subject he behaved as he had done on this occasion. Having begun a certain line of inquiry he would allow himself to get sidetracked and, as one byway led to another, he would find himself learning facts about a topic that had no bearing whatsoever on his original line of investigation.
If the book he was reading contained a reference to another he would set off on a new digression. If it had footnotes—and it often did—he would confine himself to them and the text would remain unread. Appendices attracted him in the same way and the book that had them would suffer the same fate. If he had to consult an encyclopedia, then the afternoon would probably be wasted. Indeed, it was something of an occasion when, rarely, he would find what he was looking for. However, he seldom returned