Funny Bones and Cracked Ribs (article)

In the 17^th century, Thomas Hobbes, in what has been described as his characteristically cynical manner, regarded most humor as a means by which one exalted oneself over others by making fun of their shortcomings. Freud wrote in Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious (1905) that it not only served that purpose, but also much more, namely, the reduction of tension emanating from the unconscious via satisfaction of the pleasure principle. By that, he meant that the unconscious, particularly id and superego conflicts, could be expressed and satisfied safely through the disguised medium of humor.

According to Elliot Orring, in his book, Jokes and Their Relations (1992), by the end of the 19^th century, the capacity to appreciate humor and the talent to be able to utilize it constructively were now felt to be signs of a civilized society. In his book Sex and Character (1903), Otto Weininger recognized the transcendent qualities of humor. He made a keen differentiation between humor and satire. For him, humor was essentially tolerant, while satire was intolerant. Others have described how humor helps us endure hardship. An example of this is seen in the following humorous vignette, which I call “The Messiah”:

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Far off the beaten path, practically in the middle of nowhere, a small town exists. In fact, it is so remote that it does not appear on any map. Because of this, the Jewish congregation, who make up a tiny portion of this obscure town, was concerned that if the Messiah were to come, he would not find them. Accordingly, they built a huge tower from which a watchman that they had appointed could intercept the Messiah and direct him to the townspeople. Years pass and nothing happens. Finally, one day, a stranger happens upon the tower, whereupon the watchman rapidly descends from his post to speak with this visitor. “Why are you here and how did you find us?” asks the watchman. The stranger deftly evades the question and asks some of his own in return. “Why is this tower here and why are you on top of it?” adding, “I doubt that this kind of a job pays very much.” The watchman replies, “It’s true. The job pays very little, but you know, it’s a job for life.” In waiting whether it is for the arrival of the Messiah, Savior, or Redeemer, there is hope, and it is the hope that allows humans to find both purpose and reason to go on. Laughter serves both of these aims.

Can one better overcome gnawing pain, sorrow, and despair than by laughing them away? This is based on various conceptualizations about the function of humor as being transcendent, defensive, or pathological. The latter is related to the illogicality and improbability to be able to laugh after having experienced pain, misery, persecution, and so on, and still find something comical in the face of all that.

Another example of how humans deal with ennui born of the conflicts between hopelessness and hope, powerlessness and power, isolation and companionship, not knowing and knowing, and forgetting and remembering is seen in Samuel Beckett’s renowned play, Waiting for Godot (first performed in 1953). In this deceptively uncomplicated, seemingly simplistic drama, the human existential dilemma is depicted in all its mundaneness, tedium, and

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drudgery. Men sit with each other as their lives pass before them. Why do they not leave after waiting so long, especially when it begins to appear unlikely that Godot will show up? They stay for no obvious purpose other than to wait for the arrival of Godot—who never puts in a physical appearance. Yet the characters wait, nonetheless. Much like anticipating the Messiah, they sit, they talk, they joke, they relate, even if only reluctantly, and they try to devise games to pass the time, time which represents their all too common lives. Through this, they are able to transcend the seemingly infinite monotony of their existence.

As an audience, we are able to shake off their pedestrian state of survival by being able to laugh—not at them—but at their circumstance, which also is our own. Our ability to empathize with their condition is reminiscent of how a good grandparent is able to sit with—and yes, smile at—the discomfort a child may be experiencing, not out of sadistic enjoyment, but rather, from a deep, compassionate understanding of what it is to be a child. Although not identical, this is similar enough to the transcendent process derived from humor to be mentioned here as an example of humor’s capacity to achieve transcendence. To this end, Sholem Aleichem, in The Old Country (1911), wrote, “I tell you it is an ugly and mean world and only to spite it one mustn’t weep! If you want to know, that is the real source, the true cause of my constant good spirits, of my, as it is called, ‘humor.’ Not to cry out of spite! Only to laugh out of spite, only to laugh.”

For some, humor is seen as a weapon, which allows one to survive in the intense battle against extinction. Freud’s psychodynamic theory of wit regarded jokes as playful facades that often betrayed serious purposes—including defensive, even retaliatory measures in the context of an oppressive environment. The pathological aspect of the joke, some have said, is when the intended rebellious criticism inherent in a particular type of joke is leveled against the joke-teller. Martin Grotjahn in Beyond Laughter (1957) and Theodor Reik in Jewish Wit (1962) both pointed to Jewish wit, in particular, as exemplifications of masochistic tendencies, despite having some adaptive value. Grotjahn sees this as a sign of victory by defeat. That is, the joke teller, by telling a joke about him/herself, is essentially saying, “you need not attack us, we can do it

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ourselves—even better.” The covert psychodynamic meaning is that the ostensible self-directed hostility is, in fact, a disguised assault on the intelligence and competence of the perpetrator. In the latter regard, jokes that appear on the surface to be self-effacing, underneath it all may be deflections onto themselves of the perilous persecutory hostility of their oppressors as well as the conditions underlying their negative situation.

Then there is the one about the “Final Wish.” In this joke, two men have been sentenced to be executed. Faced with the firing squad, they each are granted one final wish. Bill asks for a cigarette. The other says, “Cool it, Bill. Don’t make no trouble.” This joke portrays a dynamic which illuminates and mocks the absurdity of passivity taken too far, while at the same time either reduces or completely obscures the executioner’s imminent threat. Thus, the ego is allowed a momentary respite from, and simultaneous mastery over, the humiliation inherent in its impending demise. It does more than make the best of its doomed fate; it provides a moment of redemption, a tiny, but not trivial instant of restoration.

Theodore Reik added that when humans are turned into the “marionettes of history,” made to feel helpless about what is to become of their children’s lives and their own, they need some other outlet, one that fits with their sense of dignity or proper decorum. He felt that joking transforms puppets into human beings. This is why, declared Reik, wit was created.

Jokes also allow us to break with reality by what I call “inventive absurdity.” This is where we indulge in word play by creating a word that makes no sense and has no linguistic basis. In fact, its lack of a logical linguistic etymology is what allows us to regress to early levels of verbalization where sense and nonsense were equivalent in the primary process of the unconscious. For example, logic holds that if the plural of host is hostess, then the plural of ghost must therefore be ghostess. By the same “logic” (or lack thereof), Yogi Berra-isms are so popular. For example, “if you come to a fork in the road take it!” or, better still, “If your eyeball falls upon a bargain, pick it up” (author unknown).

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