At Least Somebody Gets It

Foremost, I must give credit to the excerpt from Murray Davis’s What’s So Funny, for it is a complicated, yet insightful breakdown of how incongruity and ambiguity work in humor. The explanations it puts forth are certainly well researched and proposed. Now, with that matter settled, the next is less pleasant. As well done as it is, I still find some of the concepts impossible to follow, and as a result, extremely difficult to grasp. Often, it is the summations made entirely in generalities, which are responsible for my frustrated condition. Consider the following:

Since every congruous element can be incongruous somewhere else, humorists also ply their trade by interpolating an element congruous with the other elements of one system into another system where it is less congruous or even incongruous. (18)

What does all that even mean?! With all the “congruities” and “incongruities” packed in that single statement, how can one begin to decode it? Only after the tenth reading of this single sentence, can I offer a simpler version, guessing he means to say humorists create humor by transferring something which is appropriate in one system to another where it will undoubtedly be contrary to that particular system’s guidelines. Still, that is strictly my interpretation, and so, it may not be exactly what he suggesting. The phrasing is just so general, and filled with so much repeated terminology, that I fear I lose the meaning in the abundance of words. That is why what follows is simply my best attempt to make sense of Davis’s ideas, and hopefully with some success, connect his theories of incongruity back to “The Seven Words” of George Carlin.

Those forbidden seven words, never to be spoken on television, George Carlin rambles off with ease, saying them all at once, and quite quickly. He even goes so far as to point out the nice rhythmic quality his list has. The whole act sends his audience into hysterical laughter. It seems Mr. Carlin has just proved that, “A real incongruity that deviates from prediction will collapse an orderly expectation system, causing those who had viewed the objective world through this particular subjective frame to laugh” (Davis 16). In other words, the audience still viewing the world through the set scheme of “those words” not being permissible speech, is amused by Carlin’s deviation from that prediction.

Building on this is one of Davis’s shorter revelations, the premise that, “The more incongruities that explode a given expectation system, the funnier” (16). Carlin proves the truth of this statement as well. He points out the glaring irregularity that these supposedly horribly foul words are also sometimes acceptable in everyday conversation. He calls them “my part time filth. They’re only fifty percent dirty” (Carlin). To think the same word is both acceptable and unacceptable is another incongruity Carlin piles onto the system of propriety, and when the audience realizes this, they laugh all the harder for it. I may not always understand what Davis is talking about, but undoubtedly, Carlin does, and that is good enough for me.

Carlin, George. “The Seven Words You Can Never Say on T.V.” www.youtube.com. 28 June 2008. YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 30 January 2009. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmZfYyctiuo.

Davis, Murray. “Wit’s Weapons: Incongruity and Ambiguity.” Laughing Matters. Ed. Marvin Diogenes. New York: Pearson Education, Inc., 2009. 13-36.

Careful What You Preach

There are many things people in this world fear. Nearly everyone has heard of the major ones—Acrophobia (heights), Claustrophobia (confined spaces), Arachnophobia (spiders)—but along with those are ones no one would suspect—Consecotaleophobia (chopsticks), Cyanophobia (the color blue), Phobophobia (phobias)—and the list goes on, with each seeming more irrational than the one before. However, when it finally comes to Homilophobia, or the fear of sermons, one has to stop and wonder, “Why would anyone be afraid of a sermon?” Without an answer of my own, looking to George Washington Harris’ “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards,” may lend reason to this seemingly ridiculous fear.

Right at the beginning of Bullen’s sermon, the reader begins to see why one would experience some Homilophobia. According to Sut, “He [Bullen] tole ’em [the sinners] how the ole Hell-sarpents would sarve em if they didn’t repent; how cold they’d crawl over their naked bodies, and how like onto pitch they’d stick to ’em as they crawled…” (237-238). Certainly, what the preacher paints is an unpleasant picture, and gives anyone reason to fear him, his sermon, and wait awaits them. But then again, if one considers the actuality of his threat, it is simply ridiculous. To literally be attacked by lizards because of one’s sin does not seem the most logical, or likely, mode of punishment. Sut apparently agreed, for he released his “Hell-sarpents” upon the nasty Bullen, causing him to exclaim, “Brethren, brethren, take care of yourselves, the Hell-sarpents has got me!” (239). This is the defining moment, proving just how foolish preaching of fire and damnation is, since when the “Hell-sarpents” really do appear, the reader must laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.

The irony in the story is simply wonderful. In its earliest moments, Bullen’s righteousness is enough to make one want to gag, with his “a preachin’ to me [Sut] so you coulda hearn him a mile, about startin sins gen’rally and my wickedness pussonly; and mentionin’ the name of my frien loud enough to be hearn to the meetin’-house” (236). That is why it is an especially satisfying moment when Bullen in earnest yells out, “They’ve got me!” obviously believing his time of judgment has come. Not until later does he realize it was not God, but Sut who sent the Hell-sarpents. Fortunately, now it is too late, and everyone knows what happened. Not only did the lowly Sut make a fool of the presumably better Parson Bullen, but he also proved how full of folly those who preach damnation are. For all their words against sinners, most of the time, they are nothing but sinners themselves.

The humor of this story comes from many things: the dialect, the slapstick, the not-quite-cussing-curses (like calling Bullen a “pot-bellied, scaley-hided, whisky-wastin, stinkin ole groun-hog”), but for me, the best part is the aforementioned irony of a presumably “orful sinner” like Sut getting the better of a righteous preacher like Bullen (237). Sometimes there is nothing more enjoyable then seeing lizards come crawling out the clothing of someone spitting and hollering about Hell-sarpents sticking to a sinner’s skin.

Culberston, Fredd. The Phobia List. 17 July 1995. Fredd’s Web Whereabouts. 23 January 2009. http://phobialist.com.

Harris, George Washington. “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards.” Roy Blount’s Book of Southern Humor. Ed. Roy Blount, Jr. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1994. 235-241.

It Can't Be All Bad, Can It?

Like art, humor is one of those elusive concepts—impossible to define, but easy to recognize. The same person who laughs at a line in Shakespeare, may find an episode of Friends just as funny. Obviously, what people find humorous is too broad and too varied for a single, neat definition. However, this does not mean a person must simply accept a vague statement like “humor is that which makes one laugh,” and be done with it. Though no one explanation may account for every aspect, there are still some theories which are excellent starting points for anyone wishing to better understand the mechanisms of humor.

First on the list of critical thinkers is Aristotle and his definition of comedy as “an imitation of people who are worse than the average.” (14). His brand of humor is what the text describes as “derisive,” because it is amusement at the inferiority of others (14). Moving to another, Thomas Hobbes’ states, “…the passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves” (20). Though it is a bit different, it still drives at the same idea Aristotle presented: something is funny because it mocks the inferior, an action which accordingly means those who are laughing are presuming themselves superior. Different from the previous two, the last one to look at is Decartes who surmises that “there is always some little element of hatred, or at least of wonder” accompanying laughter (23). In this interpretation, laughter is never the product of pure delight, but rather is always the fusion of joy with surprise (wonder), or some type of mild hatred.

Undeniably, the plausibility of all these hypothesis have truth to them, successfully providing workable theories of humor. As Aristotle stated, much of what people find funny is behavior which comes from moments of low intelligence. It’s why a whole cartoon is dedicated to a coyote’s many ill-conceived plots at capturing a roadrunner. Also, Hobbes’ theory shows why people still laugh at “dumb blonde” jokes, evidently feeling themselves superior. Consequently, those jokes (as well racial or religious ones) also show Descartes to be true, proving there must be some level of hatred (said to be usually mild), for people to mock these things. Nevertheless, even though all three of these particular assumptions are well enough, there is still a glaring problem.

The inferiority of others, our own superiority, hatred—negativity permeates all three, coloring humor in a rather unpleasant light. That is why despite all their truth, for me, these theories (or at least two out of three) still fail. I can recognize and accept the reality that much of what is funny comes at a cost to others, but such is not always the case. The typical “knock knock” joke does not concern itself with issues of the superior and inferior or their hatred. Here is where Descartes’ component of wonder becomes important. If forced to choose, his theory would be the best, because one can argue that humor is just as much a product of the unexpected, and laughter comes when people are not ready for the answer they receive. Indeed, to examine wonder in its relation to humor is a more positive approach, and provides some peace for me who rather believe the fun of humor is not entirely based in spiteful reasons.

Morreall, John. The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987.