The Dominant Joke

THE CONTRIBUTORS’ CLUB.

I HAVE always doubted the proposition that “misery likes company, ” and have believed that such a statement was first put forth by some arch-hypocrite whose misery was but a pretense, and who was beckoning some other sham sufferer into a quiet corner where they could both be jovial on the sly.

However slight my knowledge of universal misery may be, I can attest from personal experience that my own misery claims solitude, and slips away all by itself, and turns the key upon the curious world, asking nothing so much as to be “let alone.” I do not care to weep in company, nor would it cheer me to have a chorus of other weepers to sob in unison with me. Rather would I remain in unmolested wretchedness until my tears had vanished and my eyes and nose assumed normal appearance.

’T is mirth, then, and not misery which pines for company. Fun cannot thrive alone, and flourishes only among congenial spirits. Our laughter must be shared, our smiles responded to, and every glance of merriment needs recognition to make it worth the while.

Sorrow may bring us nearer to a devoted few, but mirth is after all the test and touchstone of genuine companionship. The great majority of any audience will weep at a pathetic point, but only sympathetic souls will laugh together at the keen stroke of satire. It is our pet enjoyment, our special definition of fun and entertainment, that best reveals our point of view. One bright responsive glance at the right moment outweighs much thundering applause at a conventional conclusion. Smiles are the flowers of human growth, and laughter “makes the world go round ” more rapidly than love.

It is philosophy, not egotism, which causes us to choose for friends those who can see our jokes. We dread unnecessary translation of our thoughts; that process must go on to some extent even with those nearest to us. Direct transference of thought must be reserved for an angelic state. Indeed our pleasure in all human intercourse depends largely upon the greater or less amount of translation which must be done. It is not merely foreigners whom we find it difficult to understand; our next-door neighbors may be as much in need of an interpreter as one of alien nationality.

Yet, as a rule, our next-door neighbors will not require the aid of the interpreter to any great extent. There is a national point of view which they possess in common with ourselves. This we can take for granted. There is a certain response which we are sure of calling forth, an understanding upon which we may safely count. We feel the lack of this in our relations with every other nation. Our English cousins, though only “ once removed, ” must ever be outside the family circle; the music of their laughter is never quite upon our key, though they may think it better, and so perhaps it is, if he laughs best who laughs last!

We have a distinct national sense of humor which is the product of all the various influences that have made up our national life. It is perhaps the most distinctive of all our national traits, and one for which we should be duly grateful. It lightens the burdens of the shy New England farmer, lessens the hardships of the Gloucester fisherman, and equalizes the temper of the Western ranchman. The California fruits and flowers grow larger by its aid, and Southern indolence smiles at its touch, despite the memory of fallen grandeur.

This sense is so predominant that one may question the possibility of over-development, and may suggest a hidden danger in a perpetual smile and in a never-ceasing search for the amusing in everything. This carried to excess must mean the sacrifice of serious consideration of life and duty, would do away with reverential thought, and replace fervency with flippancy.

There is a national tendency to overdo the funny side, to make a joke at any cost. Every joke has its price, and some are too expensive. Their payment means a lessening of respect for sacred institutions, a lowering of the standard of morality, a dulling of the sensibility to coarseness and vulgarity. A laugh, like charity, is made to cover a multitude of sins.

A proper sense of humor should be “an exact medium between too little and too much, ” and nice discrimination is needed to set the boundary line. The fact that it is “ but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous ” does not oblige one always to take the step.

If France was designated “a monarchy modified by songs, ” we may perhaps be dubbed “a free republic fettered by jokes.”

Men who fear nothing else, shrink from a joke upon themselves. Soldiers who do not flinch before opposing guns dread to be made ridiculous. This keen dislike of being laughed at, which is as old as the history of the world, has reached a very high point of development with us, quite in proportion to the almost exaggerated sense of humor which we have fostered. Woe to the national hero who makes one trifling mistake which may subject him to clever caricature ! His meritorious career is henceforth shadowed by one colored illustration. A comic paper will tip the scales of Justice, snatch the victor’s prize from his extended palm, and rob the orator of choicest laurels. A brilliant satire will mar the fortunes of the greatest statesman; a laugh will turn the tide of a political convention.

Indeed the joke is fast becoming mightier than the pen. The orator has learned its value, and even the clergyman resorts to it when he desires to stir the flagging interest of his flock. It furnishes sufficient excuse for the impertinence of children, and in its name the daily papers deride the highest national dignitaries.

What is the meaning of its steady growth in power? And what results may we predict from its humorous tyranny ?

Is there a chance that our keen relish for fun may finally produce a kind of humorous dyspepsia resulting from over-indulgence, unless with epicurean discrimination we demand quality not quantity, and stubbornly refuse to swallow other than that which should appease a wholesome, nay cultivated, appetite in jokes?