As the sun begins to set on the golden age of television, some say that a new day is dawning. With stand-up specials and comedic podcasts popping up left and right, it seems like comedy is having a bit of a moment. Earlier this year, Nate Bargatze broke Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena’s attendance record, beating out both Bon Jovi and Eric Church’s numbers. Months later, John Mulaney set a record with 21 sold-out shows in Boston. Five of Time’s Top 100’s Most Influential People could be classified as comedians. It seems the class clown has dethroned the class president.
Humor, of course, is nothing new, but the way we are approaching, debating, and critiquing it these days suggests that it has taken on new meaning. In his latest essay, “What is Comedy For?” James Parker writes, “There’s a rhythm and an expertise about comedy criticism right now that reminds me of good jazz writing from the ’50s and ’60s: savvy, insidery, immersed, excited, with its own developing vocabulary.” He references Jesse David Fox’s new work, Comedy Book: How Comedy Conquered Culture, which reflects on how humor is being stretched, reinvented, and diversified and, as a result, is occupying quite a bit of the pop-culture landscape. But, to echo Parker’s question, what exactly is the purpose of comedy?
Explaining the function of humor is a dangerous task. The surest way to kill a joke is to explain it. As E.B. White once said, “Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog: few people are interested and the frog dies of it.” And yet, there’s something enlightening about the psychology of laughter. Every chuckle, giggle, and guffaw is born out of what behavioral scientist Peter McGraw calls the Benign Violation Theory. Humor is born out of some kind of social violation that, while it appears threatening, is not actually harmful.
Should Charlie Chaplin walk down a flight of stairs, we would hardly raise an eyebrow (no violation). Nor would we laugh if he were to fall down a flight of stairs and suffer a severe head wound (malign violation). But if he were to acrobatically fall down a flight of stairs, head over heels, arms flailing, eyes popping out of his head, and then somehow walk away unscathed, we would roar with laughter. He creates tension by falling down the stairs, but then releases that tension after we realize there is no serious threat to his well-being.
The theological parallels are striking. Why can we as Christians laugh in the face of death? Because death is a threat that has been made benign through the resurrection of Jesus. Even at the grave we make our song because death has no power over us anymore. What once was our complete undoing is now a standard-issue pie in the face. Likewise, why can we laugh at our own insecurities, fears, moodiness, and mistakes? Because sin no longer threatens our standing with God. What was formerly a violation to our salvation has since been made completely benign through the blood of Christ. As Paul writes in Romans 6, “The death he died, he died to sin once for all” (vs. 10). If sin is dead we can all have a good laugh as if the wicked witch herself had just melted into a puddle.
And yet, laughter is not the opposite of crying; rather, the two are intricately connected. Comedy is not tragedy’s enemy, but its long lost brother. Perhaps Frederick Buechner puts it best when wondering where laughter comes from: “It comes from as deep a place as tears come from, and in a way it comes from the same place,” he writes. “As much as tears do, it comes out of the darkness of the world … except that it comes not as an ally of darkness but as its antidote.” In other words, laughter does not negate one’s sadness, but redeems it.
How, exactly, does humor heal our heartbreak? By somehow narrowly escaping being swallowed up by the darkness. It is Daffy Duck being flattened by a steamroller only to blow himself back up by puffing on his thumb. It is Chris Farley getting smacked with a two-by-four only to yell “SON OF A!” and somehow walking away unscathed. It is Jesus dying on the Cross and rising from the dead only to be mistaken for the gardener. Honestly, what could possibly be more funny than saying, “Peace be with you,” when your own hands still have gaping wounds from the nails of the Cross? The joke is at the expense of Jesus, of course, but he graciously invites us to share in the laughter.
Asking what comedy is for, therefore, might be missing the point. You may as well be asking a volcano what its purpose is. Laughter is not the cause of something, but the result. Like crying, it is the ripened fruit of suffering. It is simply the surprise of having survived life’s adventures, to be on the other side of a river you never imagined being able to cross on your own. And yet, here you are, exhausted but somehow grateful, too. James Parker is attune to the redemptive qualities of comedy. His essay’s conclusion could not be more poignant: “Comedy goes where the pain is — yours, mine, the comedian’s, the world’s — straight to it, because that’s where the laughs are; because the laughs are pain, transmuted. Simple as that. Comedy has no responsibility. It never will. And we need it like air.” Humor is not a means to an end, nor can it be systematized or replicated on demand. It is not something to understand, but experience.
It is no coincidence that comedy is experiencing such a heyday. After all, pain and suffering have never felt more inescapable. With the world as it is, we are in desperate need of a laugh. We may oscillate between sobbing and guffawing, but it is relieving to realize that tragedy and comedy share the same birthplace. Whether it’s a good laugh or a good cry you seek, go to where the pain is.
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5 responses to “The Saving Power of Comedy”
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Sam-
So well said!
My favorite quote from Anne Lamott: “Laughter is carbonated holiness.”
Beautiful and so profoundly encouraging. More than conquerors with conquering laughter. Thanks.
Laughter, Music, and Thanks-giving are 3 spcecial gifts that God has given to mankind–and they all 3 are related to each other.
In a recent sermon, the pastor playfully asked if there were any bad Christians out in the congregation and if there were, would they stand.
Not only did several people stand with arms outstretched, those who did, did so laughing.
In fact, the pastor’s wife broke out with a minute long gut busting guffaw.
Afterwards we couldn’t explain it, except it was if we kicked the devil in the teeth.
Our little church experienced exactly what you wrote: “If sin is dead we can all have a good laugh as if the wicked witch herself had just melted into a puddle.”
An astounding essay, Mr. Bush.
A comedy is a tragedy with a surprising and joyful ending. Hence, “The Divine Comedy” title.