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Title: Wit and its relation to the unconscious
Author: Sigmund Freud
Translator: A. A. Brill
Release date: April 20, 2025 [eBook #75915]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Moffat, Yard and Company, 1916
Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT AND ITS RELATION TO THE UNCONSCIOUS ***
WIT AND ITS RELATION TO THE UNCONSCIOUS
BY
PROFESSOR DR. SIGMUND FREUD, LL.D.
Authorized English Edition, with Introduction by
A. A. BRILL, PH.B., M.D.
Lecturer in Psychoanalysis and Abnormal Psychology, New York University;
former Chief of Clinic of Psychiatry, Columbia University
[Illustration: [Logo]]
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
1916
Copyright, 1916, BY
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
_All Rights Reserved_
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
In 1908 when it was agreed between Professor Freud and myself that I
should be his translator, it was decided to render into English first
the following five works: _Selected Papers on Hysteria and
Psychoneuroses_,[1] _Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex_,[2] _The
Interpretation of Dreams_,[3] _Psychopathology of Everyday Life_,[4] and
the present volume. These works were selected because they represent the
various stages of development of Professor Freud’s Psychoanalysis,[5]
and also because it was thought that they contain the material which one
must master before one is able to judge correctly the author’s theories
or apply them in practice. This undertaking, which was fraught with many
linguistic and other difficulties, has finally been accomplished with
the edition of the present volume, and it is therefore with a sense of
great satisfaction that the translator’s preface to this work is
written. But although the original task is finished the translator’s
work is only beginning. Psychoanalysis has made enormous strides. On the
foundation laid by Professor Freud there developed a literature rich in
ideas and content which has revolutionized the science of nervous and
mental diseases, and has thrown much light on the subject of dreams,
sex, mythology,[6] the history of civilization and racial psychology,[7]
philology,[8] æsthetics,[9] child psychology and pedagogics,[10]
philology,[11] and mysticism and occultism. With the _Interpretation of
Dreams_ and _Psychopathology of Everyday Life_, Professor Freud has
definitely bridged the gulf between normal and abnormal mental states by
demonstrating that dreams and faulty acts like some forms of forgetting,
slips of the tongue, slips of reading, writing, etc., are closely allied
to psychopathological states and represent the prototypes of such
abnormal mental conditions as neurotic symptoms, hallucinations, and
deliria. He also shows that all these productions are senseful and
purposive, and that their strange and peculiar appearance is due to
distortions produced by various psychic processes. These views are
confirmed in the present volume, where it is demonstrated that wit,
which belongs to æsthetics, is subject to the same laws, shows the same
mechanism, and serves the same tendencies as the other psychic
productions. With his wonted profundity and ingenuity the author adds
the solution of wit to those of the neuroses, dreams, and
psychopathological acts.
I take great pleasure in tendering my thanks to Mr. Horatio Winslow, who
has read the manuscript and has given me valuable suggestions in the
choice of expressions and in the selection of substitutes for those
witticisms that could not be translated.
A. A. BRILL.
_May, 1916._
CONTENTS
A. ANALYSIS OF WIT
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 3
II. THE TECHNIQUE OF WIT 15
III. THE TENDENCIES OF WIT 127
B. SYNTHESIS OF WIT
IV. THE PLEASURE MECHANISM AND THE PSYCHOGENESIS OF WIT 177
V. THE MOTIVES OF WIT AND WIT AS A SOCIAL PROCESS 214
C. THEORIES OF WIT
VI. THE RELATION OF WIT TO DREAMS AND TO THE UNCONSCIOUS 249
VII. WIT AND THE VARIOUS FORMS OF THE COMIC 288
A. ANALYSIS
WIT AND ITS RELATION TO THE UNCONSCIOUS
I
INTRODUCTION
Whoever has had occasion to examine that part of the literature of
æsthetics and psychology dealing with the nature and affinities of wit,
will, no doubt, concede that our philosophical inquiries have not
awarded to wit the important rôle that it plays in our mental life. One
can recount only a small number of thinkers who have penetrated at all
deeply into the problems of wit. To be sure, among the authors on wit
one finds the illustrious names of the poet Jean Paul (Fr. Richter), and
of the philosophers Th. Vischer, Kuno Fischer, and Th. Lipps. But even
these writers put the subject of wit in the background while their chief
interest centers around the more comprehensive and more alluring
problems of the comic.
In the main this literature gives the impression that it is altogether
impractical to study wit except when treated as a part of the comic.
_Presentation of the Subject by Other Authors_
According to Th. Lipps (_Komik und Humor_, 1898[12]) wit is “essentially
the subjective side of the comic; i.e., it is that part of the comic
which we ourselves create, which colors our conduct as such, and to
which our relation is that of Superior Subject, never of Object,
certainly not Voluntary Object” (p. 80). The following comment might
also be added:—In general we designate as wit “every conscious and
clever evocation of the comic, whether the comic element lies in the
viewpoint or in the situation itself” (p. 78).
K. Fischer explains the relation between wit and the comic by the aid of
caricature, which, according to his exposition, comes midway between the
two (_Über den Witz_, 1889). The subject of the comic is the hideous
element in any of its manifestations. “Where it is concealed it must be
disclosed in the light of the comic view; where it is not at all or but
slightly noticeable it must be rendered conspicuous and elucidated in
such a manner that it becomes clear and intelligible. Thus arises
caricature” (p. 45). “Our entire psychic world, the intellectual realm
of our thoughts and conceptions, does not reveal itself to us on
superficial consideration. It cannot be visualized directly either
figuratively or intuitively, moreover it contains inhibitions, weak
points, disfigurements, and an abundance of ludicrous and comical
contrasts. In order to bring it out and to make it accessible to
æsthetic examination, a force is necessary which is capable not only of
depicting objects directly, but also of reflecting upon these
conceptions and elucidating them—namely, a force capable of clarifying
thought. This force is nothing but judgment. The judgment which produces
the comic contrast is wit. In caricature wit has played its part
unnoticed, but only in judgment does it attain its own individual form
and the free domain of its evolution.”
As can be seen Lipps assigns the determining factor which classifies wit
as part of the comic, to the activity or to the active behavior of the
subject, whereas K. Fischer characterizes wit by its relation to its
object, in which characterization he accentuates the hidden hideous
element in the realm of thought. One cannot put to test the cogency of
these definitions of wit; one can, in fact, hardly understand them
unless one studies the text from which they were taken. One is thus
forced to work his way through the author’s descriptions of the comic in
order to learn anything about wit. From other passages, however, one
discovers that the same authors attribute to wit essential
characteristics of general validity in which they disregard its relation
to the comic.
K. Fischer’s characterization of wit which seems to be most satisfactory
to this author runs as follows: “Wit is a _playful_ judgment” (p. 51).
For an elucidation of this expression we are referred to the analogy:
“How æsthetic freedom consists in the playful contemplation of objects”
(p. 50). In another place (p. 20) the æsthetic attitude towards an
object is characterized by the condition that we expect nothing from
this object—especially no gratification of our serious needs—but that we
content ourselves with the pleasure of contemplating the same. In
contrast to labor the æsthetic attitude is _playful_. “It may be that
from æsthetic freedom there also results a kind of judgment, freed from
the conventional restrictions and rule of conduct, which, in view of its
genesis, I will call the _playful_ judgment. This conception contains
the first condition and possibly the entire formula for the solution of
our problem. ‘Freedom begets wit and wit begets freedom,’ says Jean
Paul. Wit is nothing but a free play of ideas” (p. 24).
Since time immemorial a favorite definition of wit has been the ability
to discover similarities in dissimilarities, i.e., to find hidden
similarities. Jean Paul has jocosely expressed this idea by saying that
“wit is the disguised priest who unites every couple.” Th. Vischer adds
the postscript: “He likes best to unite those couples whose marriage the
relatives refuse to sanction.” Vischer refutes this, however, by
remarking that in some witticisms there is no question of comparison or
the discovery of similarities. Hence with very little deviation from
Jean Paul’s definition he defines wit as the skill to combine with
surprising quickness many ideas, which through inner content and
connections are foreign to one another. K. Fischer then calls attention
to the fact that in a large number of these witty judgments one does not
find similarities, but contrasts; and Lipps further remarks that these
definitions refer to the wit that the humorist possesses and not to the
wit that he produces.
Other viewpoints, in some measure connected with one another, which have
been mentioned in defining and describing wit are: “the _contrast of
ideas_,” “_sense in nonsense_,” and “_confusion and clearness_.”
Definitions like those of Kraepelin lay stress upon the contrast of
ideas. Wit is “the voluntary combination or linking of two ideas which
in some way are contrasted with each other, usually through the medium
of speech association.” For a critic like Lipps it would not be
difficult to reveal the utter inadequacy of this formula, but he himself
does not exclude the element of contrast—he merely assigns it elsewhere.
“The contrast remains, but is not formed in a manner to show the ideas
connected with the words, rather it shows the contrast or contradiction
in the meaning and lack of meaning of the words” (p. 87). Examples show
the better understanding of the latter. “A contrast arises first through
the fact that we adjudge a meaning to its words which after all we
cannot ascribe to them.”
In the further development of this last condition the antithesis of
“sense in nonsense” becomes obvious. “What we accept one moment as
senseful we later perceive as perfect nonsense. Thereby arises, in this
case, the operation of the comic element” (p. 85). “A saying appears
witty when we ascribe to it a meaning through psychological necessity
and, while so doing, retract it. It may thus have many meanings. We lend
a meaning to an expression knowing that logically it does not belong to
it. We find in it a truth, however, which later we fail to find because
it is foreign to our laws of experience or usual modes of thinking. We
endow it with a logical or practical inference which transcends its true
content, only to contradict this inference as soon as we finally grasp
the nature of the expression itself. The psychological process evoked in
us by the witty expression which gives rise to the sense of the comic
depends in every case on the immediate transition from the borrowed
feeling of truth and conviction to the impression or consciousness of
relative nullity.”
As impressive as this exposition sounds one cannot refrain from
questioning whether the contrast between the senseful and senseless upon
which the comic depends does not also contribute to the definition of
wit in so far as it is distinguished from the comic. Also the factor of
“confusion and clearness” leads one deeply into the problem of the
relation of wit to the comic. Kant, speaking of the comic element in
general, states that one of its remarkable attributes is the fact that
it can delude us for a moment only. Heymans (_Zeitschr. f. Psychologie_,
XI, 1896) explains how the mechanism of wit is produced through the
succession of confusion and clearness. He illustrates his meaning by an
excellent witticism from Heine, who causes one of his figures, the poor
lottery agent, Hirsch-Hyacinth, to boast that the great Baron Rothschild
treated him as an equal or quite FAMILLIONAIRE. Here the word which acts
as the carrier of the witticism appears in the first place simply as a
faulty word-formation, as something incomprehensible, inconceivable, and
enigmatic. It is for these reasons that it is confusing. The comic
element results from the solution of the enigma and from the
understanding of the word. Lipps adds that the first stage of
enlightenment, showing that the confusing word means this or that, is
followed by a second stage in which one perceives that this nonsensical
word has first deluded us and then given us the true meaning. Only this
second enlightenment, the realization that it is all due to a word that
is meaningless in ordinary usage—this reduction to nothingness produces
the comic effect (p. 95).
Whether or not either the one or the other of these two conceptions may
seem more clear we are brought nearer to a definite insight through the
discussion of the processes of confusion and enlightenment. If the comic
effect of Heine’s _famillionaire_ depends upon the solution of the
seemingly senseless word, then the wit would have to be attributed to
the formation of this word and to the character of the word so formed.
In addition to the associations of the viewpoints just discussed there
is another characteristic of wit which is recognized as peculiar to it
by all authors. “Brevity alone is the body and soul of wit,” declares
Jean Paul (_Vorschule der Aesthetik_, I, 45), and modifies it with a
speech of the old tongue-wagger, Polonius, from Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_
(Act II, Scene 2):
“Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief.”
Lipps’s description (p. 90) of the brevity of wit is also significant.
He states that wit says what it does say, not always in few, but always
in too few words; that is: “It expresses itself in words that will not
stand the test of strict logic or of the ordinary mode of thought and
expression. In fine it can express itself by leaving the thing unsaid.”
That “wit must unearth something hidden and concealed”—to quote K.
Fischer (p. 51)—we have already been taught from the grouping of wit
with caricature. I re-emphasize this determinant because it also has
more to do with the nature of wit than with its relation to the comic.
I am well aware that the foregoing scanty quotations from the works of
the authors on wit cannot do justice to the excellence of these works.
In view of the difficulties that confront one in reproducing clearly
such complicated and such delicately shaded streams of thought I cannot
spare inquiring minds the trouble of searching for the desired
information in the original sources. However, I do not know whether they
will return fully satisfied. For the criteria and attributes of wit
mentioned by these authors, such as—activity, the relation of the
content of wit to our thoughts, the character of the playful judgment,
the union of dissimilarities, contrasting ideas, “sense in nonsense,”
the succession of confusion and clearness, the sudden emergence of the
hidden, and the peculiar brevity of wit, seem to us, at first glance, so
very pertinent and so easily demonstrable by examples that we cannot
succumb to the danger of underestimating the value of such ideas. But
they are only disjointed fragments which we should like to see welded
into an organic whole. In the end they contribute no more to the
knowledge of wit than a number of anecdotes teach us of the true
characteristics of a personality whose biography interests us. We do not
at all understand the connection that is supposed to exist between the
individual conditions; for instance, what the brevity of wit may have to
do with that side of wit exhibited in the playful judgment; besides we
do not know whether wit must satisfy all or only some of these
conditions in order to form real wit; which of them may be replaced and
which ones are indispensable. We should also like a grouping and
classification of wit in respect to its essential attributes. The
classification as given by the authors is based, on the one hand, on the
technical means, and on the other hand, on the utilization of wit in
speech (sound-wit, play on words, the wit of caricature,
characterization wit, and witty repartee).
Accordingly we should not find ourselves in a dilemma when it comes to
pointing out goals for a further effort to explain wit. In order to look
forward to success we must either introduce new viewpoints into the
work, or try to penetrate further by concentrating our attention or by
broadening the scope of our interest. We can prescribe for ourselves the
task of at least not permitting any lack along the latter lines. To be
sure, it is rather remarkable how few examples of recognized witticisms
suffice the authors for their investigations and how each one accepts
the ones used by his predecessors. We need not shirk the responsibility
of analyzing the same examples which have already served the classical
authors, but we contemplate new material besides to lay a broader
foundation for our deductions. It is quite natural that we should select
such examples of wit as objects for our investigation as have produced
the deepest impression upon our own lives and which have caused us the
greatest amount of laughter.
Some may inquire whether the subject of wit is worthy of such effort. In
my opinion there is no doubt about it, for even if I disregard the
personal motives to be revealed during the development of this theme
(the motives which drove me to gain an insight into the problem of wit),
I can refer to the fact that there is an intimate connection between all
psychic occurrences; a connection which promises to furnish a
psychological insight into a sphere which, although remote, will
nevertheless be of considerable value to the other spheres. One may also
be reminded what a peculiar, overwhelmingly fascinating charm wit offers
in our society. A new joke operates almost as an event of universal
interest. It is passed on from one person to another just like the news
of the latest conquest. Even prominent men who consider it worth while
relating how they attained fame, what cities and countries they have
seen, and with what celebrated persons they have consorted, do not
disdain to dwell in their autobiographies upon this and that excellent
joke which they have heard.[13]
II
THE TECHNIQUE OF WIT
We follow the beckoning of chance and take up as our first example of
wit one which has already come to our notice in the previous chapter.
In that part of the _Reisebilder_ entitled “Die Bäder von Lucca,” Heine
introduces the precious character, Hirsch-Hyacinth, the Hamburg lottery
agent and curer of corns, who, boasting to the poet of his relationship
with the rich Baron Rothschild, ends thus: “And as true as I pray that
the Lord may grant me all good things I sat next to Solomon Rothschild,
who treated me just as if I were his equal, quite _famillionaire_.”
It is by means of this excellent and very funny example that Heymans and
Lipps have illustrated the origin of the comic effect of wit from the
succession of “confusion and clearness.” However, we shall pass over
this question and put to ourselves the following inquiry: What is it
that causes the speech of Hirsch-Hyacinth to become witty? It can be
only one of two things; either it is the thought expressed in the
sentence which carries in itself the character of the witticism; or the
witticism adheres to the mode of expression which clothes the thought.
On whichever side the nature of the wit may lie, there we shall follow
it farther and endeavor to elucidate it.
In general a thought may be expressed in different forms of speech—that
is, in different words—which may repeat it in its original accuracy. In
the speech of Hirsch-Hyacinth we have before us a definite form of
thought expressed which seems to us especially peculiar and not very
readily comprehensible. Let us attempt to express as exactly as is
possible the same thought in other words. Lipps, indeed, has already
done this and has thus, to some degree, elucidated the meaning of the
poet. He says (p. 87), “We understand that Heine wishes to say that the
reception was on a familiar basis, that is, that it was of the friendly
sort.” We change nothing in the sense when we assume a different
interpretation which perhaps fits better into the speech of
Hirsch-Hyacinth: “Rothschild treated me quite as his equal, in a very
_familiar_ way; that is, as far as this can be done by a _millionaire_.”
We would only add, “The condescension of a rich man always carries
something embarrassing for the one experiencing it.”[14]
Whether we shall remain content with this or with another equivalent
formulation of the thought, we can see that the question which we have
put to ourselves is already answered. The character of the wit in this
example does not adhere to the thought. It is a correct and ingenious
remark that Heine puts into the mouth of Hirsch-Hyacinth—a remark of
indubitable bitterness, as is easily understood in the case of the poor
man confronted with so much wealth; but we should not care to call it
witty. Now if any one who cannot forget the poet’s meaning in the
interpretation should insist that the thought in itself is also witty,
we can refer him to the definite fact that the witty character is lost
in the interpretation. It is true that Hirsch-Hyacinth’s speech made us
laugh loudly, but though Lipps’s or our own accurate rendering may
please us and cause us to reflect, yet it cannot make us laugh.
But if the witty character of our example does not belong to the
thought, then it must be sought for in the form of expression in the
wording. We have only to study the peculiarity of this mode of
expression to realize what one may term word- or form-technique. Also we
may discover the things that are intimately related to the very nature
of wit, since the character as well as the effect of wit disappears when
one set of expressions is changed for others. At all events we are in
full accord with our authors when we put so much value upon the verbal
form of the wit. Thus K. Fischer (p. 72) says: “It is, in the first
place, the naked form which is responsible for the perception of wit,
and one is reminded of a saying of Jean Paul’s which affirms and proves
this nature of wit in the same expression. ‘Thus the mere position
conquers, be it that of warriors or of sentences.’”
_Formation of Mixed Words_
Now wherein lies the “technique” of this wit? What has occurred to the
thought, in our own conception, that it became changed into wit and
caused us to laugh heartily? The comparison of our conception with the
text of the poet teaches us that two processes took place. In the first
place there occurred an important abbreviation. In order to express
fully the thought contained in the witticism we had to append to the
words “Rothschild treated me just as an equal, on a familiar basis,” an
additional sentence which in its briefest form reads: i.e., so far as a
millionaire can do this. Even then we feel the necessity of an
additional explanatory sentence.[15] The poet expresses it in terser
terms as follows: “Rothschild treated me just like an equal, quite
_famillionaire_.” The entire restriction, which the second sentence
imposes on the first thus verifying the familiar treatment, has been
lost in the jest. But it has not been so entirely lost as not to leave a
substitute from which it can be reconstructed. A second change has also
taken place. The word “familiar” in the witless expression of the
thought has been transformed into “_famillionaire_” in the text of the
wit, and there is no doubt that the witty character and ludicrous effect
of the joke depends directly upon this word-formation. The newly formed
word is identical in its first part with the word “familiar” of the
first sentence, and its terminal syllables correspond to the word
“millionaire” of the second sentence. In this manner it puts us in a
position to conjecture the second sentence which was omitted in the text
of the wit. It may be described as a composite of two constituents
“familiar” and “millionaire,” and one is tempted to depict its origin
from the two words graphically.
FAMIL I A R
MILLIONAIRE
—————————————
FAMILLIONAIRE
The process, then, which has carried the thought into the witticism can
be represented in the following manner, which, although at first rather
fantastic, nevertheless furnishes exactly the actual existing result:
“Rothschild treated me quite familiarly, i.e., as well as a millionaire
can do that sort of thing.”
Now imagine that a compressing force is acting upon these sentences and
assume that for some reason or other the second sentence is of lesser
resistance. It is accordingly forced toward the vanishing point, but its
important component, the word “millionaire,” which strives against the
compressing power, is pushed, as it were, into the first sentence and
becomes fused with the very similar element, the word “familiar” of this
sentence. It is just this possibility, provided by chance to save the
essential part of the second sentence, which favors the disappearance of
the other less important components. The jest then takes shape in this
manner: “Rothschild treated me in a very
famillionaire way.”
/ (mili) (aire)
Apart from such a compressing force, which is really unknown to us, we
may describe the origin of the wit-formation, that is, the technique of
the wit in this case, as a _condensation with substitutive formation_.
In our example the substitutive formation consists in the formation of a
mixed word. This fused word “famillionaire,” incomprehensible in itself
but instantly understood in its context and recognized as senseful, is
now the carrier of the mirth-provoking stimulus of the jest, whose
mechanism, to be sure, is in no way clearer to us through the discovery
of the technique. To what extent can a linguistic process of
condensation with substitutive formation produce pleasure through a
fused word and force us to laugh? We make note of the fact that this is
a different problem, the treatment of which we can postpone until we
shall find access to it later. For the present we shall continue to busy
ourselves with the technique of wit.
Our expectation that the technique of wit cannot be considered an
indifferent factor in the examination of the nature of wit prompts us to
inquire next whether there are other examples of wit formed like Heine’s
“famillionaire.” Not many of these exist, but enough to constitute a
small group which may be characterized as the blend-word formations or
fusions. Heine himself has produced a second witticism from the word
“millionaire” by copying himself, as it were, when he speaks of a
“millionarr” (_Ideen_, Chap. XIV). This is a visible condensation of
“millionaire” and “narr” (fool) and, like the first example, expresses a
suppressed by-thought. Other examples of a similar nature are as
follows.
During the war between Turkey and the Balkan States, in 1912, _Punch_
depicted the part played by Rumania by representing the latter as a
highwayman holding up the members of the Balkan alliance. The picture
was entitled: _Kleptorumania_. Here the word is a fusion of Kleptomania
and Rumania and may be represented as follows:
KLEPTOMANIA
RUMANIA
—————————————
KLEPTORUMANIA
A naughty jest of Europe has rebaptized a former potentate, Leopold,
into _Cleopold_ because of his relation to a lady surnamed Cleo. This is
a clear form of condensation which by the addition of a single letter
forever vividly preserves a scandalous allusion.
In an excellent chapter on this same theme Brill gives the following
example.[16]
“De Quincey once remarked that old persons are apt to fall into
‘anecdotage.’” The word _Anecdotage_, though in itself incomprehensible,
can be readily analyzed to show its original full sense; and on analysis
we find that it is made up of two words, _anecdote_ and _dotage_. That
is, instead of saying that old persons are apt to fall into dotage and
that old persons are fond of telling anecdotes, De Quincey fuses the two
words into a neologism, _anecdotage_, and thus simultaneously expresses
both ideas. The technique, therefore, lies in the fusion of the two
words. Such a fusion of words is called condensation. Condensation is a
substitutive formation, i.e., instead of _anecdote_ and _dotage_ we have
_anecdotage_.
“In a short story which I have recently read, one of the characters, a
‘sport,’ speaks of the Christmas season as the _alcoholidays_. By
reduction it can be easily seen that we have here a compound word, a
combination of _alcohol_ and _holidays_ which can be graphically
represented as follows:
alcoHOL
HOLidays
————————————
ALCOHOLIDAYS
“Here the condensation expresses the idea that holidays are conducive to
alcoholic indulgence. In other words, we have here a fused word, which,
though strange in appearance, can be easily understood in its proper
context. The witticism may be described as a condensation with
substitution.
“The same mechanism is found in the following: A dramatic critic,
summarizing three paragraphs to the effect that most plays now produced
in New York City are violently emotional and hysterical, remarks:
‘Thespis has taken up his home in Dramatteawan.’ The last word is a
condensation of _drama_ and _Matteawan_. The substitution not only
expressed the critic’s idea that most of the plays at present produced
in New York are violent, emotional and hysterical, that is insane, but
it also contains a clever allusion to the nature of the problem
presented by most of these plays. Matteawan is a state hospital for
criminal insane. Most of the plays are not only insane, but also
criminal since they treat of murders, divorces, robberies, scandals,
etc.”
When Flaubert published his famous romance _Salammbo_, which treats of
life in ancient Carthage, it was scoffingly referred to by Sainte-Beuve
as _Carthaginoiserie_ on account of its tedious detailed descriptions.
Carthaginoiserie
chinoiserie
During a conversation with a lady I unintentionally furnished the
material for a jest. I spoke to her about the great merits of an
investigator whom I considered unjustly ignored. She remarked, “But the
man really deserves a monument.” “Perhaps he will get one some day,” I
answered, “but at the moment his success is very limited.” “Monument”
and “moment” are contrasts. The lady then united these contrasts and
said: “Well, let us wish him a _monumentary_ success.”
If at this stage the reader should become displeased with a viewpoint
which threatens to destroy his pleasure in wit without explaining the
source of this pleasure I must beg him to be patient for a while,
because we are now confronted with the technique of wit, the examination
of which promises many revelations if only we enter into it far enough.
Besides the analysis of the examples thus far cited, which show simply a
process of condensation, there are others in which the changed
expressions manifest themselves in other ways.
_Condensation with Modification and Substitution_
The following witticisms of Mr. N. will serve as illustrations.
“I was driving with him tête-à-bête.” Nothing is simpler than the
reduction of this jest. Evidently it can only mean: I was driving
tête-à-tête with Mr. X. and X. is a stupid ass (beast).
Neither of these two sentences is witty nor is there any wit if one
combines them into this one: “I was out driving tête-à-tête with that
stupid ass (beast).” The wit appears when the words “stupid ass” are
omitted and when, as a substitute for them, the first “t” of the second
“tête” is changed to “b.” This slight modification brings back to
expression the suppressed “bête.” The technique of this group of
witticisms may be described as “condensation with a slight
modification.” And it would seem that the more insignificant the
substitutive modification, the better is the wit.
Quite similar, although not without its complications, is the technique
of another form of witticism. During a discussion about a person in whom
there was something to praise and much to criticise, N. remarked: “Yes,
vanity is one of his four heels of Achilles.”[17] This modification
consists in the fact that instead of the one vulnerable heel which was
attributed to Achilles we have here four heels. Four heels means four
feet and that number is only found on animals. The two thoughts
condensed in the witticism are as follows: Except for his vanity he is
an admirable fellow; still I do not care for him, for he is more of an
animal than a human being.[18]
A similar but simpler joke I heard _statu nascendi_ in a family circle.
One of two brothers who were attending college was an excellent scholar
while the other was only an average student. It so happened that the
model boy had a setback in school. The mother discussed this matter and
expressed her fear lest this event be the beginning of a lasting
deterioration. The boy who until then had been overshadowed by his
brother willingly grasped this opportunity to remark: “Yes, Carl is
going backward on all-fours.”
Here the modification consists in a small addition as an assurance that
in his judgment his brother is going backward. This modification
represents and takes the place of a passionate plea for his own cause
which may be expressed as follows: After all, you must not think that he
is so much cleverer than I am simply because he has more success in
school. He is really a stupid ass, i.e., much more stupid than I am.
A good illustration of condensation with slight modification is
furnished by a well-known witty jest of Mr. N., who remarked about a
character in public life that he had a “_great future behind him_.” The
butt of this joke was a young man whose ancestry, rearing, and personal
qualities seemed to destine him for the leadership of a great party and
the attainment of political power at its head. But times changed, the
party became politically incompetent, and it could readily be foreseen
that the man who was predestined to become its leader would come to
nothing. The briefest reduction of the meaning by which one could
replace this joke would be: The man has had a great future before him,
but that is now past. Instead of “has had” and the appended afterthought
there is a small change in the main sentence in which “before” is
replaced by its opposite “behind.”[19]
Mr. N. made use of almost the same modification in the case of the
nobleman who was appointed minister of agriculture for no other reason
than that he was interested in agriculture. Public opinion had an
opportunity to find out that he was the most incompetent man who had
ever been intrusted with this office. When, however, he had relinquished
his portfolio and had withdrawn to his agricultural pursuits Mr. N. said
of him: “_Like Cincinnatus of Old he has returned to his place in front
of the plough._”
That Roman, who was likewise called to his office from his farm,
returned to his place behind the plough. In those days, just as in the
present time, in front of the plough walked—the ox.
We could easily increase these examples by many others, but I am of the
opinion that we are in need of no more cases in order to grasp
thoroughly the character of the technique of this second
group—condensation with modification. If we now compare the second group
with the first, the technique of which consisted in condensation with a
mixed word-formation, we readily see that the differences are not vital
and that the lines of demarcation are indistinct. The mixed
word-formation, like the modification, became subordinated to the idea
of substitutive formation, and if we desire we can also describe the
mixed word-formation as a modification of the parent word through the
second elements.
We may make our first pause here and ask ourselves with what known
factor in the literature of wit our first result, either in whole or in
part, coincides. It obviously agrees with the factor of brevity which
Jean Paul calls the soul of wit (_supra_, p. 11). But brevity alone is
not wit or every laconism would be witty. The brevity of wit must be of
a special kind. We recall that Lipps has attempted to describe more
fully the peculiarity of the brevity of wit (_v. s._, p. 11). Here our
investigation started and demonstrated that the brevity of wit is often
the result of a special process which has left a second trace—the
substitutive formation—in the wording of the wit. By applying the
process of reduction, which aims to cause a retrogression in the
peculiar process of condensation, we find also that wit depends only
upon the verbal expression which was produced by the process of
condensation. Naturally our entire interest now centers upon this
peculiar and hitherto almost neglected mechanism. Furthermore, we cannot
yet comprehend how it can give origin to all that is valuable in wit;
namely, the resultant pleasure.
_Condensation in Dreams_
Have processes similar to those here described as the technique of wit
already been noted in another sphere of our psychic life? To be sure, in
one apparently remote sphere. In 1900 I published a book which, as
indicated by its title (_The Interpretation of Dreams_[20]), makes the
attempt to explain the riddle of the dream and to trace the dream to
normal psychic operations. I had occasion to contrast there the manifest
and often peculiar dream-content with the latent but altogether real
thoughts of the dream from which it originated, and I took up the
investigation of the processes which make the dream from the latent
dream-thought. I also investigated the psychological forces which
participated in this transposition. The sum of the transforming
processes I designated as the dream-work and, as a part of this
dream-work, I described the process of condensation. This process has a
striking similarity to the technique of wit and, like the latter, it
leads to abbreviations and brings about substitutive formations of like
character.
From recollections of his own dreams the reader will be familiar with
the compositions of persons and objects that appear in them; indeed, the
dream makes similar compositions of words which can then be reduced by
analysis (e.g., Autodidasker—Autodidakt and Lasker[21]). On other
occasions and even much more frequently, the condensation work of the
dream produces no compositions, but pictures which closely resemble an
object or person up to a certain addition or variation which comes from
another source, like the modifications in the witticisms of Mr. N. We
cannot doubt that in this case, as in the other, we deal with a similar
psychic process which is recognizable by identical results. Such a
far-reaching analogy between wit-technique and dream-work will surely
arouse our interest in the former and stimulate our expectation of
finding some explanation of wit from a comparison with the dream. We
forbear, however, to enter upon this work by bearing in mind that we
have investigated the technique of wit in only a very small number of
witty jests, so that we cannot be certain that the analogy, the workings
of which we wish to explore, will hold good. Hence we turn away from the
comparison with the dream and again take up the technique of wit,
leaving, however, at this place of our investigation a visible thread,
as it were, which later we shall take up again.
_Wit Formed by Word-division_
The next point we shall discuss is whether the process of condensation
with substitutive formation is demonstrable in all witticisms so that it
may be designated as a universal character of the technique of wit. I
recall a joke which has clung to my mind through certain peculiar
circumstances. One of the great teachers of my youth, whom we considered
unable to appreciate a joke—he had never told us a single joke of his
own—came into the Institute laughing. With an unwonted readiness he
explained the cause of his good humor. “I have read an excellent joke,”
he said. “_A young man who claimed to be a relative of the great J. J.
Rousseau, and who bore his name, was introduced into a Parisian
drawing-room. It should be added that he was decidedly red-headed. He
behaved in such an awkward manner that the hostess ventured this
criticism to the gentleman who had introduced him—‘Vous m’avez fait
connaître un jeune homme roux et sot, mais non pas un Rousseau.’_”
At this point our teacher started to laugh again. According to the
nomenclature of our authors this is sound-wit and a poor kind at that,
since it plays with a proper name.
But what is the technique of this wit? It is quite clear that the
character which we had perhaps hoped to demonstrate universally leaves
us in the lurch in the first new example. Here there is no omission and
scarcely an abbreviation. In the witticism the lady expresses almost
everything that we can ascribe to the thoughts. “You have made me look
forward to meeting a relative of J. J. Rousseau. I expected that he was
perhaps even mentally related to him. Imagine my surprise to find this
red-haired foolish boy, a _roux et sot_.” To be sure, I was able to add
and insert something, but this attempt at reduction does not annul the
wit. It remains fixed and attached to the sound similarity of
Rousseau.
————————
roux sot
This proves that condensation with substitution plays no part in the
production of this witticism.
With what else do we have to deal? New attempts at reduction taught me
that the joke will persistently continue until the name Rousseau is
replaced by another. If, e.g., I substitute the name Racine for it I
find that although the lady’s criticism is just as feasible as before it
immediately loses every trace of wit. Now I know where I can look for
the technique of this joke although I still hesitate to formulate it. I
shall make the following attempt: The technique of the witticism lies in
the fact that one and the same word—the name—is used in a twofold
application, once as a whole and once divided into its syllables like a
charade.
I can mention a few examples of identical technique. A witticism of this
sort was utilized by an Italian lady to avenge a tactless remark made to
her by the first Napoleon. Pointing to her compatriots at a court ball
he said: “_Tutti gli Italian danzano si male_” (all Italians dance so
badly). To which she quickly replied: _“Non tutti, ma buona parte”_ (Not
all, but a great many)—
Buona parte.[22]
————————————
Buonaparte.
Brill reports still another example in which the wit depends on the
twofold application of a name: “_Hood once remarked that he had to be a
lively Hood for a livelihood._”[23]
At one time when Antigone was produced in Berlin a critic found that the
presentation entirely lacked the character of antiquity. The wits of
Berlin incorporated this criticism in the following manner: “_Antique?
Oh, nay_” (Th. Vischer and K. Fischer).
_Manifold Application of the Same Material_
In these examples, which will suffice for this species of wit, the
technique is the same. A name is made use of twice; first, as a whole,
and then divided into its syllables—and in their divided state the
syllables yield a different meaning.[24] The manifold application of the
same word, once as a whole and then as the component syllables into
which it divides itself, was the first case that came to our attention
in which technique deviated from that of condensation. Upon brief
reflection, however, we must divine from the abundance of examples that
come to us that the newly discovered technique can hardly be limited to
this single means. Obviously there are any number of hitherto unobserved
possibilities for one to utilize the same word or the same material of
words in manifold application _in one sentence_. May not all these
possibilities furnish technical means for wit? It would seem so, judging
by the following examples.
“_Two witty statesmen, X and Y, met at a dinner. X, acting as
toastmaster, introduced Y as follows: ‘My friend, Y, is a very wonderful
man. All you have to do is to open his mouth, put in a dinner, and a
speech appears, etc.’ Responding to the speaker, Y said: ‘My friend, the
toastmaster, told you what a wonderful man I am, that all you have to do
is to open my mouth, put in a dinner, and a speech appears. Now let me
tell you what a wonderful man he is. All you have to do is open
anybody’s mouth, put in his speech, and the dinner appears.’_”[25]
In examples of this sort, one can use the same material of words and
simply change slightly their order. The slighter the change, the more
one gets the impression that different sense was expressed with the same
words, the better is the technical means of wit. And how simple are the
means of its production! “_Put in a dinner and a speech appears—put in a
speech and a dinner appears._” This is really nothing but an exchange of
places of these two phrases whereby what was said of Y becomes
differentiated from what is said of X. To be sure, this is not the whole
technique of the joke.[26]
Great latitude is afforded the technique of wit if one so extends the
“_manifold application of the same material_” that the word—or the
words—upon which the wit depends may be used first unchanged and then
with a slight modification. An example is another joke of Mr. N. He
heard a gentleman, who himself was born a Jew, utter a malicious
statement about Jewish character. “Mr. Councilor,” said he, “I am
familiar with your _antesemitism_, but your _antisemitism_ is new to
me.”
Here only one single letter is changed, the modification of which could
hardly be noticed in careless pronunciation. This example reminds one of
the other modification jokes of Mr. N., but it differs from them in
lacking the condensation. Everything that was to be said has been told
in the joke. “I know that you yourself were formerly a Jew, therefore I
am surprised that you should rail against the Jew.”
An excellent example of such wit modification is also the familiar
exclamation: “_Traduttore—Traditore_.”[27]
The similarity between the two words, almost approaching identity,
results in a very impressive representation of the inevitability by
which a translator becomes a transgressor—in the eyes of the author.
The manifoldness of slight modifications possible in these jokes is so
great that none is quite similar to the other. Here is a joke which is
supposed to have arisen at an examination for the degree of law. The
candidate was translating a passage from the Corpus juris, “_Labeo
ait_.” “‘I fall (fail),’ says he,” volunteered the candidate. “‘You fall
(fail),’ says I,” replied the examiner and the examination ended.
Whoever mistakes the name of the celebrated Jurist for a word to which
he attaches a false meaning certainly deserves nothing better. But the
technique of the witticism lies in the fact that the examiner used
almost the same words in punishing the applicant which the latter used
to prove his ignorance. Besides, the joke is an example of repartee
whose technique, as we shall see, is closely allied to the one just
mentioned.
Words are plastic and may be moulded into almost any shape. There are
some words which have lost their true original meaning in certain usages
which they still enjoy in other applications. In one of Lichtenberg’s
jokes just those conditions have been sought for in which the nuances of
the wordings have removed their basic meaning.
_“How goes it?” asked the blind of the lame one. “As you see,” replied
the lame one to the blind._
Language is replete with words which taken in one sense are full of
meaning and in another are colorless. There may be two different
derivatives from the same root, one of which may develop into a word
with a full meaning while the other may become a colorless suffix or
prefix, and yet both may have the same sound. The similarity of sound
between a word having full meaning and one whose meaning is colorless
may also be accidental. In both cases the technique of wit can make use
of such relationship of the speech material. The following examples
illustrate some of these points.
“_Do you call a man kind who remits nothing to his family while away?_”
asked an actor. “_Call that kindness?_” “_Yes, unremitting kindness_,”
was the reply of Douglas Jerrold. The wit here depends on the first
syllable _un_ of the word _unremitting_. Un is usually a prefix denoting
“not,” but by adding it to “remitting” a new relationship is
unexpectedly established which changes the meaning of the context. “_An
undertaker is one who always carries out what he undertakes._” The
striking character upon which the wit here depends is the manifold
application of the words _undertaker_ and _carry out_. Undertaker
commonly denotes one who manages funerals. Only when taken in this sense
and using the words _carry out_ literally is the sentence witty. The wit
lies in the manifold application of the same words.
_Double Meaning and Play on Words_
If we delve more deeply into the variety of “manifold application” of
the same word we suddenly notice that we are confronted with forms of
“double meaning” or “plays on words” which have been known a long time
and which are universally acknowledged as belonging to the technique of
wit. Then why have we bothered our brains about discovering something
new when we could just as well have gleaned it from the most superficial
treatise on wit? We can say in self-defense only that we are presenting
another side of the same phenomena of verbal expressions. What the
authors call the “playful” character of wit we treat from the point of
view of “manifold application.”
Further examples of manifold application which may also be designated
under a new and third group, the class of double meaning, may be divided
into subdivisions. These, to be sure, are not essentially differentiated
from one another any more than the whole third group from the second. In
the first place we have:
(a) Cases of double meaning of a name and its verbal significance: e.g.,
“_Discharge thyself of our company, Pistol_” (_Henry IV_, Act II). “_For
Suffolk’s duke may he suffocate_” (_Henry IV_, Act I). Heine says,
“_Here in Hamburg rules not the rascally Macbeth, but Banko_ (Banquo).”
In those cases where the unchanged name cannot be used,—one might say
“misused,”—one can get a double meaning by means of familiar slight
modifications: “_Why have the French rejected Lohengrin?_” was a
question asked some time ago. The answer was, “_On Elsa’s_ (Alsace)
_account._”
(b) Cases where a double meaning is obtained by using a word which has
both a verbal and metaphoric sense furnish an abundant source for the
technique of wit. A medical colleague, who was well known for his wit,
once said to Arthur Schnitzler, the writer: “_I am not at all surprised
that you became a great poet. Your father had already held up the mirror
to his contemporaries._” The mirror used by the father of the writer,
the famous Dr. Schnitzler, was the laryngoscope. According to the
well-known quotation from _Hamlet_ (Act III, Scene 2), the object of the
play as well as the writer who creates it is to “hold, as’t were, the
mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own
image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”
(c) Cases of actual double meaning or play on words—the ideal case, as
it were, of manifold application. Here no violence is done to the word.
It is not torn into syllables. It need not undergo any modifications. It
need not exchange its own particular sphere, say as a proper name, for
another. Thanks to certain circumstances it can express two meanings
just as it stands in the structure of the sentence. Many examples are at
our disposal.
One of the first royal acts of the last Napoleon was, as is well known,
the confiscation of the estates belonging to the House of Orleans.
“_C’est le premier vol de l’aigle_” was an excellent play on words
current at that time. “Vol” means both flight and theft. Louis XV wished
to test the wit of one of his courtiers whose talent in that direction
he had heard about. He seized his first opportunity to command the
cavalier to concoct a joke at his (the king’s) expense. He wanted to be
the “subject” of the witticism. The courtier answered him with the
clever _bonmot_, “_Le roi n’est pas sujet._” “Subject” also means
“vassal.” (Taken from K. Fischer.)
_A physician, leaving the sick-bed of a wife, whose husband accompanied
him, exclaimed doubtfully: “I do not like her looks.” “I have not liked
her looks for a long time,” was the quick rejoinder of the husband._ The
physician, of course, referred to the condition of the wife, but he
expressed his apprehension about the patient in such words as to afford
the husband the means of utilizing them to assert his conjugal aversion.
Concerning a satirical comedy Heine remarked: “_This satire would not
have been so biting had the author of it had more to bite._” This jest
is a better example of metaphoric and common double meaning than of real
play upon words, but at present we are not concerned about such strict
lines of demarcation. _Charles Matthews, the elder, one of England’s
greatest actors, was asked what he was going to do with his son_ (the
young man was destined for architecture). “_Why_,” answered the
comedian, “_he is going to draw houses like his father_.” _Foote once
asked a man why he forever sang one tune. “Because it haunts me,”
replied the man. “No wonder,” said Foote, “you are continually murdering
it.”_ Said the Dyspeptic Philosopher: “_One swallow doesn’t make a
summer, nor quench the thirst._”
_A gentleman had shown much ingenuity in evading a notorious borrower
whom he had sent away many times with the request to call when he was
“in.” One day, however, the borrower eluded the servant at the door and
cornered his victim._
_“Ah,” said the host, seeing there was no way out of it, “at last I am
in.”_
_“No,” returned the borrower in anticipation, “at last I am in and you
are out.”_
Heine said in the _Harzreise_: “_I cannot recall at the moment the names
of all the students, and among the professors there are some who have no
name as yet._”
Dr. Johnson said of the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, which was
poor in purse, but prolific in the distribution of its degrees: “_Let it
persevere in its present plan and it may become rich_ by degrees.” Here
the wit depends more on the manifold application than on the play on
words.
The keen-witted writer, Horatio Winslow, sums up the only too-familiar
history of some American families as follows:
A TALE OF TWO AMERICAN GENERATIONS
_Gold Mine
Gold Spoon
Gold Cure_
The last couplet, gold cure, refers to the familiar cure for alcoholism.
This wit is an excellent example of unification—everything is, as it
were, of gold. The manifold meanings of the adjective which do not very
strikingly contrast with one another make possible this “manifold
application.”
_Ambiguity_
Another play on words will facilitate the transition to a new
subdivision of the technique of double meaning. The witty colleague who
was responsible for the joke mentioned on page 42 is likewise
responsible for this joke, current during the trial of Dreyfus:
“_This girl reminds me of Dreyfus. The army does not believe in her
innocence._”
The word innocence, whose double meaning furnishes the basis of the
witticism, has in one connection the customary meaning which is the
opposite of guilt or transgression, while in the other connection it has
a sexual sense, the opposite of which is sexual experience. There are
very many such examples of double meaning and in each one the point of
the joke refers especially to a sexual sense. The group could be
designated as “ambiguous.” _A good example to illustrate this is the
story told of a wealthy but elderly gentleman who showed his devotion to
a young actress by many lavish gifts. Being a respectable girl she took
the first opportunity to discourage his attentions by telling him that
her heart was already given to another man. “I never aspired as high as
that,” was his polite answer._
If one compares this example of double-meaning-with-ambiguity with other
examples one cannot help noticing a difference which is not altogether
inconsequential to the technique. In the joke about “innocence” one
meaning of the word is just as good for our understanding of it as the
other. One can really not decide whether the sexual or non-sexual
significance of the word is more applicable and more familiar. But it is
different with the other example mentioned. Here the final sense of the
words, “I never aspired as high as that,” is by far more obtrusive and
covers and conceals, as it were, the sexual sense which could easily
escape the unsuspecting person. In sharp contrast to this let us examine
another example of double meaning in which there is no attempt made to
veil its sexual significance—e.g., Heine’s characterization of a
complaisant lady: “_She could pass (abschlagen) nothing except her
water._” It sounds like an obscene joke and the wit in it is scarcely
noticed.[28] But the peculiarity that both senses of the double meaning
are not equally manifested can occur also in witticisms without sexual
reference providing that one sense is more common or that it is
preferred on account of its connection with the other parts of the
sentence (e.g., _c’est le premier vol de l’aigle_). All these examples I
propose to call double meaning with allusion.
We have by this time become familiar with such a large number of
different techniques of wit that I am afraid we may lose sight of them.
Let us, therefore, attempt to make a summary.
I. CONDENSATION
(a) with mixed word-formation.
(b) with modification.
II. THE APPLICATION OF THE SAME MATERIAL
(c) The whole and the part.
(d) Change of order.
(e) Slight modification.
(f) The same words used in their full or colorless sense.
III. DOUBLE MEANING
(g) Name and verbal significance.
(h) Metaphorical and verbal meaning.
(i) True double meaning (play on words).
(j) Ambiguous meaning.
(k) Double meaning with allusion.
This variety causes confusion. It might vex us because we have devoted
so much time to the consideration of the technical means of wit, and the
stress laid on the forms might possibly arouse our suspicions that we
are overvaluing their importance so far as the knowledge of the nature
of wit is concerned. But this conjecture is met by the one irrefutable
fact: namely, that each time the wit disappears as soon as we remove the
effect that was brought to expression by these techniques. We are thus
directed to search for the unity in this variety. It must be possible to
bring all these techniques under one head. As we have remarked before,
it is not difficult to unite the second and third groups, for the double
meaning, the play on words, is nothing but the ideal case of utilizing
the same material. The latter is here apparently the more comprehensive
conception. The examples of dividing, changing the order of the same
material, manifold application with slight modifications (c, d, e)—all
these could, without difficulty, be subordinated under the conception of
double meaning. But what community exists between the technique of the
first group—condensation with substitutive formation—and the two other
groups—manifold application of the same material?
_The Tendency to Economy_
It seems to me that this agreement is very simple and clear. The
application of the same material is only a special case of condensation
and the play on words is nothing but a condensation without substitutive
formation. Condensation thus remains as the chief category. A
compressing or—to be more exact—an economic tendency controls all these
techniques. As Prince Hamlet says: “Thrift, Horatio, thrift.” It seems
to be all a matter of economy.
Let us examine this economy in individual cases. “_C’est le premier vol
de l’aigle._” That is, the first flight of the eagle. Certainly, but it
is a depredatious flight. Luckily for the gist of this joke “vol”
signifies flight as well as depredation. Has nothing been condensed and
economized by this? Certainly, the entire second thought, and it was
dropped without any substitution. The double sense of the word “vol”
makes such substitution superfluous, or what is just as correct: The
word “vol” contains the substitution for the repressed thought without
the necessity of supplementing or varying the first sentence. Therein
consists the benefit of the double meaning.
Another example: _Gold mine_,—_gold spoon_, the enormous economy of
expression the single word “gold” produces. It really tells the history
of two generations in the life of some American families. The father
made his fortune through hard toiling in the gold fields during the
early pioneer days. The son was born with a golden spoon in his mouth;
having been brought up as the son of a wealthy man, he becomes a chronic
alcoholic and has to take the gold cure.
Thus there is no doubt that the condensation in these examples produces
economy and we shall demonstrate that the same is true in all cases.
Where is the economy in such jokes as “_Rousseau_—_roux et sot_,” or
“_Antigone_—_antique-oh-nay_” in which we first failed to find the prime
factors in causing us to establish the technique of the manifold
application of the same material? In these cases condensation will
naturally not cover the ground, but when we exchange it for the broader
conception of “economy” we find no difficulty. What we save in such
examples as those just given is quite obvious. We save ourselves the
trouble of making a criticism, of forming a judgment. Both are contained
in the names. The same is true in the “_livelihood_” example and the
others thus far analyzed. Where one does not save much is in the example
of “_I am in and you are out_,” at least the wording of a new answer is
saved. The wording of the address, “_I am in_,” serves also for the
answer. It is little, but in this little lies the wit. The manifold
application of the same words in addressing and answering surely comes
under the heading of economy. Note how Hamlet sums up the quick
succession of the death of his father and the marriage of his mother:
“the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.”
But before we accept the “tendency to economize” as the universal
character of wit and ask whence it originates, what it signifies, and
how it gives origin to the resultant pleasure, we shall concede a doubt
which may justly be considered. It may be true that every technique of
wit shows the tendency to economize in expression, but the relationship
is not reversible. Not every economy in expression or every brevity is
witty on that account. We once raised this question when we still hoped
to demonstrate the condensation process in every witticism and at that
we justly objected by remarking that a laconism is not necessarily wit.
Hence it must be a peculiar form of brevity and economy upon which the
character of the wit depends, and just as long as we are ignorant of
this peculiarity the discovery of the common element in the technique of
wit will bring us no nearer a solution. Besides, we have the courage to
acknowledge that the economies caused by the technique of wit do not
impress us as very much. They remind one of the manner in which many a
housewife economizes when she spends time and money to reach a distant
market because the vegetables can there be had a cent cheaper. What does
wit save by means of its technique? Instead of putting together a few
new words, which, for the most part, could have been accomplished
without any effort, it goes to the trouble of searching for the word
which comprises both ideas. Indeed, it must often at first transform the
expression of one of the ideas into an unusual form until it furnishes
an associative connection with the second thought. Would it not have
been simpler, easier, and really more economical to express both
thoughts as they happen to come even if no agreement in expression
results? Is not the economy in verbal expression more than abrogated
through the expenditure of intellectual work? And who economized through
it, whom does it benefit? We can temporarily circumvent these doubts by
leaving them unsolved until later on. Are we really familiar enough with
all the forms of techniques of wit? It will surely be safer to gather
new examples and submit them to analysis.
_Puns_
Indeed, we have not yet given consideration to one of the largest groups
into which the techniques of wit may be divided. In this we have perhaps
been influenced by the low estimate in which this form of wit is held.
It embraces those jokes which are commonly called “puns.” These are
generally counted as the lowest form of wit, perhaps because they are
“cheapest” and can be formed with the least effort. They really make the
least demands on the technique of expression just as the actual play on
words makes the most. Whereas in the latter both meanings find
expression in the identical word, and hence usually in a word used only
once, in the pun it is enough if two words for both meanings resemble
each other through some slight similarity in structure, in rhythmic
consonance, in the community of several vowels, or in some other similar
manner. The following examples illustrate these points:
“We are now fallen into that critical age wherein _censores_ liberorum
are become _censores librorum_: _Lectores_, _Lictores_.”
Professor Cromwell says that Rome in exchanging her religion changed
_Jupiter_ to _Jew Peter_.
_It is related that some students wishing to play a trick on Agassiz,
the great naturalist, constructed an insect made up of parts taken from
different bugs and sent it to him with the question, “What kind of a bug
is this?” His answer was “Humbug.”_
Puns are especially fond of modifying one of the vowels of the word;
e.g., Hevesi (_Almanaccando, Reisen in Italien_, p. 87) says of an
Italian poet who was hostile to the German emperor, but who was,
nevertheless, forced to sing his praises in his hexameters, “_Since he
could not exterminate the Cæsars he at least annihilated the cæsuras_.”
From the multitude of puns which are at our disposal it may be of
special interest to us to quote a really poor example for which Heine
(_Book Le Grand_, Chapter V) is responsible. _After parading for a long
time before his lady as an “Indian Prince” the suitor suddenly lays
aside his mask and confesses, “Madam, I have lied to you. I have never
been in Calcutta any more than that Calcutta roast which I relished
yesterday for lunch.”_ Obviously the fault of this witticism lies in the
fact that both words are not merely similar, but identical. The bird
which served as a roast for his lunch is called so because it comes
from, or at least is supposed to come from, the same city of Calcutta.
K. Fischer has given much attention to this form of wit and insists upon
making a sharp distinction between it and the “play on words” (p. 78).
“A pun,” he says, “is a bad play on words, for it does not play with the
word as a word, but merely as a sound.” The play on words, however,
“transfers itself from the sound of the word into the word itself.” On
the other hand, he also classifies such jokes as “famillionaire,
Antigone (Antique-Oh-nay),” etc., with sound-wit. I see no necessity to
follow him in this. In the plays on words, also, the word serves us only
as a sound to which this or that meaning attaches itself. Here also
usage of language makes no distinction, and when it treats “puns” with
disdain but the play on words with a certain respect it seems that these
estimations are determined by others as technical viewpoints. One should
bear in mind the forms of wit which are referred to as puns. There are
persons who have the ability, when they are in a high-spirited mood, to
reply with a pun for a long time to every sentence addressed to them.
Brill[29] relates that at a gathering some one spoke disparagingly of a
certain drama and wound up by saying, _“It was so poor that the first
act had to be rewritten.” “And now it is rerotten,” added the punster of
the gathering._
At all events we can already infer from the controversies about the line
of demarcation between puns and play on words that the former cannot aid
us in finding an entirely new technique of wit. Even if no claims are
made for the pun that it utilizes the manifold application of the same
material, the accent, nevertheless, falls upon the rediscovering of the
familiar and upon the agreement between both words forming the pun. Thus
the latter is only a subspecies of the group which reaches its height in
the real play on words.
_Displacements_
There are some witticisms, however, whose techniques baffle almost every
attempt to classify them under any of the groups so far investigated.
_It is related that while Heine and the poet Soulié were once chatting
together in a Parisian drawing-room, there entered one of those
Parisians whom one usually compared to Midas, but not alone on account
of their money. He was soon surrounded by a crowd which treated him with
the greatest deference. “Look over there,” said Soulié to Heine, “and
see how the nineteenth century is worshipping the Golden Calf.” Heine
cast one glance upon the object of adoration and replied, as if
correcting his friend: “Oh, he must be older than that”_ (K. Fischer, p.
82).
Wherein lies the technique of this excellent witticism? According to K.
Fischer it lies in the play on words. Thus, for example, he says, “the
words ‘Golden Calf’ may signify Mammon as well as idol-worship,—in the
first case the gold is paramount; in the second case it is the animal
picture. It may likewise serve to designate in a rather uncomplimentary
way one who has very much money and very little brains.” If we apply the
test and take away the expression “Golden Calf” we naturally also
abrogate the wit. We then cause Soulié to say, “Just see how the people
are thronging about that blockhead only because he is rich.” To be sure,
this is no longer witty. Nor would Heine’s answer be possible under
these circumstances. But let us remember that it is not at all a matter
of Soulié’s witty comparison, but of Heine’s retort, which is surely
much more witty. We have then no right to disturb the phrase “the golden
calf” which remains as a basis for Heine’s words and the reduction can
only be applied to the latter. If we dilate upon the words, “Oh, he must
be older than that,” we can only proceed as follows:
“Oh, he is no longer a calf; he is already a full-grown ox.” Heme’s wit
is therefore based on the fact that he no longer took the “golden calf”
metaphorically, but personally by referring it to the moneyed individual
himself. If this double meaning is not already contained in the opinion
of Soulié!
Let us see. We believe that we can state that this reduction has not
altogether destroyed Heine’s joke, but, on the contrary, it has left its
essential element untouched. It reads as if Soulié were now saying,
“Just see how the nineteenth century is worshipping the golden calf,”
and as if Heine were retorting, “Oh, he is no longer a calf. He is
already an ox.” And even in this reduced form it is still a witticism.
However, another reduction of Heine’s words is not possible.
It is a pity that this excellent example contains such complicated
technical conditions. And as it cannot aid us toward enlightenment we
shall leave it to search for another in which we imagine we can perceive
a relationship with the former one.
It is a “bath” joke treating of the dread which some Jews are said to
have for bathing. We demand no patent of nobility for our examples nor
do we make inquiries about their origin. The only qualifications we
require are that they should make us laugh and serve our theoretical
interest. It is to be remarked that both these demands are satisfied
best by Jewish jokes.
_Two Jews meet near a bathing establishment. “Have you taken a bath?”
asked one. “How is that?” replies the other. “Is one missing?”_
When one laughs very heartily about a joke he is not in the best mood to
investigate its technique. It is for this reason that some difficulties
are experienced in delving into their analyses. “That is a comic
misunderstanding” is the thought that comes to us. Yes, but how about
the technique of this joke? Obviously the technique lies in the double
meaning of the word _take_. In the first case the word is used in a
colorless idiomatic sense, while in the second it is the verb in its
full meaning. It is, therefore, a case where the same word is taken now
in the “full” and now in the “empty” sense (Group II, f). And if we
replace the expression “take a bath” by the simpler equivalent “bathed”
the wit disappears. The answer is no longer fitting. The joke,
therefore, lies in the expression “take a bath.”
This is quite correct, yet it seems that in this case, also, the
reduction was applied in the wrong place, for the joke does not lie in
the question, but in the answer, or rather in the counter question: “How
is that? Is there one missing?” Provided the same is not destroyed the
answer cannot be robbed of its wit by any dilation or variation. We also
get the impression that in the answer of the second Jew the overlooking
of the bath is more significant than the misconception of the word
“take.” However, here, too, things do not look quite clear and we will,
therefore, look for a third example.
Once more we shall resort to a Jewish joke in which, however, the Jewish
element is incidental only. Its essence is universally human. It is true
that this example, too, contains undesirable complications, but luckily
they are not of the kind so far which have kept us from seeing clearly.
_In his distress a needy man borrowed twenty-five dollars from a wealthy
acquaintance. The same day he was discovered by his creditor in a
restaurant eating a dish of salmon with mayonnaise. The creditor
reproached him in these words: “You borrow money from me and then order
salmon with mayonnaise. Is that what you needed the money for?” “I don’t
understand you,” responded the debtor, “when I have no money I can’t eat
salmon with mayonnaise. When I have money I mustn’t eat it. Well then,
when shall I ever eat salmon with mayonnaise?”_
Here we no longer discover any double meaning. Even the repetition of
the words “salmon with mayonnaise” cannot contain the technique of the
witticism, as it is not the “manifold application of the same material,”
but an actual, identical repetition required by the context. We may be
temporarily nonplussed in this analysis, and, as a pretext, we may wish
to dispute the character of the wit in the anecdote which causes us to
laugh. What else worthy of notice can be said about the answer of the
poor man? It may be supposed that the striking thing about it is its
logical character, but, as a matter of fact, the answer is illogical.
The debtor endeavors to justify himself for spending the borrowed money
on luxuries and asks, with some semblance of right, when he is to be
allowed to eat salmon. But this is not at all the correct answer. The
creditor does not blame him for eating salmon on the day that he
borrowed the money, but reminds him that in his condition he has no
right to think of such luxuries at all. The poor _bon vivant_ disregards
this only possible meaning of the reproach, centers his answer about
another point, and acts as if he did not understand the reproach.
Is it possible that the technique of this joke lies in this deviation of
the answer from the sense of reproach? A similar changing of the
viewpoint—displacement of the psychic accent—may perhaps also be
demonstrated in the two previous examples which we felt were related to
this one. This can be successfully shown and solves the technique of
these examples. Soulié calls Heine’s attention to the fact that society
worships the “golden calf” in the nineteenth century just as the Jewish
nation once did in the desert. To this an answer from Heine like the
following would seem fit: “Yes, that is human nature. Centuries have
changed nothing in it;” or he might have remarked something equally
apposite. But Heine deviates in his manner from the instigated thought.
Indeed, he does not answer at all. He makes use of the double meaning
found in the phrase “golden calf” to go off at a tangent. He seizes upon
one of the components of the phrase, namely, “the calf,” and answers as
if Soulié’s speech placed the emphasis on it—“Oh, he is no longer a
calf, etc.”[30]
The deviation is much more evident in the bath joke. This example
requires a graphic representation. The first Jew asks, “Have you taken a
_bath_?” The emphasis lies upon the bath element. The second answers as
if the query were: “Have you _taken_ a bath?” The displacement would
have been impossible if the question had been: “Have you bathed?” The
witless answer would have been: “Bathed? What do you mean? I don’t know
what that means.” However, the technique of the wit lies in the
displacement of the emphasis from “to bathe” to “to take.”[31]
Let us return to the example “salmon with mayonnaise,” which is the
purest of its kind. What is new in it will direct us into various paths.
In the first place we have to give the mechanism of this newly
discovered technique. I propose to designate it as having _displacement_
for its most essential element. The deviation of the trend of thought
consists in displacing the psychic accent to another than the original
theme. It is then incumbent upon us to find out the relationship of the
technique of displacement to the expression of the witticism. Our
example (salmon with mayonnaise) shows us that the displacement
technique is absolutely independent of the verbal expression. It does
not depend upon words, but upon the mental trend, and to abrogate it we
are not helped by substitution so long as the sense of the answer is
adhered to. The reduction is possible only when we change the mental
trend and permit the gastronomist to answer directly to the reproach
which he eluded in the conception of the joke. The reduced conception
will then be: “What I like I cannot deny myself, and it is all the same
to me where I get the money for it. Here you have my explanation as to
why I happen to be eating salmon with mayonnaise to-day just after you
have loaned me some money.” But that would not be witticism but a
_cynicism_. It will be instructive to compare this joke with one which
is closely allied to it in meaning.
_A man who was addicted to drink supported himself in a small city by
giving lessons. His vice gradually became known and he lost most of his
pupils in consequence. A friend of his took it upon himself to admonish
him to reform. “Look here,” he said, “you could have the best scholars
in town if you would give up drinking. Why not do it?” “What are you
talking about?” was the indignant reply. “I am giving lessons in order
to be able to drink. Shall I give up drinking in order to obtain
scholars?”_
This joke, too, carries the stamp of logic which we have noted in the
case of “salmon with mayonnaise,” but it is no longer displacement-wit.
The answer is a direct one. The cynicism, which is veiled there, is
openly admitted here, “For me drink is the most important thing.” The
technique of this witticism is really very poor and cannot explain its
effect. It lies merely in the change in order of the same material, or
to be more exact, in the reversal of the means-and-end relationship
between drink and giving lessons or getting scholars. As I gave no
greater emphasis in the reduction to this factor of the expression the
witticism is somewhat blurred; it may be expressed as follows: “What a
senseless demand to make. For me, drink is the most important thing and
not the scholars. Giving lessons is only a means towards more drink.”
The wit is really dependent upon the expression.
In the bath wit, the dependence of the witticism upon the wording “have
you taken a bath” is unmistakable and a change in the wording nullifies
the joke. The technique in this case is quite complicated. It is a
combination of double meaning (sub-group f) and displacement. The
wording of the question admits a double meaning. The joke arises from
the fact that the answer is given not in the sense expected by the
questioner, but has a different subordinate sense. By making the
displacement retrogressive we are accordingly in position to find a
reduction which leaves the double meaning in the expression and still
does away with the wit.
_“Have you taken a bath?” “Taken what? A bath? What is that?”_ But that
is no longer a witticism. It is simply either a spiteful or playful
exaggeration.
In Heme’s joke about the “golden calf” the double meaning plays a quite
similar part. It makes it possible for the answer to deviate from the
instigated stream of thought—a thing which happens in the joke about
“salmon and mayonnaise”—without any such dependence upon the wording. In
the reduction Soulié’s speech and Heine’s answer would be as follows:
“It reminds one very much of the worship of the golden calf when one
sees the people throng around that man simply because he is rich.”
Heine’s answer would be: “That he is made so much of on account of his
wealth is not the worst part. You do not emphasize enough the fact that
his ignorance is forgiven on account of his wealth.” Thus, while the
double meaning would be retained the displacement-wit would be
eliminated.
Here we may be prepared for the objection which might be raised, namely,
that we are seeking to tear asunder these delicate differentiations
which really belong together. Does not every double meaning furnish
occasion for displacement and for a deviation of the stream of thought
from one sense to another? And shall we agree that a “double meaning”
and “displacement” should be designated as representatives of two
entirely different types of wit? It is true that a relation between
double meaning and displacement actually exists, but it has nothing to
do with our differentiation of the techniques of wit. In cases of double
meaning the wit contains nothing but a word capable of several
interpretations which allows the hearer to find the transition from one
thought to another, and which with a little forcing may be compared to a
displacement. In the cases of displacement-wit, however, the witticism
itself contains a stream of thought in which the displacement is brought
about. Here the displacement belongs to the work which is necessary for
its understanding. Should this differentiation not be clear to us we can
make use of the reduction method, which is an unfailing way for tangible
demonstration. We do not deny, however, that there is something in this
objection. It calls our attention to the fact that we cannot confuse the
psychic processes in the formation of wit (the wit-work) with the
psychic processes in the conception of the wit (the understanding-work).
The object of our present investigation will be confined only to the
former.[32]
Are there still other examples of the technique of displacement? They
are not easily found, but the following witticism is a very good
specimen. It also shows a lack of overemphasized logic found in our
former examples.
_A horse-dealer in recommending a saddle horse to his client said: “If
you mount this horse at four o’clock in the morning you will be in
Monticello at six-thirty in the morning.” “What will I do in Monticello
at six-thirty in the morning?” asked the client._
Here the displacement is very striking. The horse-dealer mentions the
early arrival in the small city only with the obvious intention of
proving the efficiency of the horse. The client disregards the capacity
of the animal, about which he evidently has no more doubts, and takes up
only the data of the example selected for the test. The reduction of
this joke is comparatively simple.
More difficulties are encountered by another example, the technique of
which is very obscure. It can be solved, however, through the
application of double meaning with displacement. The joke relates the
subterfuge employed by a “schadchen” (Jewish marriage broker). It
belongs to a class which will claim more of our attention later.
_The “schadchen” had assured the suitor that the father of the girl was
no longer living. After the engagement had been announced the news
leaked out that the father was still living and serving a sentence in
prison. The suitor reproached the agent for deceiving him. “Well,” said
the latter, “what did I tell you? Do you call that living?”_
The double meaning lies in the word “living,” and the displacement
consists in the fact that the “schadchen” avoids the common meaning of
the word, which is a contrast to “death,” and uses it in the colloquial
sense: “You don’t call that living.” In doing this he explains his
former utterance as a double meaning, although this manifold application
is here quite out of place. Thus far the technique resembles that of the
“golden calf” and the “bath” jokes. Here, however, another factor comes
into consideration which disturbs the understanding of the technique
through its obtrusiveness. One might say that this joke is a
“characterization-wit.” It endeavors to illustrate by example the
marriage agent’s characteristic admixture of mendacious impudence and
repartee. We shall learn that this is only the “show-side” of the façade
of the witticism, that is, its sense. Its object serves a different
purpose. We shall also defer our attempt at reduction.[33]
After these complicated examples, which are not at all easy to analyze,
it will be gratifying to find a perfectly pure and transparent example
of “displacement-wit.” _A beggar implored the help of a wealthy baron
for a trip to Ostend, where he asserted the physicians had ordered him
to take sea baths for his health. “Very well, I shall assist you,” said
the rich baron, “but is it absolutely necessary for you to go to Ostend,
which is the most expensive of all watering-places?” “Sir,” was the
reproving reply, “nothing is too expensive for my health.”_ Certainly
that is a proper attitude, but hardly proper for the supplicant. The
answer is given from the viewpoint of a rich man. The beggar acts as if
it were his own money that he was willing to sacrifice for his health,
as if money and health concerned the _same_ person.
_Nonsense as a Technical Means_
Let us take up again in this connection the instructive example of
“salmon with mayonnaise.” It also presents to us a side in which we
noticed a striking display of logical work and we have learned from
analyzing it that this logic concealed an error of thought, namely, a
displacement of the stream of thought. Henceforth, even if only by way
of contrast association, we shall be reminded of other jokes which, on
the contrary, present clearly something contradictory, something
nonsensical, or foolish. We shall be curious to discover wherein the
technique of the witticism lies. I shall first present the strongest and
at the same time the purest example of the entire group. Once more it is
a Jewish joke.
_Ike was serving in the artillery corps. He was seemingly an intelligent
lad, but he was unwieldy and had no interest in the service. One of his
superiors, who was kindly disposed toward him, drew him aside and said
to him: “Ike, you are out of place among us. I would advise you to buy a
cannon and make yourself independent.”_
The advice, which makes us laugh heartily, is obvious nonsense. There
are no cannon to be bought and an individual cannot possibly make
himself independent as a fighting force or establish himself, as it
were. One cannot remain one minute in doubt but that this advice is not
pure nonsense, but witty nonsense and an excellent joke. By what means
does the nonsense become a witticism?
We need not meditate very long. From the discussions of the authors in
the Introduction we can guess that sense lurks in such witty nonsense,
and that this sense in nonsense transforms nonsense into wit. In our
example the sense is easily found. The officer who gives the
artilleryman, Ike, the nonsensical advice pretends to be stupid in order
to show Ike how stupidly he is acting. He imitates Ike as if to say, “I
will now give you some advice which is exactly as stupid as you are.” He
enters into Ike’s stupidity and makes him conscious of it by making it
the basis of a proposition which must meet with Ike’s wishes, for if Ike
owned a cannon and took up the art of warfare on his own account, of
what advantage would his intelligence and ambition be to him? How would
he take care of the cannon and acquaint himself with its mechanism in
order to meet the competition of other possessors of cannon?
I am breaking off the analysis of this example to show the same sense in
nonsense in a shorter and simpler, though less glaring case of
nonsense-wit.
“_Never to be born would be best for mortal man._” “_But_,” added the
sages of the _Fliegende Blätter_, “_hardly one man in a hundred thousand
has this luck_.”
The modern appendix to the ancient philosophical saying is pure
nonsense, and becomes still more stupid through the addition of the
seemingly careful “hardly.” But this appendix in attaching itself to the
first sentence incontestably and correctly limits it. It can thus open
our eyes to the fact that that piece of wisdom so reverently scanned, is
neither more nor less than sheer nonsense. He who is not born of woman
is not mortal; for him there exists no “good” and no “best.” The
nonsense of the joke, therefore, serves here to expose and present
another bit of nonsense as in the case of the artilleryman. Here I can
add a third example which, owing to its context, scarcely deserves a
detailed description. It serves, however, to illustrate the use of
nonsense in wit in order to represent another element of nonsense.
_A man about to go upon a journey intrusted his daughter to his friend,
begging him to watch over her chastity during his absence. When he
returned some months later he found that she was pregnant. Naturally he
reproached his friend. The latter alleged that he could not explain this
unfortunate occurrence. “Where has she been sleeping?” the father
finally asked. “In the same room with my son,” replied the friend. “How
is it that you allowed her to sleep in the same room with your son after
I had begged you so earnestly to take good care of her?” remonstrated
the father. “Well,” explained the friend, “there was a screen between
them. There was your daughter’s bed and over there was my son’s bed and
between them stood the screen.” “And suppose he went behind the screen?
What then?” asked the parent. “Well, in that case,” rejoined the friend
thoughtfully, “it might be possible.”_
In this joke—aside from the other qualities of this poor witticism—we
can easily get the reduction. Obviously, it would read like this: “You
have no right to reproach me. How could you be so foolish as to leave
your daughter in a house where she must live in the constant
companionship of a young man? As if it were possible for a stranger to
be responsible for the chastity of a maiden under such circumstances!”
The seeming stupidity of the friend here also serves as a reflection of
the stupidity of the father. By means of the reduction we have
eliminated the nonsense contained in the witticism as well as the
witticism itself. We have not gotten rid of the “nonsense” element
itself, as it finds another place in the context of the sentence after
it has been reduced to its true meaning.
We can now also attempt the reduction of the joke about the cannon. The
officer might have said: “I know, Ike, that you are an intelligent
business man, but I must tell you that you are very stupid if you do not
realize that one cannot act in the army as one does in business, where
each one is out for himself and competes with the other. Military
service demands subordination and co-operation.”
The technique of the nonsense-witticisms hitherto discussed really
consists in advancing something apparently absurd or nonsensical which,
however, discloses a sense serving to illustrate and represent some
other actual absurdity and nonsense.
Has the employment of contradiction in the technique of wit always this
meaning? Here is another example which answers this affirmatively. On an
occasion when Phocion’s speech was applauded he turned to his friends
and asked: “_Did I say something foolish?_”
This question seems paradoxical, but we immediately comprehend its
meaning. “What have I said that has pleased this stupid crowd? I ought
really to be ashamed of the applause, for if it appealed to these fools,
it could not have been very clever after all.”
Other examples teach us that absurdity is used very often in the
technique of wit without serving at all the purpose of uncovering
another piece of nonsense.
_A well-known university teacher who was wont to spice richly with jokes
his rather dry specialty was once congratulated upon the birth of his
youngest son, who was bestowed upon him at a rather advanced age. “Yes,”
said he to the well-wishers, “it is remarkable what mortal hands can
accomplish.”_ This reply seems especially meaningless and out of place,
for children are called the blessings of God to distinguish them from
creations of mortal hands. But it soon dawns upon us that this answer
has a meaning and an obscene one at that. The point in question is not
that the happy father wishes to appear stupid in order to make something
else or some other persons appear stupid. The seemingly senseless answer
causes us astonishment. It puzzles us, as the authors would have it. We
have seen that the authors deduce the entire mechanism of such jokes
from the change of the succession of “clearness and confusion.” We shall
try to form an opinion about this later. Here we content ourselves by
remarking that the technique of this witticism consists in advancing
such confusing and senseless elements.
An especially peculiar place among the nonsense-jokes is assumed by this
joke of Lichtenberg.
“_He was surprised that the two holes were cut in the pelts of cats just
where their eyes were located._” It is certainly foolish to be surprised
about something that is obvious in itself, something which is really the
explanation of an identity. It reminds one of a seriously intended
utterance of Michelet (_The Woman_) which, as I remember it, runs as
follows: “_How beautifully everything is arranged by nature. As soon as
the child comes into the world it finds a mother who is ready to care
for it._” This utterance of Michelet is really silly, but the one of
Lichtenberg is a witticism, which makes use of the absurdity for some
purpose. There is something behind it. What? At present that is
something we cannot discuss.
_Sophistic Faulty Thinking_
We have learned from two groups of examples that the wit-work makes use
of deviations from normal thought, namely, _displacement_ and
_absurdity_, as technical means of presenting witty expressions. It is
only just to expect that other faulty thinking may find a similar
application. Indeed, a few examples of this sort can be cited.
_A gentleman entered a shop and ordered a fancy cake, which, however, he
soon returned, asking for some liqueur in its stead. He drank the
liqueur, and was about to leave without paying for it. The shopkeeper
held him back. “What do you want of me?” he asked. “Please pay for the
liqueur,” said the shopkeeper. “But I have given you the fancy cake for
it.” “Yes, but you have not paid for that either.” “Well, neither have I
eaten it.”_
This little story also bears the semblance of logic which we already
know as the suitable façade for faulty thinking. The error, obviously,
lies in the fact that the cunning customer establishes a connection
between the return of the fancy cake and its exchange for the liqueur, a
connection which really does not exist. The state of affairs may be
divided into two processes which as far as the shopkeeper is concerned
are independent of each other. He first took the fancy cake and returned
it, so that he owes nothing for it. He then took the liqueur, for which
he owes money. One might say that the customer uses the relation “for
it” in a double sense, or, to speak more correctly, by means of a double
sense he forms a relation which does not hold in reality.[34]
The opportunity now presents itself for making a not unimportant
confession. We are here busying ourselves with an investigation of
technique of wit by means of examples, and we ought to be sure that the
examples which we have selected are really true witticisms. The facts
are, however, that in a series of cases we fall into doubt as to whether
or not the example in question may be called a joke. We have no
criterion at our disposal before investigation itself furnishes one.
Usage of language is unreliable and is itself in need of examination for
its authority. To decide the question we can rely on nothing else but a
certain “feeling,” which we may interpret by saying that in our judgment
the decision follows certain criteria which are not yet accessible to
our knowledge. We shall naturally not appeal to this “feeling” for
substantial proof. In the case of the last-mentioned example we cannot
help doubting whether we may present it as a witticism, as a sophistical
witticism, or merely as a sophism. The fact is that we do not yet know
wherein the character of wit lies.
On the other hand the following example, which evinces, as it were, the
complementary faulty thinking, is a witticism without any doubt. Again
it is a story of a marriage agent. _The agent is defending the girl he
has proposed against the attacks of her prospective fiancé. “The
mother-in-law does not suit me,” the latter remarks. “She is a crabbed,
foolish person.” “That’s true,” replies the agent, “but you are not
going to marry the mother-in-law, but the daughter.” “Yes, but she is no
longer young, and she is not pretty, either.” “That’s nothing: if she is
not young or pretty you can trust her all the more.” “But she hasn’t
much money.” “Why talk of money? Are you going to marry money? You want
a wife, don’t you?” “But she is a hunchback.” “Well, what of that? Do
you expect her to have no blemishes at all?”_
It is really a question of an ugly girl who is no longer young, who has
a paltry dowry and a repulsive mother, and who is besides equipped with
a pretty bad deformity, relations which are not at all inviting to
matrimony. The marriage agent knows how to present each individual fault
in a manner to cause one to become reconciled to it, and then takes up
the unpardonable hunch back as the one fault which can be excused in any
one. Here again there is the semblance of logic which is characteristic
of sophisms, and which serves to conceal the faulty thinking. It is
apparent that the girl possesses nothing but faults, many of which can
be overlooked, but one that cannot be passed by. The chances for the
marriage become very slim. The agent acts as if he removed each
individual fault by his evasions, forgetting that each leaves behind
some depreciation which is added to the next one. He insists upon
dealing with each factor individually, and refuses to combine them into
a sum total.
A similar omission forms the nucleus of another sophism which causes
much laughter, though one can well question its right to be called a
joke.
_A. had borrowed a copper kettle from B., and upon returning it was sued
by B. because it had a large hole which rendered it unserviceable. His
defense was this_: “_In the first place I never borrowed any kettle from
B., secondly the kettle had a hole in it when I received it from B.,
thirdly the kettle was in perfect condition when I returned it._” Each
separate protest is good by itself, but taken together they exclude each
other. A. treats individually what must be taken as a whole, just as the
marriage agent when he deals with the imperfections of the bride. One
can also say that A. uses “and” where only an “either—or” is possible.
Another sophism greets us in the following marriage agent story. _The
suitor objects because the bride has a short leg and therefore limps.
The agent contradicts him. “You are wrong,” he says. “Suppose you marry
a woman whose legs are sound and straight. What do you gain by it? You
are not sure from day to day that she will not fall down, break a leg,
and then be lame for the rest of her life. Just consider the pain, the
excitement, and the doctor’s bill. But if you marry this one nothing can
happen. Here you have a finished job.”_
Here the semblance of logic is very shallow, for no one will by any
means admit that a “finished misfortune” is to be preferred to a mere
possibility of such. The error in the stream of thought will be seen
more easily in a second example.
_In the temple of Cracow sat the great Rabbi N. praying with his
disciples. Suddenly he emitted a cry and in response to his troubled
disciples said: “The great Rabbi L. died just now in Lemberg.” The
congregation thereupon went into mourning for the deceased. In the
course of the next day travelers from Lemberg were asked how the rabbi
had died, and what had caused his death. They knew nothing about the
event, however, as, they said, they had left him in the best of health.
Finally it was definitely ascertained that the Rabbi of Lemberg had not
died at the hour on which Rabbi N. had felt his death telepathically,
and that he was still living. A stranger seized the opportunity to
banter a pupil of the Cracow rabbi about the episode. “That was a
glorious exhibition that your rabbi made of himself when he saw the
Rabbi of Lemberg die,” he said. “Why, the man is still living!” “No
matter,” replied the pupil. “To look from Cracow to Lemberg was
wonderful anyhow.”_
Here the faulty thinking common to both of the last examples is openly
shown. The value of fanciful ideas is unfairly matched against reality;
possibility is made equivalent to actuality. To look from Cracow to
Lemberg despite the miles between would have been an imposing telepathic
feat had it resulted in some truth, but the disciple gives no heed to
that. It might have been possible that the Rabbi of Lemberg had died at
the moment when the Rabbi of Cracow had proclaimed his death, but the
pupil displaces the accent from the condition under which the teacher’s
act would be remarkable to the unconditional admiration of this act.
“_In magnis rebus voluisse sat est_” is a similar point of view. Just as
in this example reality is sacrificed in favor of possibility, so in the
foregoing example the marriage agent suggests to the suitor that the
possibility of the woman’s becoming lame through an accident is a far
more important consideration to be taken into account; whereas the
question as to whether or not she is lame is put altogether into the
background.
_Automatic Errors of Thought_
Another interesting group attaches itself to this one of sophistical
faulty thinking, a group in which the faulty thinking may be designated
as _automatic_. It is perhaps only a stroke of fate that all of the
examples which I shall cite for this new group are again stories
referring to marriage agents.
_The agent brought along an assistant to a conference about a bride.
This assistant was to confirm his assertions. “She is as well made as a
pine tree,” said the agent. “Like a pine tree,” repeated the echo. “She
has eyes which one must appreciate.” “Wonderful eyes,” confirmed the
echo. “She is cultured beyond words. She possesses extraordinary
culture.” “Wonderfully cultured,” repeated the assistant. “However, one
thing is true,” confessed the agent. “She has a slight hunch on her
back.” “And what a hunch!” confirmed the echo._
The other stories are quite analogous to this one, but they are
cleverer.
_On being introduced to his prospective bride the suitor was rather
unpleasantly surprised, and drawing aside the marriage agent he
reproachfully whispered to him: “Why have you brought me here? She is
ugly and old. She squints, has bad teeth, and bleary eyes.” “You can
talk louder,” interrupted the agent. “She is deaf, too.”_
_A prospective bridegroom made his first call on his future bride in
company with the agent, and while in the parlor waiting for the
appearance of the family the agent drew the young man’s attention to a
glass closet containing a handsome silver set. “Just look at these
things,” he said. “You can see how wealthy these people are.” “But is it
not possible that these articles were just borrowed for the occasion,”
inquired the suspicious young man, “so as to give the appearance of
wealth?” “What an idea,” answered the agent protestingly. “Who in the
world would lend them anything?”_
In all three cases one finds the same thing. A person who reacts several
times in succession in the same manner continues in the same manner on
the next occasion where it becomes unsuited and runs contrary to his
intentions. Falling into the automatism of habit he fails to adapt
himself to the demands of the situation. Thus in the first story the
assistant forgot that he was taken along in order to influence the
suitor in favor of the proposed bride, and as he had thus far
accomplished his task by emphasizing through repetition the excellencies
attributed to the lady, he now emphasizes also her timidly conceded
hunch back which he should have belittled.
The marriage agent in the second story is so fascinated by the failings
and infirmities of the bride that he completes the list from his own
knowledge, which it was certainly neither his business nor his intention
to do. Finally in the third story he is so carried away by his zeal to
convince the young man of the family’s wealth that in order to
corroborate his proofs he blurts out something which must upset all his
efforts. Everywhere the automatism triumphs over the appropriate
variation of thought and expression.
That is quite easy to understand, although it must cause confusion when
it is brought to our attention that these three stories could just as
well be termed “comical” as “witty.” Like every act of unmasking and
self-betrayal the discovery of the psychic automatism also belongs to
technique of the comic. We suddenly see ourselves here confronted with
the problem of the relationship of wit to the comic element—a subject
which we endeavored to avoid (see the Introduction). Are these stories
only “comical” and not “witty” also? Does the comic element employ here
the same means as does the wit? And again, of what does the peculiar
character of wit consist?
We must adhere to the fact that the technique of the group of witticisms
examined last consists of nothing else but the establishment of “faulty
thinking.” We are forced to admit, however, that so far the
investigation has led us further into darkness than to illumination.
Nevertheless we do not abandon the hope of arriving at a result by means
of a more thorough knowledge of the technique of wit which may become
the starting-point for further insight.
_Unification_
The next examples of wit with which we wish to continue our
investigation do not give us as much work. Their technique reminds us
very much of what we already know. Here is one of Lichtenberg’s jokes.
“_January_,” he says, “_is the month in which one extends good wishes to
his friends, and the rest are months in which the good wishes are not
fulfilled._”
As these witticisms may be called clever rather than strong, we shall
reinforce the impression by examining a few more.
“_Human life is divided into two halves; during the first one looks
forward to the second, and during the second one looks backward to the
first._”
“_Experience consists in experiencing what one does not care to
experience._” (The last two examples were cited by K. Fischer.)
One cannot help being reminded by these examples of a group, treated of
before, which is characterized by the “manifold application of the same
material.” The last example especially will cause us to ask why we have
not inserted it there instead of presenting it here in a new connection.
“Experience” is described through its own terms just as some of the
examples cited above. Neither would I be against this correction.
However, I am of the opinion that the other two cases, which are surely
similar in character, contain a different factor which is more striking
and more important than the manifold application of the same word which
shows nothing here touching upon double meaning. And what is more, I
wish to emphasize that new and unexpected identities are here formed
which show themselves in relations of ideas to one another, in relations
of definitions to each other, or to a common third. I would call this
process _unification_. Obviously it is analogous to condensation by
compression into similar words. Thus the two halves of human life are
described by the inter-relationship discovered between them: during the
first part one longs for the second, and in the second one longs for the
first. To speak more precisely there were two relationships very similar
to each other which were selected for description. The similarity of the
relationship that corresponds to the similarity of the words which, just
for this reason, might recall the manifold application of the same
material—(looks forward)
(looks backward).
In Lichtenberg’s joke, January and the months contrasted with it are
characterized again by a modified relationship to a third factor: these
are good wishes which one receives in the first month, but are not
fulfilled during the other months. The differentiation from the manifold
application of the same material which is really related to double
meaning is here quite clear.
A good example of unification-wit needing no explanation is the
following:
_J. B. Rousseau, the French poet, wrote an ode to posterity (à la
postérité). Voltaire, thinking that the poor quality of the poem in no
way justified its reaching posterity, wittily remarked, “This poem will
not reach its destination”_ (K. Fischer).
The last example may remind us of the fact that it is essentially
unification which forms the basis of the so-called repartee in wit. For
ready repartee consists in using the defense for aggression and in
“turning the tables” or in “paying with the same coin.” That is, the
repartee consists in establishing an unexpected identity between attack
and counter-attack.
For example, _a baker said to a tavern keeper, one of whose fingers was
festering: “I guess your finger got into your beer.” The tavern keeper
replied: “You are wrong. One of your rolls got under my finger nail”_
(Ueberhorst: _Das Komische_, II, 1900).
While Serenissimus was traveling through his domains he noticed a man in
the crowds who bore a striking resemblance to himself. He beckoned him
to come over and asked: “_Was your mother ever employed in my home?_”
“_No, sire_,” replied the man, “_but my father was._”
While Duke Karl of Würtemberg was riding horseback he met a dyer working
at his trade. “_Can you color my white horse blue?_” “_Yes, sire_,” was
the rejoinder, “_if the animal can stand the boiling!_”
In this excellent repartee, which answers a foolish question with a
condition that is equally impossible, there occurs another technical
factor which would have been omitted if the dyer’s reply had been: “No,
sire, I am afraid that the horse could not stand being boiled.”
Another peculiarly interesting technical means at the disposal of
unification is the addition of the conjunction “and.” Such correlation
signifies a connection which could not be understood otherwise. When
Heine (_Harzreise_) says of the city of Göttingen, “_In general the
inhabitants of Göttingen are divided into students, professors,
Philistines, and cattle_,” we understand this combination exactly in the
sense which he furthermore emphasized by adding: “These four social
groups are distinguished little less than sharply.” Again, when he
speaks about the school where he had to submit “_to so much Latin,
drubbing, and geography_,” he wants to convey by this combination, which
is made very conspicuous by placing the drubbing between the two
studies, that the schoolboy’s conception unmistakably described by the
drubbing should be extended also to Latin and geography.
In Lipps’s book we find among the examples of “witty enumeration”
(Koordination) the following verse, which stands nearest to Heine’s
“students, professors, Philistines, and cattle.”
“_With a fork and with much effort his mother pulled him from a mess._”
“As if effort were an instrument like the fork,” adds Lipps by way of
explanation. But we get the impression that there is nothing witty in
this sentence. To be sure it is very comical, whereas Heine’s
co-ordination is undoubtedly witty. We shall, perhaps, recall these
examples later when we shall no longer be forced to evade the problem of
the relationship between wit and the comic.
_Representation Through the Opposite_
We have remarked in the example of the Duke and the dyer that it would
still have been a joke by means of unification had the dyer replied,
“No, I fear that the horse could not stand being boiled.” In
substituting a “yes” for the “no” which rightly belonged there, we meet
a new technical means of wit the application of which we shall study in
other examples.
This joke, which resembles the one we have just cited from K. Fischer,
is somewhat simpler. “_Frederick the Great heard of a Silesian clergyman
who had the reputation of communicating with spirits. He sent for him
and received him with the following question: ‘Can you call up ghosts?’
‘At your pleasure, your majesty,’ replied the clergyman, ‘but they won’t
come.’_” Here it is perfectly obvious that the wit lies in the
substitution of its opposite for the only possible answer, “No.” To
complete this substitution “but” had to be added to “yes,” so that “yes”
plus “but” gives the equivalent for “no.”
This “representation through the opposite,” as we choose to call it,
serves the mechanism of wit in several ways. In the following cases it
appears almost in its pure form:
“_This woman resembles Venus de Milo in many points. Like her she is
extraordinarily old, has no teeth, and has white spots on the yellow
surface of her body_” (Heine).
Here ugliness is depicted by making it agree with the most beautiful. Of
course these agreements consist of attributes expressed in double
meaning or of matters of slight importance. The latter applies to the
second example.
“_The attributes of the greatest men were all united in himself. Like
Alexander his head was tilted to one side: like Cæsar he always had
something in his hair. He could drink coffee like Leibnitz, and once
settled in his armchair he forgot eating and drinking like Newton, and
like him had to be awakened. He wore a wig like Dr. Johnson, and like
Cervantes the fly of his trousers was always open_” (Lichtenberg: _The
Great Mind_).
J. V. Falke’s _Lebenserinnerungen an eine Reise nach Ireland_ (page 271)
furnishes an exceptionally good example of “representation through the
opposite” in which the use of words of a double meaning plays absolutely
no part. The scene is laid in a wax figure museum, like Mme. Tussaud’s.
A lecturer discourses on one figure after another to his audience, which
is composed of old and young people. “_This is the Duke of Wellington
and his horse_,” he says. Whereupon a young girl remarks, “_Which is the
duke and which is the horse?_” “_Just as you like, my pretty child_,” is
the reply. “_You pay your money and you take your choice._”
The reduction of this Irish joke would be: “It is gross impudence on the
part of the museum’s management to offer such an exhibition to the
public. It is impossible to distinguish between the horse and the rider
(playful exaggeration), and it is for this exhibit that one pays one’s
hard-earned money!” The indignant expression is now dramatized and
applied to a trivial occurrence. In the place of the entire audience
there appears one woman and the riding figure becomes individually
determined. It is necessarily the Duke of Wellington, who is so very
popular in Ireland. But the insolence of the museum proprietor or
lecturer who takes money from the public and offers nothing in return is
represented by the opposite, through a speech, in which he extols
himself as a conscientious business man whose fondest desire is to
respect the rights to which the public is entitled through the admission
fee. One then realizes that the technique of this joke is not very
simple. In so far as a way is found to allow the swindler to assert his
scrupulosity it may be said that the joke is a case of “representation
through the opposite.” The fact, however, that he does it on an occasion
where something different is demanded of him, and the fact that he
replies in terms of commercial integrity when he is expected to discuss
the similarity of the figures, shows that it is a case of displacement.
The technique of the joke lies in the combination of both technical
means.
_Outdoing wit_
This example is closely allied to another small group which might be
called “outdoing-wit.” Here “yes,” which would be proper in the
reduction, is replaced by “no,” which, owing to its context, is
equivalent to a still stronger “yes.” The same mechanism holds true when
the case is reversed. The contradiction takes the place of an
exaggerated confirmation. An example of this nature is seen in the
following epigram from Lessing.[35]
“_The good Galathee! ’Tis said that she dyes her hair black, yet it was
black when she bought it._”
Lichtenberg’s make-believe mocking defense of philosophy is another
example.
“_There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your
philosophy_,” Prince Hamlet had disdainfully declared. Lichtenberg well
knew that this condemnation was by no means severe enough, in that it
does not take into account all that can be said against philosophy. He
therefore added the following: “_But there is also much in philosophy
which is found neither in heaven nor on earth._” To be sure, his
assertion supplements what was lacking in Hamlet’s philosophical
utterance, but in doing this he adds another and still greater reproach.
More transparent still, because they show no trace of displacement, are
two Jewish jokes which are, however, of the coarse kind.
_Two Jews were conversing about bathing._ “_I take a bath once a year_,”
said one, “_whether I need one or not_.”
It is clear that this boastful assurance of his cleanliness only betrays
his state of uncleanliness.
_A Jew noticed remnants of food on the beard of another. “I can tell you
what you ate yesterday,” he remarked. “Well, let’s hear it,” said
another. “Beans,” said the first one. “You are wrong,” responded the
other. “I had beans the day before yesterday.”_
The following example is an excellent “outdoing” witticism which can be
traced easily to representation through the opposite.
_The king condescended to pay a visit at a surgical clinic, and found
the professor of surgery engaged in amputating a leg. He watched the
various steps of the operation with interest and expressed his royal
approval with these loud utterances: “Bravo, bravo, Professor.” When the
operation was over the professor approached the king, bowed low, and
asked: “Does your majesty also command the amputation of the other
leg?”_
Whatever the professor may have thought during this royal applause
surely could not have been expressed unchanged. His real thoughts were:
“Judging by this applause he must be under the impression that I am
amputating the poor devil’s diseased leg by order of and for the
pleasure of the king. To be sure, I have other reasons for performing
this operation.” But instead of expressing these thoughts he goes to the
king and says: “I have no other reasons but your majesty’s order for
performing this operation. The applause you accorded me has inspired me
so much that I am only awaiting your majesty’s command to amputate the
other leg also.” He thus succeeded in making himself understood by
expressing the opposite of what he really thought but had to keep to
himself. Such an expression of the opposite represents an incredible
exaggeration or outdoing.
As we gather from these examples, representation through the opposite is
a means frequently and effectively used in the technique of wit. We need
not overlook, however, something else, namely, that this technique is by
no means confined only to wit. When Marc Antony, after his long speech
in the Forum had changed the mood of the mob listening to Cæsar’s
obsequies, at last repeats the words,
“For Brutus was an honorable man,”
he well knows that the mob will scream the true meaning of his words at
him, namely,
“They are traitors: nice honorable men!”
Or when _Simplicissimus_ transcribes a collection of unheard-of
brutalities and cynicisms as expressions of “people with temperaments,”
this, too, is a representation through the opposite. However, this is no
longer designated as wit, but as “irony.” Indeed, the only technique
that is characteristic of irony is representation through the opposite.
Besides, one reads and hears about “ironical wit.” Hence there is no
longer any doubt that technique alone is not capable of characterizing
wit. There must be something else which we have not yet discovered. On
the other hand, however, the fact that the reduction of the technique
destroys the wit still remains uncontradicted. For the present it may be
difficult for us to unite for the explanation of wit the two strong
points which we have already gained.
_Indirect Expression_
Since representation through the opposite belongs to the technical means
of wit, we may also expect that wit could make use of its reverse,
namely, the representation through the similar and cognate. Indeed, when
we continue our investigation we find that this forms the technique of a
new and especially extensive group of thought-witticisms. We can
describe the peculiarity of this technique much better if instead of
representation through the “cognate” we use the expression
representation through “relationships and associations.” We shall start
with the last characteristic and illustrate it by an example.
_Indirect Expression with Allusion_
It is an American anecdote and runs as follows. _By undertaking a series
of risky schemes, two not very scrupulous business men had succeeded in
amassing an enormous fortune and were now intent on forcing their way
into good society. Among other things they thought it advisable to have
their portraits painted by the most prominent and most expensive
painters in the city, men whose works were considered masterpieces. The
costly pictures were exhibited for the first time at a great evening
gathering, and the hosts themselves led the most prominent connoisseur
and art critic to the wall of the salon on which both portraits were
hanging side by side, in order to elicit from him a favorable criticism.
He examined the portraits for a long time, then shook his head as if he
were missing something. At length he pointed to the bare space between
the pictures, and asked, “And where is the Savior?”_
The meaning of this expression is clear. It is again the expression of
something which cannot be represented directly. In what way does this
“indirect expression” come about? By a series of very obvious
associations and conclusions let us work backwards from the verbal
setting.
The query, “_where is the Savior?_” or “_where is the picture of the
Savior?_” arouses the conjecture that the two pictures have reminded the
speaker of a similar arrangement familiar to him as it is familiar to
us. This arrangement, of which one element is here missing, shows the
figure of the Savior between two other figures. There is only one such
case: Christ hanging between the two thieves. The missing element is
emphasized by the witticism, and the similarity rests in the figures at
the right and left of the Savior, which are not mentioned in the jest.
It can only mean that the pictures hanging in the drawing-room are
likewise those of thieves. This is what the critic wished to, but could
not say, “You are a pair of scoundrels,” or more in detail, “What do I
care about your portraits? You are a pair of scoundrels, that I know.”
And by means of a few associations and conclusive inferences he has said
it in a manner which we designate as “allusion.”
We immediately remember that we have encountered the process of allusion
before. Namely, in double meaning, when one of the two meanings
expressed by the same word stands out very prominently, because being
used much oftener and more commonly, our attention is directed to it
first, whereas the other meaning remains in the background because it is
more remote—such cases we wished to describe as double meaning with
allusion. In an entire series of examples which we have hitherto
examined, we have remarked that their technique is not simple and we
realized that the process of allusion was the factor that complicated
it. For example, see the contradiction-witticism in which the
congratulations on the birth of the youngest child are acknowledged by
the remark that it is remarkable what human hands can accomplish (p.
77).
In the American anecdote we have the process of allusion without the
double meaning, and we find that the character of this process consists
in completing the picture through mental association. It is not
difficult to guess that the utilized association can be of more than one
kind. So as not to be confused by large numbers we shall discuss only
the most pronounced variations, and shall give only a few examples.
The association used in the substitution may be a mere sound, so that
this sub-group may be analogous to word-wit in the pun. However, it is
not similarity in sound of two words, but of whole sentences,
characteristic combinations of words, and similar means.
For example, Lichtenberg coined the saying: “_New baths heal well_,”
which immediately reminds one of the proverb, “_New brooms clean well_,”
whose first and last words, as well as whose whole sentence structure,
is the same as in the first saying. It has undoubtedly arisen in the
witty thinker’s mind as an imitation of the familiar proverb. Thus
Lichtenberg’s saying is an allusion to the latter. By means of this
allusion something is suggested that cannot be frankly said, namely,
that the efficacy of the baths taken as cures is due to other things
beside the thermal springs whose attributes are the same everywhere.
The solution of the technique of another one of Lichtenberg’s jokes is
similar: “_The girl barely twelve modes old._” That sounds something
like the chronological term “_twelve moons_” (i.e., months), and may
originally have been a mistake in writing in the permissible poetical
expression. But there is a good deal of sense in designating the age of
a feminine creature by the changing modes instead of by the changing of
moons.
The connection of similarity may even consist of a single slight
modification. This technique again runs parallel with a word-technique.
Both kinds of witticisms create almost the identical impression, but
they are more easily distinguishable by the processes of the wit-work.
The following is an example of such a word-witticism or pun. The great
singer, Mary Wilt, who was famous not merely on account of the magnitude
of her voice, suffered the mortification of having a title of a play,
dramatized from the well-known novel of Jules Verne, serve as an
allusion to her corpulency. “_The trip around the Wilt_ (world) _in
eighty days_.”
Or: “_Every fathom a queen_,” which is a modification of the familiar
Shakespearian quotation, “_Every inch a king_,” and served as an
allusion to a prominent woman who was unusually big physically. There
would really be no serious objection if one should prefer to classify
this witticism as a substitution for condensation with modification (cf.
tête-à-bête, p. 25).
Discussing the hardships of the medical profession, namely, that
physicians are obliged to read and study constantly because remedies and
drugs once considered efficacious are later rejected as useless, and
that despite the physician’s best efforts the patient often refuses to
pay for the treatment, one of the doctors present remarked: “_Yes, every
drug has its day_,” to which another added, “_But not every Doc gets his
pay_.” These two witty remarks are both modifications with allusion of
the well-known saying, “_Every dog has his day_.” But here, too, the
technique could be described as fusion with modification.
If the modification contents itself with a change in letters, allusions
through modifications are barely distinguishable from condensation with
substitutive formation, as shown in this example: “_Mellingitis_,” _the
allusion to the dangerous disease meningitis, refers to the danger which
the conservative members of a provincial borough in England thought
impended if the socialist candidate Mellon were elected_.
The negative particles make very good allusions at the cost of very
little changing. Heine referred to Spinoza as:
“My fellow _un_believer Spinoza.”
“We, by the _Un_grace of God, Laborers, Bondsmen, Negroes, Serfs,” etc.,
is a manifesto (which Lichtenberg quotes no further) of these
unfortunates who probably have more right to that title than kings and
dukes have to the unmodified one.
_Omission_
Finally _omission_, which is comparable to condensation without
substitutive formation, is also a form of allusion. For in every
allusion there is really something omitted, namely, the trend of thought
that leads to the allusion. It is only a question of whether the gap, or
the substitute in the wording of the allusion which partly fills in the
gap, is the more obvious element. Thus we come back through a series of
examples from the very clear cases of omission to those of actual
allusion.
Omission without substitution is found in the following example. There
lived in Vienna a clever and bellicose writer whose sharp invectives had
repeatedly brought him bodily assault at the hands of the persons he
assailed. During a conversation about a new misdeed by one of his
habitual opponents, some one said, “_When X. hears this he will receive
another box on his ear_.” The technique of this wit shows in the first
place the confusion about the apparent contradiction, for it is by no
means clear to us why a box on one’s ear should be the direct result of
having heard something. The contradiction disappears if one fills in the
gap by adding to the remark: “_then he will write such a caustic article
against that person that, etc._” Allusions through omission and
contradiction are thus the technical means of this witticism.
Heine remarked about some one: “_He praises himself so much that pastils
for fumigation are advancing in price._” This omission can easily be
filled in. What has been omitted is replaced by an inference which then
strikes back as an allusion to the same. For self-praise has always
carried an evil odor with it.
Once more we encounter the two Jews in front of the bathing
establishment. “_Another year has passed by already_,” says one with a
sigh.
These examples leave no doubt that the omission is meant as an allusion.
A still more obvious omission is contained in the next example, which is
really a genuine and correct allusion-witticism. Subsequent to an
artists’ banquet in Vienna a joke book was given out in which, among
others, the following most remarkable proverb could be read:
“_A wife is like an umbrella, at worst one may also take a cab._”
An umbrella does not afford enough protection from rain. The words “_at
worst_” can mean only: when it is raining hard. A cab is a public
conveyance. As we have to deal here with the figure of comparison, we
shall put off the detailed investigation of this witticism until later
on.
Heine’s “Bäder von Lucca” contains a veritable wasps’ nest of stinging
allusions which make the most artistic use of this form of wit as
polemics against the Count of Platen. Long before the reader can suspect
their application, a certain theme, which does not lend itself
especially to direct presentation, is preluded by allusions of the most
varied material possible; e.g., in Hirsch-Hyacinth’s twisting of words:
You are too corpulent and I am too lean; you possess too much conceit
and I the more business ability; I am a practicus and you are a
diarrheticus, in fine, “You are altogether my Antipodex”—“Venus
Urinia”—the thick Gudel of Dreckwall in Hamburg, etc. Then the
occurrences of which the poet speaks take a turn in which it merely
seems to show the impolite sportiveness of the poet, but soon it
discloses the symbolic relation to the polemical intention, and in this
way it also reveals itself as allusion. At last the attack against
Platen bursts forth, and now the allusions to the subject of the Count’s
love for men seethe and gush from each one of the sentences which Heine
directs against the talent and the character of his opponent, e.g.:
“Even if the Muses are not well disposed to him, he has at least the
genius of speech in his power, or rather he knows how to violate him;
for he lacks the free love of this genius, besides he must perseveringly
run after this youth, and he knows only how to grasp the outer forms
which, in spite of their beautiful rotundity, never express anything
noble.”
“He has the same experience as the ostrich, which considers itself
sufficiently hidden when it sticks its head into the sand so that only
its backside is visible. Our illustrious bird would have done better if
he had stuck his backside into the sand, and had shown us his head.”
Allusion is perhaps the commonest and most easily employed means of wit,
and is at the basis of most of the short-lived witty productions which
we are wont to weave into our conversation. They cannot bear being
separated from their native soil nor can they exist independently. Once
more we are reminded by the process of allusion of that relationship
which has already begun to confuse our estimation of the technique of
wit. The process of allusion is not witty in itself; there are perfectly
formed allusions which have no claims to this character. Only those
allusions which show a “witty” element are witty, hence the
characteristics of wit, which we have followed even into its technique,
again escape us.
I have sometimes called allusion “indirect expression,” and now
recognize that the different kinds of allusion with representation
through the opposite, as well as the techniques still to be mentioned,
can be united into a single large group for which “indirect
expression” would be the comprehensive name. Hence, _errors of
thought—unification—indirect representation_—are those points of view
under which we can group the techniques of thought-wit which became
known to us.
_Representation Through the Minute or the Minutest Element_
On continuing the investigation of our material we think we recognize a
new sub-group of indirect representation which though sharply defined
can be illustrated only by few examples. It is that of representation
through a minute or minutest element; solving the problem by bringing
the entire character to full expression through a minute detail.
Correlating this group with the mechanism of allusion is made possible
by looking at the triviality as connected with the thing to be presented
and as a result of it. For example:
_A Jew who was riding in a train had made himself very comfortable; he
had unbuttoned his coat, and had put his feet on the seat, when a
fashionably dressed gentleman came in. The Jew immediately put on his
best behavior and assumed a modest position. The stranger turned over
the pages of a book, did some calculation, and pondered a moment and
suddenly addressed the Jew. “I beg your pardon, how soon will we have
Yom Kippur?” (Day of Atonement). “Oh, oh!” said the Jew, and put his
feet back on the seat before he answered._
It cannot be denied that this representation through something minute is
allied to the tendency of economy which we found to be the final common
element in the investigation of the technique of word-wit.
The following example is much similar.
_The doctor who had been summoned to help the baroness in her
confinement declared that the critical moment had not arrived, and
proposed to the baron that they play a game of cards in the adjoining
room in the meantime. After a while the doleful cry of the baroness
reached the ears of the men. “Ah, mon Dieu, que je souffre!” The husband
jumped up, but the physician stopped him saying, “That’s nothing; let us
play on.” A little while later the woman in labor-pains was heard again:
“My God, my God, what pains!” “Don’t you want to go in, Doctor?” asked
the baron. “By no means, it is not yet time,” answered the doctor. At
last there rang from the adjacent room the unmistakable cry,
“A-a-a-ai-e-e-e-e-e-e-E-E-E!” The physician then threw down the cards
and said, “Now it’s time.”_
How the pain allows the original nature to break through all the strata
of education, and how an important decision is rightly made dependent
upon a seemingly inconsequential utterance—both are shown in this good
joke by the successive changes in the cries of this childbearing lady of
quality.
_Comparison_
Another kind of indirect expression of which wit makes use is
_comparison_, which we have not discussed so far because an examination
of comparison touches upon new difficulties, or rather it reveals
difficulties which have made their appearance on other occasions. We
have already admitted that in many of the examples examined we could not
banish all doubts as to whether they should really be counted as witty,
and have recognized in this uncertainty a serious shock to the
principles of our investigation. But in no other material do I feel this
uncertainty greater and nowhere does it occur more frequently than in
the case of comparison-wit. The feeling which usually says to me—and I
dare say to a great many others under the same conditions—this is a
joke, this may be written down as witty before even the hidden and
essential character of the wit has been uncovered—this feeling I lack
most. If at first I experience no hesitation in declaring the comparison
to be a witticism, then the next instant I seem to think that the
pleasure I thus found was of a different quality than that which I am
accustomed to ascribe to a joke. Also the fact that witty comparisons
but seldom can evoke the explosive variety of laughter by which a good
joke proves itself makes it impossible for me to cast aside the existing
doubts, even when I limit myself to the best and most effective
examples.
It is easy to demonstrate that there are some especially good and
effective examples of comparison which in no way give us the impression
of witticisms. A beautiful example of this kind which I have not yet
tired of admiring, and the impression of which still clings to me, I
shall not deny myself the pleasure of citing. It is a comparison with
which Ferd. Lassalle concluded one of his famous pleas (_Die
Wissenschaft und die Arbeiter_): “A man like myself who, as I explained
to you, had devoted his whole life to the motto ‘Die Wissenschaft und
die Arbeiter’ (Science and the Workingman), would receive the same
impression from a condemnation which in the course of events confronts
him _as would the chemist, absorbed in his scientific experiments, from
the cracking of a retort. With a slight knitting of his brow at the
resistance of the material, he would, as soon as the disturbance was
quieted, calmly continue his labor and investigations._”
One finds a rich assortment of pertinent and witty comparisons in the
writings of Lichtenberg (2 B. of the Göttingen edition, 1853). I shall
take the material for our investigation from that source.
“_It is almost impossible to carry the torch of truth through a crowd
without singeing somebody’s beard._” This may seem witty, but on closer
examination one notices that the witty effect does not come from the
comparison itself but from a secondary attribute of the same. For the
expression “the torch of truth” is no new comparison, but one which has
been used for a long time and which has degenerated into a fixed phrase,
as always happens when a comparison has the luck to be absorbed into the
common usage of speech. But whereas we hardly notice the comparison in
the saying, “the torch of truth,” its original full force is restored it
by Lichtenberg, since by building further on the comparison it results
in a deduction. But the taking of blurred expressions in their full
sense is already known to us as a technique of wit; it finds a place
with the Manifold Application of the Same Material (p. 35). It may well
be that the witty impression created by Lichtenberg’s sentence is due
only to its relation to this technique of wit.
The same explanation will undoubtedly hold good for another witty
comparison by the same author.
“_The man was not exactly a shining light, but a great candlestick....
He was a professor of philosophy._”
To call a scholar a shining light, a “_lumen mundi_,” has long ceased to
be an effective comparison, whether it be originally qualified as a
witticism or not. But here the comparison was freshened up and its full
force was restored to it by deducting a modification from it and in this
way setting up a second and new comparison. The way in which the second
comparison came into existence seems to contain the condition of the
witticism and not the two comparisons themselves. This would then be a
case of Identical Wit-Technique as in the example of the torch.
The following comparison seems witty on other but similarly classifiable
grounds: “_I look upon reviews as a kind of children’s disease_ which
more or less attacks new-born books. There are cases on record where the
healthiest died of it, and the puniest have often lived through it. Many
do not get it at all. Attempts have frequently been made to prevent the
disease by means of _amulets of prefaces and dedications, or to color
them up by personal pronunciamentos; but it does not always help_.”
The comparison of reviews with children’s diseases is based in the first
place upon their susceptibility to attack shortly after they have seen
the light of the world. Whether this makes it witty I do not trust
myself to decide. But when the comparison is continued, it is found that
the later fates of the new books may be represented within the scope of
the same or by means of similar comparisons. Such a continuation of a
comparison is undoubtedly witty, but we know already to what technique
it owes its witty flavor; it is a case of _unification_ or the
establishment of an unexpected association. The character of the
unification, however, is not changed by the fact that it consists here
of a relationship with the first comparison.
_Doubt in Witty Comparisons_
In a series of other comparisons one is tempted to ascribe an
indisputably existing witty impression to another factor which again in
itself has nothing to do with the nature of the comparison. These are
comparisons which are strikingly grouped, often containing a combination
that sounds absurd, which comes into existence as a result of the
comparison. Most of Lichtenberg’s examples belong to this group.
“It is a pity that one cannot see the _learned bowels_ of the writers,
in order to find out what they have eaten.” “_The learned bowels_” is a
confusing, really absurd attribute which is made clear only by the
comparison. How would it be if the witty impression of this comparison
should be referred entirely and fully to the confusing character of
their composition? This would correspond to one of the means of wit well
known to us, namely, representation through absurdity.
Lichtenberg has used the same comparison of the imbibing of reading and
educational material with the imbibing of physical nourishment.
“He thought highly of _studying in his room_ and was heartily in favor
of _learned stable fodder_.”
The same absurd or at least conspicuous attributes, which as we are
beginning to notice are the real carriers of the wit, mark other
comparisons of the same author.
“_This is the weatherside of my moral constitution, here I can stand
almost anything._”
“Every person has also his _moral backside_ which he does not show
_except under the stress of necessity_ and which he covers as long as
possible with the _pants of good-breeding_.”
The “moral backside” is the peculiar attribute which exists as the
result of a comparison. But this is followed by a continuation of the
comparison with a regular play on words (“necessity”) and a second,
still more unusual combination (“the pants of good-breeding”), which is
possibly witty in itself; for the pants become witty, as it were,
because they are the pants of good-breeding. Therefore it may not take
us by surprise if we get the impression of a very witty comparison; we
are beginning to notice that we show a general tendency in our
estimation to extend a quality to the whole thing when it clings only to
one part of it. Besides, the “pants of good-breeding” remind us of a
similar confusing verse of Heine.
“_Until, at last, the buttons tore from the pants of my patience._”
It is obvious that both of the last comparisons possess a character
which one cannot find in all good, i.e., fitting, comparisons. One might
say that they are in a large manner “debasing,” for they place a thing
of high category, an abstraction (good-breeding, patience), side by side
with a thing of a very concrete nature of a very low kind (pants).
Whether this peculiarity has something to do with wit we shall have to
consider in another connection. Let us attempt to analyze another
example in which the degrading character is exceptionally well defined.
In Nestroy’s farce “_Einen Jux will er sich machen_,” the clerk,
Weinberl, who resolves in his imagination how he will ponder over his
youth when he has some day become a well-established old merchant, says:
“_When in the course of confidential conversation the ice is chopped up
before the warehouse of memory; when the portal of the storehouse of
antiquity is unlocked again; and when the mattings of phantasy are
stocked full with wares of yore._” These are certainly comparisons of
abstractions with very common, concrete things, but the witticism
depends—exclusively or only partially—upon the circumstance that a clerk
makes use of these comparisons which are taken from the sphere of his
daily occupation. But to bring the abstract in relation to the
commonplace with which he is otherwise filled is an act of
_unification_. Let us revert to Lichtenberg’s comparisons.
_Peculiar Attributions_
“_The motives for our actions may be arranged like the thirty-two winds,
and their names may be classified in a similar way, e.g.,
Bread-bread-glory or Glory-glory-bread._”
As so often happens in Lichtenberg’s witticisms, in this case, too, the
impression of appropriateness, cleverness, and ingenuity is so marked
that our judgment of the character of the witty element is thereby
misled. If something witty is intermingled in such an utterance with the
excellent sense, we probably are deluded into declaring the whole to be
an exceptional joke. Moreover, I dare say that everything that is really
witty about it results from the strangeness of the peculiar combination
bread-bread-glory. Thus as far as wit is concerned it is representation
through absurdity.
The peculiar combination or absurd attribution can alone be represented
as a product of a comparison.
Lichtenberg says: “_A twice-sleepy woman—a once-sleepy church pew_.”
Behind each one there is a comparison with a bed; in both cases there is
besides the comparison also the technical factor of _allusion_. Once it
is an allusion to the soporific effect of sermons, and the second time
to the inexhaustible theme of sex.
Having found hitherto that a comparison as often as it appears witty
owes this impression to its connection with one of the techniques of wit
known to us, there are nevertheless some other examples which seem to
point to the fact that a comparison as such can also be witty.
This is Lichtenberg’s characteristic remark about certain odes. “They
are in poetry what Jacob Böhm’s immortal writings are in prose—_they are
a kind of picnic in which the author supplies the words, and the readers
the meaning_.”
“When he _philosophizes_, he generally sheds _an agreeable moonlight_
over his topics, which is in the main quite pleasant, but which does not
show any one subject clearly.”
Again, Heine’s description: “_Her face resembled a kodex palimpsestus,
where under the new block-lettered text of a church father peek forth
the half-obliterated verses of an ancient Hellenic erotic poet._”
Or, the continued comparison of a very degrading tendency, in the “Bäder
von Lucca.”
“_The Catholic priest_ is more like a clerk who is employed in a big
business; the church, the big house at the head of which is the Pope,
gives him a definite salary. He works lazily like one who is not working
on his own account, he has many colleagues, and so easily remains
unnoticed in the big business enterprise. He is concerned only in the
credit of the house and still more in its preservation, since he would
be deprived of his means of sustenance in case it went bankrupt. _The
Protestant clergyman_, on the other hand, is his own boss, and carries
on the religious businesses on his own account. He has no wholesale
trade like his Catholic brother-tradesman, but deals merely at retail;
and since he himself must understand it, he cannot be lazy. He must
praise his _articles of faith_ to the people and must disparage the
articles of his competitors. Like a true small trader he stands in his
retail store, full of envy of the industry of all large houses,
particularly the large house in Rome which has so many thousand
bookkeepers and packers on its payroll, and which owns factories in all
four corners of the world.”
In the face of this, as in many other examples, we can no longer dispute
the fact that a comparison may in itself be witty, and that the witty
impression need not necessarily depend on one of the known techniques of
wit. But we are entirely in the dark as to what determines the witty
character of the comparison, since it certainly does not cling to the
similarity as a form of expression of the thought, or to the operation
of the comparison. We can do nothing but include comparison with the
different forms of “indirect representation” which are at the disposal
of the technique of wit, and the problem, which confronted us more
distinctly in the mechanism of comparison than in the means of wit
hitherto treated, must remain unsolved. There must surely be a special
reason why the decision whether something is a witticism or not presents
more difficulties in cases of comparison than in other forms of
expression.
This gap in our understanding, however, offers no ground for complaint
that our first investigation has been unsuccessful. Considering the
intimate connection which we had to be prepared to ascribe to the
different types of wit, it would have been imprudent to expect that we
could fully explain this aspect of the problem before we had cast a
glance over the others. We shall have to take up this problem at another
place.
_Review of the Techniques of Wit_
Are we sure that none of the possible techniques of wit has escaped our
investigation? Not exactly; but by a continued examination of new
material, we can convince ourselves that we have become acquainted with
the most numerous and most important technical means of wit-work—at
least with as much as is necessary for formulating a judgment about the
nature of this psychic process. At present no such judgment exists; on
the other hand, we have come into possession of important indications,
from the direction of which we may expect a further explanation of the
problem. The interesting processes of condensation with substitutive
formation, which we have recognized as the nucleus of the technique of
word-wit, directed our attention to the dream-formation in whose
mechanism the identical psychic processes were discovered. Thither also
we are directed by the technique of the thought-wit, namely
displacement, faulty thinking, absurdity, indirect expression, and
representation through the opposite—each and all are also found in the
technique of dreams. The dream is indebted to displacement for its
strange appearance, which hinders us from recognizing in it the
continuation of our waking thoughts; the dream’s use of absurdity and
contradiction has cost it the dignity of a psychic product, and has
misled the authors to assume that the determinants of dream-formation
are: collapse of mental activity, cessation of criticism, morality, and
logic. Representation through the opposite is so common in dreams that
even the popular but entirely misleading books on dream interpretation
usually put it to good account. Indirect expression, the substitution
for the dream-thought by an allusion, by a trifle or by a symbolism
analogous to comparison, is just exactly what distinguishes the manner
of expression of the dream from our waking thoughts.[36] Such a
far-reaching agreement as found between the means of wit-work and those
of dream-work can scarcely be accidental. To show those agreements in
detail and to trace their motivations will be one of our future tasks.
III
THE TENDENCIES OF WIT[37]
Near the end of the preceding chapter as I was writing down Heine’s
comparison of the Catholic priest to an employee of a large business
house, and the comparison of the Protestant divine to an independent
retail dealer, I felt an inhibition which nearly prevented me from using
this comparison. I said to myself that among my readers probably there
would be some who hold in veneration not only religion, but also its
administration and administrators. These readers might take offense at
the comparison and get so wrought up about it that it would take away
all interest in the investigation as to whether the comparison seemed
witty in itself or was witty only through its garnishings. In other
examples, e.g., the one mentioned above concerning the agreeable
moonlight shed by a certain philosophy, there would be no worry that for
some readers it might be a disturbing influence in our investigation.
Even the most religious person would remain in the right mood to form a
judgment about our problem.
It is easy to guess the character of the witticism by the kind of
reaction that wit exerts on the hearer. Sometimes wit is wit for its own
sake and serves no other particular purpose; then again, it places
itself at the service of such a purpose, i.e., it becomes purposive.
Only that form of wit which has such a tendency runs the risk of
ruffling people who do not wish to hear it.
Theo. Vischer called wit without a tendency “_abstract_” wit, I prefer
to call it “_harmless_” wit.
As we have already classified wit according to the material touched by
its technique into word- and thought-wit, it is incumbent upon us to
investigate the relation of this classification to the one just put
forward. Word- and thought-wit on the one hand, and abstract- and
tendency-wit on the other hand, bear no relation of dependence to each
other; they are two entirely independent classifications of witty
productions. Perhaps some one may have gotten the impression that
harmless witticisms are preponderately word-witticisms, whereas the
complicated techniques of thought-witticisms are mostly made to serve
strong tendencies. There are harmless witticisms that operate through
play on words and sound similarity, and just as harmless ones which make
use of all means of thought-wit. Nor is it less easy to prove that
tendency-wit as far as technique is concerned may be merely the wit of
words. Thus, for example, witticisms that “_play_” with proper names
often show an insulting and offending tendency, and yet they, too,
belong to word-wit. Again, the most harmless of all jests are
word-witticisms. Examples of this nature are the popular “shake-up”
rhymes (Schüttelreime) in which the technique is represented through the
manifold application of the same material with a very peculiar
modification:
“Having been forsaken by _Dame Luck_, he degenerated into a _Lame
Duck_.”
Let us hope that no one will deny that the pleasure experienced in this
kind of otherwise unpretentious rhyming is of the same nature as the one
by which we recognize wit.
Good examples of abstract or harmless thought-witticisms abound in
Lichtenberg’s comparisons with which we have already become acquainted.
I add a few more. “_They sent a small Octavo to the University of
Göttingen; and received back in body and soul a quarto_” (a fourth-form
boy).
“_In order to erect this budding well, one must lay above all things a
good foundation, and I know of no firmer than by laying immediately over
every pro-layer a contra-layer._”
“_One man begets the thought, the second acts as its godfather, the
third begets children by it, the fourth visits it on its death-bed, and
the fifth buries it_” (comparison with unification).
“_Not only did he disbelieve in ghosts, but he was not ever afraid of
them._” The witticism in this case lies exclusively in the absurd
representation which puts what is usually considered less important in
the comparative and what is considered more important in the positive
degree. If we divest it of its dress it says: it is much easier to use
our reason and make light of the fear of ghosts than to defend ourselves
against this fear when the occasion presents itself. But this rendering
is no longer witty; it is merely a correct and still too little
respected psychological fact suggesting what Lessing expresses in his
well-known words:
“Not all are free who mock their chains.”
_Harmless and Tendency Wit_
I shall take the opportunity presented here of clearing up what may
still lead to a possible misunderstanding. “Harmless” or “abstract” wit
should in no way convey the same meaning as “shallow” or “poor” wit. It
is meant only to designate the opposite of the “tendency” wit to be
described later. As shown in the aforementioned examples, a harmless
jest, i.e., a witticism without a tendency, can also be very rich in
content and express something worth while. The quality of a witticism,
however, is independent of the wit and represents the quality of the
thought which is here expressed wittily by means of a special
contrivance. To be sure, just as watch-makers are wont to enclose very
good works in valuable cases, so it may likewise happen with wit that
the best witty activities are used to invest the richest thoughts.
Now, if we pay strict attention to the distinction between
thought-content and the witty wording of thought-wit, we arrive at an
insight which may clear up much uncertainty in our judgment of wit. For
it turns out—astonishing as it may seem—that our enjoyment of a
witticism is supplied by the combined impression of content and
wit-activity, and that one of the factors is likely to deceive us about
the extent of the other. It is only the reduction of the witticism that
lays bare to us our mistaken judgment.
The same thing applies to word-wit. When we hear that “_experience
consists simply of experiencing what one wishes he had not
experienced_,” we are puzzled, and believe that we have learnt a new
truth; it takes some time before we recognize in this disguise the
platitude, “adversity is the school of wisdom” (K. Fischer). The
excellent wit-activity which seeks to define “experience” by the almost
exclusive use of the word “experience” deceives us so completely that we
overestimate the content of the sentence. The same thing happens in many
similar cases and also in Lichtenberg’s unification-witticism about
January (p. 89), which expresses nothing but what we already know,
namely, that New Year’s wishes are as seldom realized as other wishes.
We find the contrary true of other witticisms, in which obviously what
is striking and correct in the thought captivates us, so that we call
the saying an excellent witticism, whereas it is only the thought that
is brilliant while the wit-activity is often weak. It is especially true
of Lichtenberg’s wit that the path of the thought is often of more value
than its witty expression, though we unjustly extend the value of the
former to the latter. Thus the remark about the “torch of truth” (p.
115) is hardly a witty comparison, but it is so striking that we are
inclined to lay stress on the sentence as exceptionally witty.
Lichtenberg’s witticisms are above all remarkable for their
thought-content and their certainty of hitting the mark. Goethe has
rightly remarked about this author that his witty and jocose thoughts
positively conceal problems. Or perhaps it may be more correct to say
that they touch upon the solutions of problems. When, for example, he
presents as a witty thought:
“He always read _Agamemnon_ instead of the German word _angenommen_, so
thoroughly had he read Homer” (technically this is absurdity plus sound
similarity of words). Thus he discovered nothing less than the secret of
mistakes in reading.[38] The following joke, whose technique (p. 78)
seemed to us quite unsatisfactory, is of a similar nature.
“_He was surprised that there were two holes cut in the pelts of cats
just where the eyes were located._” The stupidity here exhibited is only
seemingly so; in reality this ingenuous remark conceals the great
problem of teleology in the structure of animals; it is not at all so
self-evident that the eyelid cleft opens just where the cornea is
exposed, until the science of evolution explains to us this coincidence.
Let us bear in mind that a witty sentence gave us a general impression
in which we were unable to distinguish the amount of thought-content
from the amount of wit-work; perhaps even a more significant parallel to
it will be found later.
_Pleasure Results from the Technique_
For our theoretical explanation of the nature of wit, harmless wit must
be of greater value to us than tendency-wit and shallow wit more than
profound wit. Harmless and shallow plays on words present to us the
problem of wit in its purest form, because of the good sense therein and
because there is no purposive factor nor underlying philosophy to
confuse the judgment. With such material our understanding can make
further progress.
_At the end of a dinner to which I had been invited, a pastry called
Roulard was served; it was a culinary accomplishment which presupposed a
good deal of skill on the part of the cook. “Is it home-made?” asked one
of the guests. “Oh, yes,” replied the host, “it is a Home-Roulard”_
(Home Rule).
This time we shall not investigate the technique of this witticism, but
shall center our attention upon another, and that one the most important
factor. As I remember, this improvised joke delighted all the guests and
made us laugh. In this case, as in countless others, the feeling of
pleasure of the hearer cannot have originated from any purposive element
nor the thought-content of the wit; so we are forced to connect the
feeling of pleasure with the technique of wit. The technical means of
wit which we have described, such as condensation, displacement,
indirect expression, etc., have therefore the faculty to produce a
feeling of pleasure in the hearer, although we cannot as yet see how
they acquired that faculty. By such easy stages we get the second axiom
for the explanation of wit; the first one (p. 17) states that the
character of wit depends upon the mode of expression. Let us remember
also that the second axiom has really taught us nothing new. It merely
isolates a fact that was already contained in a discovery which we made
before. For we recall that whenever it was possible to reduce the wit by
substituting for its verbal expression another set of words, at the same
time carefully retaining the sense, it not only eliminated the witty
character but also the laughableness (_Lacheffekt_) that constitutes the
pleasure of wit.
At present we cannot go further without first coming to an understanding
with our philosophical authorities.
The philosophers who adjudge wit to be a part of the comic and deal with
the latter itself in the field of æsthetics, characterize the æsthetic
presentation by the following conditions: that we are not thereby
interested in or about the objects, that we do not need these objects to
satisfy our great wants in life, but that we are satisfied with the mere
contemplation of the same, and with the pleasure of the thought itself.
“This pleasure, this mode of conception is purely æsthetical, it depends
entirely on itself, its end is only itself and it fulfills no other end
in life” (K. Fischer, p. 68).
We scarcely venture a contradiction to K. Fischer’s words—perhaps we
merely translate his thoughts into our own mode of expression—when we
insist that the witty activity is, after all, not to be designated as
aimless or purposeless, since it has for its aim the evocation of
pleasure in the hearer. I doubt whether we are able to undertake
anything which has no object in view. When we do not use our psychic
apparatus for the fulfillment of one of our indispensable
gratifications, we let it work for pleasure, and we seek to derive
pleasure from its own activity. I suspect that this is really the
condition which underlies all æsthetic thinking, but I know too little
about æsthetics to be willing to support this theory. About wit,
however, I can assert, on the strength of the two impressions gained
before, that it is an activity whose purpose is to derive pleasure—be it
intellectual or otherwise—from the psychic processes. To be sure, there
are other activities which accomplish the same thing. They may be
differentiated from each by the sphere of psychic activity from which
they wish to derive pleasure, or perhaps by the methods which they use
in accomplishing this. At present we cannot decide this, but we firmly
maintain that at last we have established a connection between the
technique of wit partly controlled by the tendency to economize (p. 53)
and the production of pleasure.
But before we proceed to solve the riddle of how the technical means of
wit-work can produce pleasure in the hearer, we wish to mention that,
for the sake of simplicity and more lucidity, we have altogether put out
of the way all tendency-witticisms. Still we must attempt to explain
what the tendencies of wit are and in what manner wit makes use of these
tendencies.
_Hostile and Obscene Wit_
We are taught above all by an observation not to put aside the
tendency-wit when we are investigating the origin of the pleasure in
wit. The pleasurable effect of harmless wit is usually of a moderate
nature; all that it can be expected to produce in the hearer is a
distinct feeling of satisfaction and a slight ripple of laughter; and as
we have shown by fitting examples (p. 132) at least a part of this
effect is due to the thought-content. The sudden irresistible outburst
of laughter evoked by the tendency-wit rarely follows the wit without a
tendency. As the technique may be identical in both, it is fair to
assume that by virtue of its purpose, the tendency-wit has at its
disposal sources of pleasure to which harmless wit has no access.
It is now easy to survey wit-tendencies. Wherever wit is not a means to
its end, i. e., harmless, it puts itself in the service of but two
tendencies which may themselves be united under one viewpoint; it is
either _hostile_ wit serving as an aggression, satire, or defense, or it
is _obscene_ wit serving as a sexual exhibition. Again it is to be
observed that the technical form of wit—be it a word- or
thought-witticism—bears no relation to these two tendencies.
It is a much more complicated matter to show in what way wit serves
these tendencies. In this investigation I wish to present first not the
hostile but the exhibition wit. The latter has indeed very seldom been
deemed worthy of an investigation, as if an aversion had transferred
itself here from the material to the subject; however, we shall not
allow ourselves to be misled thereby, for we shall soon touch upon a
detail in wit which promises to throw light on more than one obscure
point.
We all know what is meant by a “smutty” joke. It is the intentional
bringing into prominence of sexual facts or relations through speech.
However, this definition is no sounder than other definitions. A lecture
on the anatomy of the sexual organs or on the physiology of reproduction
need not, in spite of this definition, have anything in common with an
obscenity. It must be added that the smutty joke is directed toward a
certain person who excites one sexually, and who becomes cognizant of
the speaker’s excitement by listening to the smutty joke, and thereby in
turn becomes sexually excited. Instead of becoming sexually excited the
listener may react with shame and embarrassment, which merely signifies
a reaction against the excitement and indirectly an admission of the
same. The smutty joke was originally directed against the woman and is
comparable to an attempt at seduction. If a man tells or listens to
obscene jokes in male society, the original situation, which cannot be
realized on account of social inhibitions, is thereby also represented.
Whoever laughs at a smutty joke does the same as the spectator who
laughs at a sexual aggression.
The sexual element which is at the basis of the obscene joke comprises
more than that which is peculiar to both sexes, and goes beyond that
which is common to both sexes, it is connected with all these things
that cause shame, and includes the whole domain of the excrementitious.
However, this was the sexual domain of childhood, where the imagination
fancied a cloaca, so to speak, within which the sexual elements were
either badly or not at all differentiated from the excrementitious.[39]
In the whole mental domain of the psychology of the neuroses, the sexual
still includes the excrementitious, and it is understood in the old,
infantile sense.
The smutty joke is like the denudation of a person of the opposite sex
toward whom the joke is directed. Through the utterance of obscene words
the person attacked is forced to picture the parts of the body in
question, or the sexual act, and is shown that the aggressor himself
pictures the same thing. There is no doubt that the original motive of
the smutty joke was the pleasure of seeing the sexual displayed.
It will only help to clarify the subject if here we go back to the
fundamentals. One of the primitive components of our libido is the
desire to see the sexual exposed. Perhaps this itself is a development—a
substitution for the desire to touch which is assumed to be the primary
pleasure. As it often happens, the desire to see has here also replaced
the desire to touch.[40] The libido for looking and touching is found in
every person in two forms, active and passive, or masculine and
feminine; and in accordance with the preponderance of sex
characteristics it develops preponderately in one or the other
direction. In young children one can readily observe the desire to
exhibit themselves nude. If the germ of this desire does not experience
the usual fate of being covered up and repressed, it develops into a
mania for exhibitionism, a familiar perversion among grown-up men. In
women the passive desire to exhibit is almost regularly covered by the
masked reaction of sexual modesty; despite this, however, remnants of
this desire may always be seen in women’s dress. I need only mention how
flexible and variable convention and circumstances make that remaining
portion of exhibitionism still allowed to women.
_The Transformation of the Obscenity into Obscene Wit_
In the case of men a great part of this striving to exhibit remains as a
part of the libido and serves to initiate the sexual act. If this
striving asserts itself on first meeting the woman it must make use of
speech for two motives. First, in order to make itself known to the
woman; and secondly, because the awakening of the imagination through
speech puts the woman herself in a corresponding excitement and awakens
in her the desire to passive exhibitionism. This speech of courtship is
not yet smutty, but may pass over into the same. Wherever the
yieldingness of the woman manifests itself quickly, smutty speech is
short-lived, for it gives way to the sexual act. It is different if the
rapid yielding of the woman cannot be counted upon, but instead there
appears the defense reaction. In that case the sexually exciting speech
changes into obscene wit as its own end; as the sexual aggression is
inhibited in its progress towards the act, it lingers at the evocation
of the excitement and derives pleasure from the indications of the same
in the woman. In this process the aggression changes its character in
the same way as any libidinous impulse confronted by a hindrance; it
becomes distinctly hostile and cruel, and utilizes the sadistical
components of the sexual impulse against the hindrance.
Thus the unyieldingness of the woman is therefore the next condition for
the development of smutty wit; to be sure, this resistance must be of
the kind to indicate merely a deferment and make it appear that further
efforts will not be in vain. The ideal case of such resistance on the
part of the woman usually results from the simultaneous presence of
another man, a third person, whose presence almost excludes the
immediate yielding of the woman. This third person soon becomes of the
greatest importance for the development of the smutty wit, but next to
him the presence of the woman must be taken account of. Among rural
people or in the ordinary hostelry one can observe that not till the
waitress or the hostess approaches the guests does the obscene wit come
out; in a higher order of society just the opposite happens, here the
presence of a woman puts an end to smutty talk. The men reserve this
kind of conversation, which originally presupposed the presence of
bashful women, until they are alone, “by themselves.” Thus gradually the
spectator, now turned the listener, takes the place of the woman as the
object of the smutty joke, and through such a change the smutty joke
already approaches the character of wit.
Henceforth our attention may be centered upon two factors, first upon
the rôle that the third person—the listener—plays, and secondly, upon
the intrinsic conditions of the smutty joke itself.
Tendency-wit usually requires three persons. Besides the one who makes
the wit there is a second person who is taken as the object of the
hostile or sexual aggression, and a third person in whom the purpose of
the wit to produce pleasure is fulfilled. We shall later on inquire into
the deeper motive of this relationship, for the present we shall adhere
to the fact which states that it is not the maker of the wit who laughs
about it and enjoys its pleasurable effect, but it is the idle listener
who does. The same relationship exists among the three persons connected
with the smutty joke. The process may be described as follows: As soon
as the libidinous impulse of the first person, to satisfy himself
through the woman, is blocked, he immediately develops a hostile
attitude towards this second person and takes the originally intruding
third person as his confederate. Through the obscene speech of the first
person the woman is exposed before the third person, who as a listener
is fascinated by the easy gratification of his own libido.
It is curious that common people so thoroughly enjoy such smutty talk,
and that it is a never-lacking activity of cheerful humor. It is also
worthy of notice that in this complicated process which shows so many
characteristics of tendency-wit, no formal demands, such as characterize
wit, are made upon “smutty wit.” The unveiled nudity affords pleasure to
the first and makes the third person laugh.
Not until we come to the refined and cultured does the formal
determination of wit arise. The obscenity becomes witty and is tolerated
only if it is witty. The technical means of which it mostly makes use is
allusion, i.e., substitution through a trifle, something remotely
related, which the listener reconstructs in his imagination as a
full-fledged and direct obscenity. The greater the disproportion between
what is directly offered in the obscenity and what is necessarily
aroused by it in the mind of the listener, the finer is the witticism
and the higher it may venture in good society. Besides the coarse and
delicate allusions, the witty obscenity also utilizes all other means of
word- and thought-wit, as can be easily demonstrated by examples.
_The Function of Wit in the Service of the Tendency_
It now becomes comprehensible what wit accomplishes through this service
of its tendency. It makes possible the gratification of a craving (lewd
or hostile) despite a hindrance which stands in the way; it eludes the
hindrance and so derives pleasure from a source that has become
inaccessible on account of the hindrance. The hindrance in the way is
really nothing more than the higher degree of culture and education
which correspondingly increases the inability of the woman to tolerate
the stark sex. The woman thought of as present in the final situation is
still considered present, or her influence acts as a deterrent to the
men even in her absence. One often notices how cultured men are
influenced by the company of girls of a lower station in life to change
witty obscenities to broad smut.
The power which renders it difficult or impossible for the woman, and in
a lesser degree for the man, to enjoy unveiled obscenities we call
“repression,” and we recognize in it the same psychic process which
keeps from consciousness in severe nervous attacks whole complexes of
emotions with their resultant affects, and has shown itself to be the
principal factor in the causation of the so-called psychoneuroses. We
acknowledge to culture and higher civilization an important influence in
the development of repressions, and assume that under these conditions
there has come about a change in our psychic organization which may also
have been brought along as an inherited disposition. In consequence of
it, what was once accepted as pleasureful is now counted unacceptable
and is rejected by means of all the psychic forces. Owing to the
repression brought about by civilization many primary pleasures are now
disapproved by the censor and lost. But the human psyche finds
renunciation very difficult; hence we discover that tendency-wit
furnishes us with a means to make the renunciation retrogressive and
thus to regain what has been lost. When we laugh over a delicately
obscene witticism, we laugh at the identical thing which causes laughter
in the ill-bred man when he hears a coarse, obscene joke; in both cases
the pleasure comes from the same source. The coarse, obscene joke,
however, could not incite us to laughter, because it would cause us
shame or would seem to us disgusting; we can laugh only when wit comes
to our aid.
What we had presumed in the beginning seems to have been confirmed,
namely, that tendency-wit has access to other sources of pleasure than
harmless wit, in which all the pleasure is somehow dependent upon the
technique. We can also reiterate that owing to our feelings we are in no
position to distinguish in tendency-wit what part of the pleasure
originates from the technique and what part from the tendency. _Strictly
speaking, we do not know what we are laughing about._ In all obscene
jokes we succumb to striking mistakes of judgment about the “goodness”
of the joke as far as it depends upon formal conditions; the technique
of these jokes is often very poor while their laughing effect is
enormous.
_Invectives Made Possible Through Wit_
We next wish to determine whether the rôle of wit in the service of the
hostile tendency is the same.
Right from the start we meet with similar conditions. Since our
individual childhood and the childhood of human civilization, our
hostile impulses towards our fellow-beings have been subjected to the
same restrictions and the same progressive repressions as our sexual
strivings. We have not yet progressed so far as to love our enemies, or
to extend to them our left cheek after we are smitten on the right.
Furthermore, all moral codes about the subjection of active hatred bear
even to-day the clearest indications that they were originally meant for
a small community of clansmen. As we all may consider ourselves members
of some nation, we permit ourselves for the most part to forget these
restrictions in matters touching a foreign people. But within our own
circles we have nevertheless made progress in the mastery of hostile
emotions. Lichtenberg drastically puts it when he says: “Where nowadays
one says, ‘I beg your pardon,’ formerly one had recourse to a cuff on
the ear.” Violent hostility, no longer tolerated by law, has been
replaced by verbal invectives, and the better understanding of the
concatenation of human emotions robs us, through its consequential
“_Tout comprendre c’est tout pardonner_,” more and more of the capacity
to become angry at our fellowman who is in our way. Having been endowed
with a strong hostile disposition in our childhood, higher personal
civilization teaches us later that it is undignified to use abusive
language; even where combat is still permitted, the number of things
which may be used as means of combat has been markedly restricted.
Society, as the third and dispassionate party in the combat to whose
interest it is to safeguard personal safety, prevents us from expressing
our hostile feelings in action; and hence, as in sexual aggression,
there has developed a new technique of invectives, the aim of which is
to enlist this third person against our enemy. By belittling and
humbling our enemy, by scorning and ridiculing him, we indirectly obtain
the pleasure of his defeat by the laughter of the third person, the
inactive spectator.
We are now prepared for the rôle that wit plays in hostile aggression.
Wit permits us to make our enemy ridiculous through that which we could
not utter loudly or consciously on account of existing hindrances; in
other words, _wit affords us the means of surmounting restrictions and
of opening up otherwise inaccessible pleasure-sources_. Moreover, the
listener will be induced by the gain in pleasure to take our part, even
if he is not altogether convinced,—just as we on other occasions, when
fascinated by harmless witticism, were wont to overestimate the
substance of the sentence wittily expressed. “To prejudice the laughter
in one’s own favor” is a completely pertinent saying in the German
language.
One may recall Mr. N.’s witticism given in the last chapter (p. 28). It
is of an insulting nature, as if the author wished to shout loudly: But
the minister of agriculture is himself an ox! But he, as a man of
culture, could not put his opinion in this form. He therefore appealed
to wit which assured his opinion a reception at the hands of the
listeners which, in spite of its amount of truth, never would have been
received if in an unwitty form. Brill cites an excellent example of a
similar kind: _Wendell Phillips, according to a recent biography by Dr.
Lorenzo Sears, was on one occasion lecturing in Ohio, and while on a
railroad journey going to keep one of his appointments met in the car a
number of clergymen returning from some sort of convention. One of the
ministers, feeling called upon to approach Mr. Phillips, asked him, “Are
you Mr. Phillips?” “I am, sir.” “Are you trying to free the niggers?”
“Yes, sir; I am an abolitionist.” “Well, why do you preach your
doctrines up here? Why don’t you go over into Kentucky?” “Excuse me, are
you a preacher?” “I am, sir.” “Are you trying to save souls from hell?”
“Yes, sir, that’s my business.” “Well, why don’t you go there?”_ The
assailant hurried into the smoker amid a roar of unsanctified laughter.
This anecdote nicely illustrates the tendency-wit in the service of
hostile aggression. The minister’s behavior was offensive and
irritating, yet Wendell Phillips as a man of culture could not defend
himself in the same manner as a common, ill-bred person would have done,
and as his inner feelings must have prompted him to do. The only
alternative under the circumstances would have been to take the affront
in silence, had not wit showed him the way, and enabled him by the
technical means of unification to turn the tables on his assailant. He
not only belittled him and turned him into ridicule, but by his clever
retort, “Well, why don’t you go there?” fascinated the other clergymen,
and thus brought them to his side.
Although the hindrance to the aggression which the wit helped to elude
was in these cases of an inner nature—the æsthetic resistance against
insulting—it may at other times be of a purely outer nature. So it was
in the case when Serenissimus asked the stranger who had a striking
resemblance to himself: “Was your mother ever in my home?” and he
received the ready reply, “No, but my father was.” The stranger would
certainly have felled the imprudent inquirer who dared to make an
ignominious allusion to the memory of his mother; but this imprudent
person was Serenissimus, who may not be felled and not even insulted
unless one wishes to pay for this revenge with his life. The only thing
left was to swallow the insult in silence; but luckily wit pointed out
the way of requiting the insult without personally imperiling one’s
self. It was accomplished simply by treating the allusion with the
technical means of unification and employing it against the aggressor.
The impression of wit is here so thoroughly determined by the tendency
that in view of the witty rejoinder we are inclined to forget that the
aggressor’s inquiry is itself made witty by allusion.
_Rebellion Against Authority Through Wit_
The prevention of abuse or insulting retorts through outer circumstances
is so often the case that tendency-wit is used with special preference
as a weapon of attack or criticism of superiors who claim to be an
authority. Wit then serves as a resistance against such authority and as
an escape from its pressure. In this factor, too, lies the charm of
caricature, at which we laugh even if it is badly done simply because we
consider its resistance to authority a great merit.
If we keep in mind that tendency-wit is so well adapted as a weapon of
attack upon what is great, dignified, and mighty, that which is shielded
by internal hindrances or external circumstance against direct
disparagement, we are forced to a special conception of certain groups
of witticisms which seem to occupy themselves with inferior and
powerless persons. I am referring to the marriage-agent stories,—with a
few of which we have become familiar in the investigation of the
manifold techniques of thought-wit. In some of these examples, “But she
is deaf, too!” and “Who in the world would ever lend these people
anything!” the agent was derided as a careless and thoughtless person
who becomes comical because the truth escapes his lips automatically, as
it were. But does on the one hand what we have learned about the nature
of tendency-wit, and on the other hand the amount of satisfaction in
these stories, harmonize with the misery of the persons at whom the joke
seems to be pointed? Are these worthy opponents of the wit? Or, is it
not more plausible to suppose that the wit puts the agent in the
foreground only in order to strike at something more important; does it,
as the saying goes, strike the saddle pack, when it is meant for the
mule? This conception can really not be rejected.
The above-mentioned interpretation of the marriage-agent stories admits
of a continuation. It is true that I need not enter into them, that I
can content myself with seeing the farcical in these stories, and can
dispute their witty character. However, such subjective determination of
wit actually exists. We have now become cognizant of it and shall later
on have to investigate it. It means that only that is a witticism which
I wish to consider as such. What may be wit to me, may be only an
amusing story to another. But if a witticism admits of doubt, that can
be due only to the fact that it is possessed of a show-side,—in our
examples it happens to be a façade of the comic,—upon which one may be
satisfied to bestow a single glance while another may attempt to peep
behind. We also suspect that this façade is intended to dazzle the
prying glance which is to say that such stories have something to
conceal.
At all events, if our marriage-agent stories are witticisms at all, they
are all the better witticisms because, thanks to their façade, they are
in a position to conceal not only what they have to say but also that
they have something—forbidden—to say. But the continuation of the
interpretation, which reveals this hidden part and shows that these
stories having a comical façade are tendency-witticisms, would be as
follows: Every one who allows the truth to escape his lips in an
unguarded moment is really pleased to have rid himself of this thought.
This is a correct and far-reaching psychological insight. Without the
inner assent no one would allow himself to be overpowered by the
automatism which here brings the truth to light.[41] The marriage agent
is thus transformed from a ludicrous personage into an object deserving
of pity and sympathy. How blest must be the man, able at last to
unburden himself of the weight of dissimulation, if he immediately
seizes the first opportunity to shout out the last fragment of truth! As
soon as he sees that his case is lost, that the prospective bride does
not suit the young man, he gladly betrays the secret that the girl has
still another blemish which the young man had overlooked, or he makes
use of the chance to present a conclusive argument in detail in order to
express his contempt for the people who employ him: “Who in the world
would ever lend these people anything!” The ludicrousness of the whole
thing now reverts upon the parents,—hardly mentioned in the story,—who
consider such deceptions justified to clutch a man for their daughter;
it also reflects upon the wretched state of the girls who get married
through such contrivances, and upon the want of dignity of the marriage
contracted after such preliminaries. The agent is the right person to
express such criticisms, for he is best acquainted with these abuses;
but he may not raise his voice, because he is a poor man whose
livelihood depends altogether on turning these abuses to his advantage.
But the same conflict is found in the national spirit which has given
rise to these and similar stories; for he is aware that the holiness of
wedlock suffers severely by reference to some of the methods of
marriage-making.
We recall also the observation made during the investigation of
wit-technique, namely, that absurdity in wit frequently stands for
derision and criticism in the thought behind the witticism, wherein the
wit-work follows the dream-work. This state of affairs, we find, is here
once more confirmed. That the derision and criticism are not aimed at
the agent, who appears in the former examples only as the whipping boy
of the joke, is shown by another series in which the agent, on the
contrary, is pictured as a superior person whose dialectics are a match
for any difficulty. They are stories whose façades are logical instead
of comical—they are sophistic thought-witticisms. In one of them (p. 83)
the agent knows how to circumvent the limping of the bride by stating
that in her case it is at least “a finished job”; another woman with
straight limbs would be in constant danger of falling and breaking a
leg, which would be followed by sickness, pains, and doctor’s fees—all
of which can be avoided by marrying the one already limping. Again in
another example (p. 81) the agent is clever enough to refute by good
arguments each of the whole series of the suitor’s objections against
the bride; only to the last, which cannot be glossed over, he rejoins,
“Do you expect her to have no blemishes at all?” as if the other
objections had not left behind an important remnant. It is not difficult
to pick out the weak points of the arguments in both examples, a thing
which we have done during the investigation of the technique. But now
something else interests us. If the agent’s speech is endowed with such
a strong semblance of logic, which on more careful examination proves to
be merely a semblance, then the truth must be lurking in the fact that
the witticism adjudges the agent to be right. The thought does not dare
to admit that he is right in all seriousness, and replaces it by the
semblance which the wit brings forth; but here, as it often happens, the
jest betrays the seriousness of it. We shall not err if we assume that
all stories with logical façades really mean what they assert even if
these assertions are deliberately falsely motivated. Only this use of
sophism for the veiled presentation of the truth endows it with the
character of wit, which is mainly dependent upon tendency. What these
two stories wish to indicate is that the suitor really makes himself
ridiculous when he collects together so sedulously the individual charms
of the bride which are transient after all, and when he forgets at the
same time that he must be prepared to take as his wife a human being
with inevitable faults; whereas, the only virtue which might make
tolerable marriage with the more or less imperfect personality of the
woman,—mutual attachment and willingness for affectionate adaptation,—is
not once mentioned in the whole affair.
Ridicule of the suitor as seen in these examples in which the agent
quite correctly assumes the rôle of superiority, is much more clearly
depicted in other examples. The more pointed the stories, the less
wit-technique they contain; they are, as it were, merely border-line
cases of wit with whose technique they have only the façade-formation in
common. However, in view of the same tendency and the concealment of the
same behind the façade, they obtain the full effect of wit. The poverty
of technical means makes it clear also that many witticisms of that kind
cannot dispense with the comic element of jargon which acts similarly to
wit-technique without great sacrifices.
The following is such a story, which with all the force of tendency-wit
obviates all traces of that technique. _The agent asks: “What are you
looking for in your bride?” The reply is: “She must be pretty, she must
be rich, and she must be cultured.” “Very well,” was the agent’s
rejoinder. “But what you want will make three matches.”_ Here the
reproach is no longer embodied in wit, but is made directly to the man.
In all the preceding examples the veiled aggression was still directed
against persons; in the marriage-agent jokes it is directed against all
the parties involved in the betrothal—the bridegroom, bride, and her
parents. The object of attack by wit may equally well be institutions,
persons, in so far as they may act as agents of these, moral or
religious precepts, or even philosophies of life which enjoy so much
respect that they can be challenged in no other way than under the guise
of a witticism, and one that is veiled by a façade at that. No matter
how few the themes upon which tendency-wit may play, its forms and
investments are manifold. I believe that we shall do well to designate
this species of tendency-wit by a special name. To decide what name will
be appropriate is possible only after analyzing a few examples of this
kind.
_The Witty Cynicism_
I recall the two little stories about the impecunious gourmand who was
caught eating “salmon with mayonnaise,” and about the tippling tutor;
these witty stories, which we have learned to regard as sophistical
displacement-wit, I shall continue to analyze. We have learned since
then that when the semblance of logic is attached to the façade of a
story, the actual thought is as follows: The man is right; but on
account of the opposing contradiction, I did not dare to admit the fact
except for one point in which his error is easily demonstrable. The
“point” chosen is the correct compromise between his right and his
wrong; this is really no decision, but bespeaks the conflict within
ourselves. Both stories are simply epicurean. They say, Yes, the man is
right; nothing is greater than pleasure, and it is fairly immaterial in
what manner one procures it. This sounds frightfully immoral, and
perhaps it is, but fundamentally it is nothing more than the “_Carpe
diem_” of the poet who refers to the uncertainty of life and the
bareness of virtuous renunciation. If we are repelled by the idea that
the man in the joke about “salmon with mayonnaise” is in the right, then
it is merely due to the fact that it illustrates the sound sense of the
man in indulging himself—an indulgence which seems to us wholly
unnecessary. In reality each one of us has experienced hours and times
during which he has admitted the justice of this philosophy of life and
has reproached our system of morality for knowing only how to make
claims upon us without reimbursing us. Since we no longer lend credence
to the idea of a hereafter in which all former renunciations are
supposed to be rewarded by gratification—(there are very few pious
persons if one makes renunciation the password of faith)—“_Carpe diem_”
becomes the first admonition. I am quite ready to postpone the
gratification, but how do I know whether I shall still be alive
to-morrow?
“Di doman’ non c’e certezza.”[42]
I am quite willing to give up all the paths to gratification interdicted
by society, but am I sure that society will reward me for this
renunciation by opening for me—even after a certain delay—one of the
permitted paths? One can plainly tell what these witticisms whisper,
namely, that the wishes and desires of man have a right to make
themselves perceptible next to our pretentious and inconsiderate
morality. And in our times it has been said in emphatic and striking
terms that this morality is merely the selfish precept of the few rich
and mighty who can gratify their desires at any time without deferment.
As long as the art of healing has not succeeded in safeguarding our
lives, and as long as the social organizations do not do more towards
making conditions more agreeable, just so long cannot the voice within
us which is striving against the demands of morality, be stifled. Every
honest person finally makes this admission—at least to himself. The
decision in this conflict is possible only through the roundabout way of
a new understanding. One must be able to knit one’s life so closely to
that of others, and to form such an intimate identification with others,
that the shortening of one’s own term of life becomes surmountable; one
should not unlawfully fulfill the demands of one’s own needs, but should
leave them unfulfilled, because only the continuance of so many
unfulfilled demands can develop the power to recast the social order.
But not all personal needs allow themselves to be displaced in such a
manner and transferred to others, nor is there a universal and definite
solution of the conflict.
We now know how to designate the witticisms just discussed; they are
cynical witticisms, and what they conceal are cynicisms.
Among the institutions which cynical wit is wont to attack there is none
more important and more completely protected by moral precepts, and yet
more inviting of attack, than the institution of marriage. Most of the
cynical jokes are directed against it. For no demand is more personal
than that made upon sexual freedom, and nowhere has civilization
attempted to exert a more stringent suppression than in the realm of
sexuality. For our purposes a single example suffices: the “Entries in
the Album of Prince Carnival” mentioned on page 108.
“_A wife is like an umbrella, at worst one may always take a cab._”
We have already elucidated the complicated technique of this example; it
is a puzzling and seemingly impossible comparison which however, as we
now see, is not in itself witty; it shows besides an allusion (cab =
public conveyance), and as the strongest technical means it also shows
an omission which serves to make it still more unintelligible. The
comparison may be worked out in the following manner. A man marries in
order to guard himself against the temptations of sensuality, but it
then turns out that after all marriage affords no gratification for one
of stronger needs, just as one takes along an umbrella for protection
against rain only to get wet in spite of it. In both cases one must
search for better protection; in one case one must take a public cab, in
the other women procurable for money. Now the wit has almost entirely
been replaced by cynicism. That marriage is not the organization which
can satisfy a man’s sexuality, one does not dare to say loudly and
frankly unless indeed it be one like Christian v. Ehrenfels,[43] who is
forced to it by the love of truth and the zeal of reform. The strength
of this witticism lies in the fact that it has expressed the thought
even though it had to be done through all sorts of roundabout ways.
_Cynical Witticisms and Self-criticism_
A particularly favorable case for tendency-wit results if the intended
criticism of the inner resistance is directed against one’s own person,
or, more carefully expressed, against a person in whom one takes
interest, that is, a composite personality such as one’s own people.
This determination of self-criticism may make clear why it is that a
number of the most excellent jokes of which we have shown here many
specimens should have sprung into existence from the soil of Jewish
national life. They are stories which were invented by Jews themselves
and which are directed against Jewish peculiarities. The Jewish jokes
made up by non-Jews are nearly all brutal buffooneries in which the wit
is spared by the fact that the Jew appears as a comic figure to a
stranger. The Jewish jokes which originate with Jews admit this, but
they know their real shortcomings as well as their merits, and the
interest of the person himself in the thing to be criticised produces
the subjective determination of the wit-work which would otherwise be
difficult to bring about. Incidentally I do not know whether one often
finds a people that makes merry so unreservedly over its own
shortcomings.
As an illustration I can point to the story cited on page 112 in which
the Jew in the train immediately abandons all sense of decency of
deportment as soon as he recognizes the new arrival in his coupé as his
coreligionist. We have come to know this joke as an illustration by
means of a detail—representation through a trifle; it is supposed to
represent the democratic mode of thought of the Jew who recognizes no
difference between master and servant, but unfortunately this also
disturbs discipline and co-operation. Another especially interesting
series of jokes presents the relationship between the poor and the rich
Jews: their heroes are the “shnorrer,”[44] and the charitable gentleman
or the baron. _The shnorrer, who was a regular Sunday-dinner guest at a
certain house, appeared one day accompanied by a young stranger, who
prepared to seat himself at the table. “Who is that?” demanded the host.
“He became my son-in-law last week,” was the reply, “and I have agreed
to supply his board for the first year.”_ The tendency of these stories
is always the same, and is most distinctly shown in the following story.
_The shnorrer supplicates the baron for money to visit the bathing
resort Ostend, as the physician has ordered him to take sea baths for
his ailment. The baron remarks that Ostend is an especially expensive
resort, and that a less fashionable place would do just as well. But the
shnorrer rejects that proposition by saying, “Herr Baron, nothing is too
expensive for my health.”_ That is an excellent displacement-witticism
which we could have taken as a model of its kind. The baron is evidently
anxious to save his money, but the shnorrer replies as if the baron’s
money were his own, which he may then consider secondary to his health.
One is forced to laugh at the insolence of the demand, but these jokes
are exceptionally unequipped with a façade to becloud the understanding.
The truth is that the shnorrer who mentally treats the rich man’s money
as his own, really possesses almost the right to this mistake, according
to the sacred codes of the Jews. Naturally the resistance which is
responsible for this joke is directed against the law which even the
pious find very oppressing.
Another story relates _how on the steps of a rich man’s house a shnorrer
met one of his own kind. The latter counseled him to depart, saying, “Do
not go up to-day, the Baron is out of sorts and refuses to give any one
more than a dollar.” “I will go up anyway,” replied the first. “Why in
the world should I make him, a present of a dollar? Is he making me any
presents?”_
This witticism makes use of the technique of absurdity by permitting the
shnorrer to declare that the baron gives him nothing at the same moment
in which he is preparing to beg him for the donation. But the absurdity
is only apparent, for it is almost true that the rich man gives him
nothing, since he is obligated by the mandate to give alms, and strictly
speaking must be thankful that the shnorrer gives him an opportunity to
be charitable. The ordinary, bourgeois conception of alms is at
cross-purposes with the religious one; it openly revolts against the
religious conception in the _story about the baron who, having been
deeply touched by the shnorrer’s tale of woe, rang for his servants and
said: “Throw him out of the house; he is breaking my heart.”_ This
obvious exposition of the tendency again creates a case of border-line
wit. From the no longer witty complaint: “It is really no advantage to
be a rich man among Jews. The foreign misery does not grant one the
pleasure of one’s own fortune,” these last stories are distinguished
only by the illustration of a single situation.
Other stories as the following, which, technically again presenting
border-lines of wit, have their origin in a deeply pessimistic cynicism.
_A patient whose hearing was defective consulted a physician who made
the correct diagnosis, namely, that the patient probably drank too much
whiskey and consequently was becoming deaf. He advised him to desist
from drinking and the patient promised to follow his advice. Some time
thereafter the doctor met him on the street and inquired in a loud voice
about his condition. “Thank you, Doctor,” was the reply, “there is no
necessity for speaking so loudly, I have given up drinking whiskey and
consequently I hear perfectly.” Some time afterwards they met again. The
doctor again inquired into his condition in the usual voice, but noticed
that he did not make himself understood. “It seems to me that you are
deaf again because you have returned to drinking whiskey,” shouted the
doctor in the patient’s ear. “Perhaps you are right,” answered the
latter, “I have taken to drinking again, and I shall tell you why. As
long as I did not drink I could hear, but all that I heard was not as
good as the whiskey.”_ Technically this joke is nothing more than an
illustration. The jargon and the ability of the _raconteur_ must aid the
producing of laughter. But behind it there lies the sad question, “Is
not the man right in his choice?”
It is the manifold hopeless misery of the Jews to which these
pessimistical stories allude, which urged me to add them to
tendency-wit.
_Critical and Blasphemous Witticisms_
Other jokes, cynical in a similar sense, and not only stories about
Jews, attack religious dogmas and the belief in God Himself. The story
about the “telepathic look of the rabbi,” whose technique consisted in
the faulty thinking which made phantasy equal to reality, (the
conception of displacement is also tenable) is such a cynical or
critical witticism directed against miracle-workers and also, surely,
against belief in miracles. Heine is reported to have made a directly
blasphemous joke as he lay dying. _When the kindly priest commended him
to God’s mercy and inspired him with the hope that God would forgive him
his sins, he replied: “Bien sûr qu’il me pardonnera; c’est son métier.”_
That is a derogatory comparison; technically its value lies only in the
allusion, for a métier—business or vocation—is plied either by a
craftsman or a physician, and what is more he has only a single métier.
The strength of the wit, however, lies in its tendency. The joke is
intended to mean nothing else, but: Certainly he will forgive me; that
is what he is here for, and for no other purpose have I engaged him
(just as one retains one’s doctor or one’s lawyer). Thus, the helpless
dying man is still conscious of the fact that he has created God for
himself and has clothed Him with the power in order to make use of Him
as occasion arises. The so-called creature makes itself known as the
Creator only a short time before his extinction.
_Skeptical Wit_
To the three kinds of tendency-wit discussed so far—exhibitionistic or
obscene wit, aggressive or hostile wit, and cynical wit (critical,
blasphemous)—I desire to add a fourth and the most uncommon of all,
whose character can be elucidated by a good example.
_Two Jews met in a train at a Galician railway station. “Where are you
traveling?” asked one. “To Cracow,” was the reply. “Now see here, what a
liar you are!” said the first one, bristling. “When you say that you are
traveling to Cracow, you really wish me to believe that you are
traveling to Lemberg. Well, but I am sure that you are really traveling
to Cracow, so why lie about it?”_
This precious story, which creates an impression of exaggerated
subtlety, evidently operates by means of the technique of absurdity. The
second Jew has put himself in the way of being called a liar because he
has said that he is traveling to Cracow, which is his real goal!
However, this strong technical means—absurdity—is paired here with
another technique—representation through the opposite, for, according to
the uncontradicted assertion of the first, the second one is lying when
he speaks the truth, and speaks the truth by means of a lie. However,
the more earnest content of this joke is the question of the conditions
of truth; again the joke points to a problem and makes use of the
uncertainty of one of our commonest notions. Does it constitute truth if
one describes things as they are and does not concern himself with the
way the hearers will interpret what one has said? Or is this merely
Jesuitical truth, and does not the real truthfulness consist much more
in having a regard for the hearer and of furnishing him an exact picture
of his own mind? I consider jokes of this type sufficiently different
from the others to assign them a special place. What they attack is not
a person nor an institution, but the certainty of our very knowledge—one
of our speculative gifts. Hence the name “skeptical” witticism will be
the most expressive for them.
In the course of our discussion of the tendencies of wit we have gotten
perhaps many an elucidation and certainly found numerous incentives for
further investigations. But the results of this chapter combine with
those of the preceding chapter to form a difficult problem. If it be
true that the pleasure created by wit is dependent upon the technique on
one hand and upon the tendency on the other hand, under what common
point of view can these two utterly different pleasure-sources of wit he
united?
B. SYNTHESIS
IV
THE PLEASURE MECHANISM AND THE PSYCHOGENESIS OF WIT
We can now definitely assert that we know from what sources the peculiar
pleasure arises furnished us by wit. We know that we can be easily
misled to mistake our sense of satisfaction experienced through the
thought-content of the sentence for the actual pleasure derived from the
wit, on the other hand, the latter itself has two intrinsic sources,
namely, the wit-technique and the wit-tendency. What we now desire to
ascertain is the manner in which pleasure originates from these sources
and the mechanism of this resultant pleasure.
It seems to us that the desired explanation can be more easily
ascertained in tendency-wit than in harmless wit. We shall therefore
commence with the former.
The pleasure in tendency-wit results from the fact that a tendency,
whose gratification would otherwise remain unfulfilled, is actually
gratified. That such gratification is a source of pleasure is
self-evident without further discussion. But the manner in which wit
brings about gratification is connected with special conditions from
which we may perhaps gain further information. Here two cases must be
differentiated. The simpler case is the one in which the gratification
of the tendency is opposed by an external hindrance which is eluded by
the wit. This process we found, for example, in the reply which
Serenissimus received to his query whether the mother of the stranger he
addressed had ever sojourned in his home, and likewise in the question
of the art critic who asked: “And where is the Savior?” when the two
rich rogues showed him their portraits. In one case the tendency serves
to answer one insult with another; in the other case it offers an
affront instead of the demanded expert opinion; in both cases the
tendency was opposed by purely external factors, namely, the powerful
position of the persons who are the targets of the insult. Nevertheless
it may seem strange to us that these and analogous tendency-witticisms
have not the power to produce a strong laughing effect, no matter how
much they may gratify us.
It is different, however, if no external factors but internal hindrances
stand in the way of the direct realization of the tendency, that is, if
an inner feeling opposes the tendency. This condition, according to our
assumption, was present in the aggressive joke of Mr. N. (p. 28) and in
the one of Wendell Phillips, in whom a strong inclination to use
invectives was stifled by a highly developed æsthetic sense. With the
aid of wit the inner resistances in these special cases were overcome
and the inhibition removed. As in the case of external hindrances, the
gratification of the tendency is made possible, and a suppression with
its concomitant “psychic damming” is thus obviated. So far the mechanism
of the development of pleasure would seem to be identical in both cases.
At this place, however, we are inclined to feel that we should enter
more deeply into the differentiation of the psychological situation
between the cases of external and internal hindrance, as we have a faint
notion that the removal of the inner hindrance might possibly result in
a disproportionately higher contribution to pleasure. But I propose that
we rest content here, that we be satisfied for the present with this one
collection of evidence which adheres to what is essential to us. The
only difference between the cases of outer and inner hindrances consists
in the fact that here an already existing inhibition is removed, while
there the formation of a new inhibition is avoided. We hardly resort to
speculation when we assert that a “_psychic expenditure_” is required
for the formation as well as for the retention of a psychic inhibition.
Now if we find that in both cases the use of the tendency-wit produces
pleasure, then it may be assumed _that such resultant pleasure
corresponds to the economy of psychic expenditure_.
Thus we are once more confronted with the principle of _economy_ which
we noticed first in the study of the technique of word-wit. But whereas
the economy we believed to have found at first was in the use of few or
possibly the same words, we can here foresee an economy of psychic
expenditure in general in a far more comprehensive sense, and we think
it possible to come nearer to the nature of wit through a better
determination of the as yet very obscure idea of “psychic expenditure.”
A certain amount of haziness which we could not dissipate during the
study of the pleasure mechanism in tendency-wit we accept as a slight
punishment for attempting to elucidate more complicated problem before
the simpler one, or the tendency-wit before the harmless wit. We observe
that “_economy in the expenditure of inhibitions or suppressions_” seems
to be the secret of the pleasurable effect of tendency-wit, and we now
turn to the mechanism of the pleasure in harmless wit.
While examining appropriate examples of harmless witticisms, in which we
had no fear of false judgment through content or tendency, we were
forced to the conclusion that the techniques of with themselves are
pleasure-sources; now we wish to ascertain whether the pleasure may be
traced to the economy in psychic expenditure. In a group of these
witticisms (plays on words) the technique consisted in directing the
psychic focus upon the sound instead of upon the sense of the word, and
in allowing the (acoustic) word-disguise to take the place of the
meaning accorded to it by its relations to reality. We are really
justified in assuming that great relief is thereby afforded to the
psychic work, and that in the serious use of words we refrain from this
convenient procedure only at the expense of a certain amount of
exertion. We can observe that abnormal mental states, in which the
possibility of concentrating psychic expenditure on one place is
probably restricted, actually allow to come to the foreground word-sound
associations of this kind rather than the significance of the words, and
that such patients react in their speech with “outer” instead of “inner”
associations. Also in children who are still accustomed to treat the
word as an object we notice the inclination to look for the same meaning
in words of the same or of similar sounds, which is a source of great
amusement to adults. If we experience in wit an unmistakable pleasure
because through the use of the same or similar words we reach from one
set of ideas to a distant other one, (as in “Home-Roulard” from the
kitchen to politics), we can justly refer this pleasure to the economy
of psychic expenditure. The pleasure of the wit resulting from such a
“short-circuit” appears greater the more remote and foreign the two
series of ideas which become related through the same word are to each
other, or the greater the economy in thought brought about by the
technical means of wit. We may add that in this case wit makes use of a
means of connection which is rejected by and carefully avoided in
serious thinking.[45]
A second group of technical means of wit—unification, similar sounding
words, manifold application, modification of familiar idioms, allusions
to quotations—all evince one common character, namely, that one always
discovers something familiar where one expects to find something new
instead. To discover the familiar is pleasurable and it is not difficult
to recognize such pleasure as economy-pleasure and to refer it to the
economy of psychic expenditure.
That the discovery of the familiar—“recognition”—causes pleasure seems
to be universally admitted. Groos says:[46] “Recognition is everywhere
bound up with feelings of pleasure where it has not been made too
mechanical, (as perhaps in dressing...). Even the mere quality of
acquaintanceship is easily accompanied by that gentle delight which
Faust experiences when, after an uncanny experience, he steps into his
study.” If the act of recognition is so pleasureful, we may expect that
man merges into the habit of practicing this activity for its own sake,
that is, he experiments playfully with it. In fact, Aristotle recognized
in the joy of rediscovery the basis of artistic pleasure, and it cannot
be denied that this principle must not be overlooked even if it has not
such a far-reaching significance as Aristotle assumes.
Groos then discusses the games, whose character consists of heightening
the pleasure of rediscovery by putting hindrances in its path, or in
other words by raising a “psychic dam” which is removed by the act of
recognition. However, his attempted explanation leaves the assumption
that recognition as such is pleasurable, in that he attributes the
pleasure of recognition connected with these games to the pleasure in
power or to the surmounting of a difficulty. I consider this latter
factor as secondary, and I find no occasion for abandoning the simpler
explanation, that the recognition _per se_, i.e., through the
alleviation of the psychic expenditure, is pleasurable, and that the
games founded upon this pleasure make use of the damming-mechanism
merely in order to intensify their effect.
We know also that the source of pleasure in rhyme, alliteration,
refrain, and other forms of repetition of similar sounding words in
poetry, is due merely to the discovery of the familiar. A “sense of
power” plays no perceptible rôle in these techniques, which show so
marked an agreement with the “manifold application” in wit.
Considering the close connection between recognition and remembering,
the assumption is no longer daring that there exists also a pleasure in
remembering, i.e., that the act of remembering in itself is accompanied
by a feeling of pleasure of a similar origin. Groos seems to have no
objection to such an assumption, but he again deducts the pleasure of
remembering from the “sense of power” in which he seeks—as I believe
unjustly—the principal basis of pleasure in almost all games.
_The Factor of Actuality_
The use of another technical expedient of wit, which has not yet been
mentioned, is also dependent upon “the rediscovery of the familiar.” I
refer to the factor of _actuality_ (dealing with actual persons, things,
or events), which in many witticisms provides a prolific source of
pleasure and explains several peculiarities in the life history of wit.
There are witticisms which are entirely free from this condition, and in
a treatise on wit it is incumbent upon us to make use of such examples
almost exclusively. But we must not forget that we laughed perhaps more
heartily over such perennial witticisms than over others; witticisms
whose application now would be difficult, because they would require
long commentaries, and even with that aid the former effect could not be
attained. These latter witticisms contained allusions to persons and
occurrences which were “actual” at the time, which had stimulated
general interest and were endowed with tension. After the cessation of
this interest, after the settlement of these particular affairs, the
witticisms lost a part of their pleasurable effect, and a very
considerable. Thus, for example, the joke which my friendly host made
when he called the dish that was being served a “Home-Roulard,” seems to
me by no means as good now as when the question of Home Rule was a
continuous headline in the political columns of our newspaper. If I now
attempt to express my appreciation of this joke by stating that this one
word led us from the idea of the kitchen to the distant field of
politics, and saved us a long mental detour, I should have been forced
at that time to change this description as follows: “That this word led
us from the idea of the kitchen to the very distant field of politics;
but that our lively interest was all the keener because this question
was constantly absorbing us.” The same thing is true of another joke:
“_This girl reminds me of Dreyfus; the army does not believe in her
innocence_,” which has become blurred in spite of the fact that its
technical means has remained unchanged. The confusion arising from the
comparison with, and the double meaning of, the word “innocence” cannot
do away with the fact that the allusion, which at that time touched upon
a matter pregnant with excitement, now recalls an interest set at rest.
The many irresistible jokes about the present war will sink in our
estimation in a very short time.
A great many witticisms in circulation reach a certain age or rather go
through a course composed of a flourishing season and a mature season,
and then sink into complete oblivion. The need that people feel to draw
pleasure from their mental processes continually creates new witticisms
which are supported by current interests of the day. The vitality of
actual witticisms is not their own, it is borrowed by way of allusion
from those other interests, the expiration of which determines the fate
of the witticism. The factor of actuality which may be added as a
transitory pleasure-source of wit, although it is productive in itself,
cannot be simply put on the same basis as the rediscovery of the
familiar. It is much more a question of a special qualification of the
familiar which must be aided by the quality of freshness and recency and
which has not been affected by forgetfulness. In the formation of the
dream one also finds that there is a special preference for what is
recent, and one cannot refrain from inferring that the association with
what is recent is rewarded or facilitated by a special pleasure premium.
Unification, which is really nothing more than repetition in the sphere
of mental association instead of in material, has been accorded an
especial recognition as a pleasure-source of wit by G. Th. Fechner.[47]
He says: “In my opinion the principle of uniform connection of the
manifold, plays the most important rôle in the field under discussion;
it needs, however, the support of subsidiary determinations in order to
drive across the threshold the pleasure with its peculiar character
which the cases here belonging can furnish.”[48]
In all of these cases of repetition of the same association or of the
same word-material, of refinding the familiar and recent, we surely
cannot be prevented from referring the pleasure thereby experienced to
the economy in psychic expenditure; providing that this viewpoint proves
fertile for the explanation of single facts as well as for bringing to
light new generalities. We are fully conscious of the fact that we have
yet to make clear the manner in which this economy results and also the
meaning of the expression “psychic expenditure.”
The third group of the technique of wit, mostly thought-wit, which
includes false logic, displacement, absurdity, representation through
the opposite, and other varieties, may seem at first sight to present
special features and to be unrelated to the techniques of the discovery
of the familiar, or the replacing of object-associations by
word-associations. But it will not be difficult to demonstrate that this
group, too, shows an economy or facilitation of psychic expenditure.
It is quite obvious that it is easier and more convenient to turn away
from a definite trend of thought than to stick to it; it is easier to
mix up different things than to distinguish them; and it is particularly
easier to travel over modes of reasoning unsanctioned by logic; finally
in connecting words or thoughts it is especially easy to overlook the
fact that such connections should result in sense. All this is
indubitable and this is exactly what is done by the techniques of the
wit in question. It will sound strange, however, to assert that such
processes in the wit-work may produce pleasure, since outside of wit we
can experience only unpleasant feelings of defense against all these
kinds of inferior achievement of our mental activity.
_Word-pleasure and Pleasure in Nonsense_
The “pleasure in nonsense,” as we may call it for short, is, in the
seriousness of our life, crowded back almost to the vanishing point. To
demonstrate it we must enter into the study of two cases in one of which
it is still visible and in the other becomes visible for the second
time. I refer to the behavior of the learning child and to the behavior
of the adult under unstable toxic influences. When the child learns to
control the vocabulary of its mother tongue it apparently takes great
pleasure in “experimenting playfully” with that material (Groos); it
connects words without regard for their meaning in order to obtain
pleasure from the rhyme and rhythm. Gradually the child is deprived of
this pleasure until only the senseful connection of words is allowed
him. But even in later life there is still a tendency to overstep the
acquired restrictions in the use of words, a tendency which manifests
itself in disfiguring the same by definite appendages, and in changing
their forms by means of certain contrivances (reduplication, trembling
speech) or even by developing an individual language for use in
playing,—efforts which reappear also among the insane of a certain
category.
I believe that whatever the motive which actuated the child when it
began such playings, in its further development the child indulges in
them fully conscious that they are nonsensical and derives pleasure from
this stimulus which is interdicted by reason. It now makes use of play
in order to withdraw from the pressure of critical reason. More
powerful, however, are the restrictions which must develop in education
along the lines of right thinking and in the separation of reality from
fiction, and it is for this reason that the resistance against the
pressures of thinking and reality is far-reaching and persistent; even
the phenomena of phantasy formation come under this point of view. The
power of reason usually grows so strong during the later part of
childhood and during that period of education which extends over the age
of puberty, that the pleasure in “freed nonsense” rarely dares manifest
itself. One fears to utter nonsense; but it seems to me that the
inclination characteristic of boys to act in a contradictory and
inexpedient manner is a direct outcome of this pleasure in nonsense. In
pathological cases one often sees this tendency so accentuated that it
again controls the speeches and answers of the pupils. In the case of
some college students who merged into neuroses I could convince myself
that the unconscious pleasure derived from the nonsense produced by them
is just as much responsible for their mistakes as their actual
ignorance.
_Reproduction of Old Liberties_
The student does not give up his demonstrations against the pressures of
thinking and reality whose domination becomes unceasingly intolerant and
unrestricted. A good part of the tendency of students to skylarking is
responsible for this reaction. Man is an “untiring pleasure seeker”—I
can no longer recall which author coined this happy expression—and finds
it extremely difficult to renounce pleasure once experienced. With the
hilarious nonsense of “sprees” (_Bierschwefel_), college cries, and
songs, the student attempts to preserve that pleasure which results from
freedom of thought, a freedom of which he is more and more deprived
through scholastic discipline. Even much later, when as a mature man he
meets with others at scientific congresses and class reunions and feels
himself a student again, he must read at the end of the session the
“_Kneipzeitung_,” or the comic college paper, which distorts the newly
gained knowledge into the nonsensical and thus compensates him for the
newly added mental inhibitions.
The very terms “_Bierschwefel_” and “_Kneipzeitung_” are proof that the
reason which has stifled the pleasure in nonsense has become so powerful
that not even temporarily can it be abandoned without toxic agency. The
change in the state of mind is the most valuable thing that alcohol
offers man, and that is the reason why this “poison” is not equally
indispensable for all people. The hilarious humor, whether due to
endogenous origin or whether produced toxically, weakens the inhibiting
forces among which is reason and thus again makes accessible
pleasure-sources which are burdened by suppression. It is very
instructive to see how the demand made upon wit sinks with the rise in
spirits. The latter actually replace wit, just as wit must make an
effort to replace the mental state in which the otherwise inhibited
pleasure possibilities (pleasure in nonsense among the rest) assert
themselves.
“With little wit and much comfort.”
Under the influence of alcohol the adult again becomes a child who
derives pleasure from the free disposal of his mental stream without
being restricted by the pressure of logic.
We hope we have shown that the technique of absurdity in wit corresponds
to a source of pleasure. We need hardly repeat that this pleasure
results from the economy of psychic expenditure or alleviation from the
pressure of reason.
On reviewing again the wit-technique classified under three headings we
notice that the first and last of these groups—the replacement of
object-association by word-association, and the use of absurdity as a
restorer of old liberties and as a relief from the pressure of
intellectual upbringing—can be taken collectively. Psychic relief may in
a way be compared to economy, which constitutes the technique of the
second group. Alleviation of the already existing psychic expenditure,
and economy in the yet to be offered psychic expenditure, are two
principles from which all techniques of wit and with them all pleasure
in these techniques can be deduced. The two forms of the technique and
the resultant pleasures correspond more or less in general to the
division of wit into word- and thought-witticisms.
_Play and Jest_
The preceding discussions have led us unexpectedly to an understanding
of the history of the development of psychogenesis of wit which we shall
now examine still further. We have become acquainted with the successive
steps in wit, the development of which up to tendency-wit will
undoubtedly reveal new relationships between the different characters of
wit. Antedating wit there exists something which we may designate as
“play” or “jest.” Play—we shall retain this name—appears in children
while they are learning how to use words and connect thoughts; this
playing is probably the result of an impulse which urges the child to
exercise its capacities (Groos). During this process it experiences
pleasurable effects which originate from the repetition of similarities,
the rediscovery of the familiar, sound-associations, etc., which may be
explained as an unexpected economy of psychic expenditure. Therefore it
surprises no one that these resulting pleasures urge the child to
practice playing and impel it to continue without regard for the meaning
of words or the connections between sentences. Playing with words and
thoughts, motivated by certain pleasures in economy, would thus be the
first step of wit.
This playing is stopped by the growing strength of a factor which may
well be called criticism or reason. The play is then rejected as
senseless or as directly absurd, and by virtue of reason it becomes
impossible. Only accidentally is it now possible to derive pleasure from
those sources of rediscovery of the familiar, etc., which is explained
by the fact that the maturing person has then merged into a playful mood
which, as in the case of merriment in the child, removes inhibitions. In
this way only is the old pleasure-giving playing made possible, but as
men do not wish to wait for these propitious occasions and also hate to
forego this pleasure, they seek means to make themselves independent of
these pleasant states. The further development of wit is directed by
these two impulses; the one striving to elude reason and the other to
substitute for the adult an infantile state of mind.
This gives rise to the second stage of wit, the _jest_ (_Scherz_). The
object of the jest is to bring about the resultant pleasure of playing
and at the same time appease the protesting reason which strives to
suppress the pleasant feeling. There is but one way to accomplish this.
The senseless combination of words or the absurd linking of thoughts
must make sense after all. The whole process of wit production is
therefore directed towards the discovery of words and thought
constellations which fulfill these conditions. The jest makes use of
almost all the technical means of wit, and usage of language makes no
consequential distinction between jest (_Scherz_) and wit (_Witz_). What
distinguishes the jest from wit is the fact that the pith of the
sentence withdrawn from criticism does not need to be valuable, new, or
even good; it matters only that it can be expressed, even though what it
may say is obsolete, superfluous, and useless. The most conspicuous
factor of the jest is the gratification it affords by making possible
that which reason forbids.
A mere jest is the following of Professor Kästner, who taught physics at
Göttingen in the 16th century, and who was fond of making jokes. Wishing
to enroll a student named Warr in his class, he asked him his age, and
upon receiving the reply that he was thirty years of age he exclaimed:
“Aha, so I have the honor of seeing the thirty years’ War.”[49] When
asked what vocations his sons followed Rokitansky jestingly answered:
“Two are healing and two are howling,” (two physicians and two singers).
The reply was correct and therefore unimpeachable, but it added nothing
to what is contained in the parenthetic expression. There is no doubt
that the answer assumed another form only because of the pleasure which
arises from the unification and assonance of both words.
I believe that we now see our way clear. In estimating the techniques of
wit we were constantly disturbed by the fact that these are not peculiar
to wit alone, and yet the nature of wit seemed to depend upon them,
since their removal by means of reduction nullified the character as
well as the pleasure of wit. Now we become aware that what we have
described as techniques of wit—and which in a certain sense we shall
have to continue to call so—are really the sources from which wit
derives pleasure; nor does it strike us as strange that other processes
draw from the same sources with the same object in view. The technique,
however, which is peculiar to and belongs to wit alone consists in a
process of safeguarding the use of this pleasure-forming means against
the protest of reason which would obviate the pleasure. We can make few
generalizations about this process. The wit-work, as we have already
remarked, expresses itself in the selection of such word-material and
such thought-situations as to permit the old play with words and
thoughts to stand the test of reason; but to accomplish this end the
cleverest use must be made of all the peculiarities of the stock of
words and of all constellations of mental combinations. Later on perhaps
we shall be in a position to characterize the wit-work by a definite
attribute; for the present it must remain unexplained how our wit makes
its advantageous selections. The tendency and capacity of wit to guard
the pleasure-forming word and thought combinations against reason,
already makes itself visible as an essential criterion in jests. From
the beginning its object is to remove inner inhibitions and thereby
render productive those pleasure-sources which have become inaccessible,
and we shall find that it remains true to this characteristic throughout
the course of its entire development.
We are now in a position to prescribe a correct place for the factor
“sense in nonsense,” (see Introduction, page 8), to which the authors
ascribe so much significance in respect to the recognition of wit and
the explanation of the pleasurable effect. The two firmly established
points in the determination of wit—its tendency to carry through the
pleasureful play, and its effort to guard it against the criticism of
reason—make it perfectly clear why the individual witticism, even though
it appear nonsensical from one point of view, must appear full of
meaning or at least acceptable from another. How it accomplishes this is
the business of the wit-work; if it is not successful it is relegated to
the category of “nonsense.” Nor do we find it necessary to deduce the
resultant pleasure of wit from the conflict of feelings which emerge
either directly or by way of “confusion and clearness,” from the
simultaneous sense and nonsense of the wit. There is just as little
necessity for our delving deeper into the question how pleasure can come
from the succession of that part of the wit considered senseless and
from that part recognized as senseful. The psychogenesis of wit has
taught us that the pleasure of wit arises from word-play or from the
liberation of nonsense, and that the sense of wit is meant only to guard
this pleasure against suppression through reason.
_Jest and Wit_
Thus the problem of the essential character of wit could almost be
explained by means of the jest. We may follow the development of the
jest until it reaches its height in the tendency-wit. The jest gives
tendency a prior position when it is a question of supplying us with
pleasure, and it is content when its utterance does not appear utterly
senseless or insipid. But if this utterance is substantial and valuable
the jest changes into wit. A thought, which would have been worthy of
our interest even when expressed in the most unpretentious form, is now
invested in a form which must in itself excite our sense of
satisfaction. Such an association we cannot help thinking certainly has
not come into existence unintentionally; we must make effort to divine
the intention at the bottom of the formation of wit. An incidental
observation, made once before, will put us on the right track. We have
already remarked that a good witticism gives us, so to speak, a general
feeling of satisfaction without our being able to decide offhand which
part of the pleasure comes from the witty form and which part from the
excellent thought contained in the context (p. 131). We are deceiving
ourselves constantly about this division; sometimes we overvalue the
quality of the wit on account of our admiration for the thought
contained therein, and then again we overestimate the value of the
thought on account of the pleasure afforded us by the witty investment.
We know not what gives us pleasure nor at what we are laughing. This
uncertainty of our judgment, assuming it to be a fact, may have given
the motive for the formation of wit in the literal sense. The thought
seeks the witty disguise because it thereby recommends itself to our
attention and can thus appear to us more important and valuable than it
really is; but above all because this disguise fascinates and confuses
our reason. We are apt to attribute to the thought the pleasure derived
from the witty form, and we are not inclined to consider improper what
has given us pleasure, and in this way deprive ourselves of a source of
pleasure. For if wit made us laugh it was because it established in us a
mood most unfavorable to reason, which in turn has forced upon us that
state of mind which was once contented with mere playing and which wit
has attempted to replace with all the means at its command. Although we
have already established the fact that such wit is harmless and does not
yet show a tendency, we may not deny that, strictly speaking, it is the
jest alone which shows no tendency; that is, it serves to produce
pleasure only. For wit is really never purposeless even if the thought
contained therein shows no tendency and merely serves a theoretical,
intellectual interest. Wit carries out its purpose in advancing the
thought by magnifying it and by guarding it against reason. Here again
it reveals its original nature in that it sets itself up against an
inhibiting and restrictive power, or against the critical judgment.
The first use of wit, which goes beyond the mere production of pleasure,
points out the road to be followed. Wit is now recognized as a powerful
psychic factor whose weight can decide the issue if it falls into this
or that side of the scale. The great tendencies and impulses of our
psychic life enlist its service for their own purposes. The original
purposeless wit, which began as play, becomes related in a _secondary_
manner to tendencies from which nothing that is formed in psychic life
can escape for any length of time. We already know what it can achieve
in the service of the exhibitionistic, aggressive, cynical, and
sceptical tendencies. In the case of obscene wit, which originated in
the smutty joke, it makes a confederate of the third person who
originally disturbed the sexual situation, by giving him pleasure
through the utterance which causes the woman to be ashamed in his
presence. In the case of the aggressive tendency, wit by the same means
changes the original indifferent hearers into active haters and
scorners, and in this way confronts the enemy with a host of opponents
where formerly there was but one. In the first case it overcomes the
inhibitions of shame and decorum by the pleasure premium which it
offers. In the second case it overthrows the critical judgment which
would otherwise have examined the dispute in question. In the third and
fourth cases where wit is in the service of the cynical and sceptical
tendency, it shatters the respect for institutions and truths in which
the hearer had believed, first by strengthening the argument, and
secondly by resorting to a new method of attack. Where the argument
seeks to draw the hearer’s reason to its side, wit strives to push aside
this reason. There is no doubt that wit has chosen the way which is
psychologically more efficacious.
_The Development into Tendency-wit_
What impressed us in reviewing the achievements of tendency-wit was the
effect it produced on the hearer. It is more important, however, to
understand the effect produced by wit on the psychic life of the person
who makes it, or more precisely expressed, on the psychic life of the
person who conceives it. Once before we have expressed the intention,
which we find occasion to repeat here, that we wish to study the psychic
processes of wit in regard to its apportionment between two persons. We
can assume for the present that the psychic process aroused by wit in
the hearer is usually an imitation of the psychic processes of the wit
producer. The outer inhibitions which are to be overcome in the hearer
correspond to the inner inhibitions of the wit producer. In the latter
the expectation of the outer hindrance exists, at least as an inhibiting
idea. The inner hindrance, which is overcome in tendency-wit, is evident
in some single cases; for example, in Mr. N.’s joke (p. 28) we can
assume that it not only enables the hearer to enjoy the pleasure of the
aggression through injuries but it also makes it possible for him to
produce the wit in the first place. Of the different kinds of inner
inhibitions or suppressions one is especially worthy of our interest
because it is the most far-reaching. We designate that form by the term
“repression.” It is characterized by the fact that it excludes from
consciousness certain former emotions and their products. We shall learn
that tendency-wit itself is capable of liberating pleasure from sources
that have undergone repression. If the overcoming of outer hindrances
can be referred, in the manner indicated above, to inner inhibitions and
repressions we may say that tendency-wit proves more clearly than any
other developmental stage of wit that the main character of wit-making
is to set free pleasure by removing inhibitions. It reinforces
tendencies to which it gives its services by bringing them assistance
from repressed emotions; or it puts itself at the disposal of the
repressed tendencies directly.
One may readily concede that these are the functions of tendency-wit,
but one must nevertheless admit that we do not understand in what manner
these functions can succeed in accomplishing their end. The power of
tendency-wit consists in the pleasure which it derives from the sources
of word-plays and liberated nonsense, and if one can judge from the
impressions received from purposeless jests, one cannot possibly
consider the amount of the pleasure so great as to believe that it has
the power to annul deep-rooted inhibitions and repressions. As a matter
of fact we do not deal here with a simple propelling power but rather
with a more complicated mechanism. Instead of covering the long
circuitous route through which I arrived at an understanding of this
relationship, I shall endeavor to demonstrate it by a short synthetic
route.
G. Th. Fechner has established the principle of æsthetic assistance or
enhancement which he explains in the following words: “_From the
unopposed meeting of pleasurable states (Bedingungen) which individually
accomplish little, there results a greater, often much greater resultant
pleasure than is warranted by the sum of the pleasure values of the
separate states, or a greater result than could be accounted for as the
sum of the individual effects; in fact the mere meeting of this kind can
result in a positive pleasure product which overflows the threshold of
pleasure when the factors taken separately are too weak to accomplish
this. The only condition is that in comparison to others they must
produce a greater sense of satisfaction._”[50] I am of the opinion that
the theme of wit does not give us the opportunity to test the
correctness of this principle which is demonstrable in many other
artistic fields. But from wit we have learned something, which at least
comes near this principle, namely, that in a co-operation of many
pleasure-producing factors we are in no position to assign to each one
the resultant part which really belongs to it (see p. 131). But the
situation assumed in the principle of assistance can be varied, and for
these new conditions we can formulate the following combination of
questions which are worthy of a reply. What usually happens if in one
constellation there is a meeting of pleasurable and painful conditions?
Upon what depends the result and the previous intimations of the result?
Tendency-wit particularly shows these possibilities. There is one
feeling or impulse which strives to liberate pleasure from a certain
source and under unrestricted conditions certainly would liberate it,
but there is another impulse which works against this development of
pleasure, that is, which inhibits or suppresses it. The suppressing
stream, as the result shows, must be somewhat stronger than the one
suppressed, which however is by no means destroyed.
_The Fore-pleasure Principle_
But now there appears another impulse which strives to set free pleasure
by this identical process, even though from different sources it thus
acts like the suppressed stream. What can be the result in such a case?
An example can make this clearer than this schematization. There is an
impulse to insult a certain person; but this is so strongly opposed by a
feeling of decorum and æsthetic culture that the impulse to insult must
be crushed. If, for example, by virtue of some changed emotional state
the insult should happen to break through, this insulting tendency would
subsequently be painfully perceived. Therefore the insult is omitted.
There is a possibility, however, of making good wit from the words or
thoughts which would have served in the insult; that is, pleasure can be
set free from other sources without being hindered by the same
suppression. But the second development of pleasure would have to be
foregone if the insulting quality of the wit were not allowed to come
out, and as the latter is allowed to come to the surface, it is
connected with the new release of pleasure. Experience with tendency-wit
shows that under such circumstances the suppressed tendency can become
so strengthened by the aid of wit-pleasure as to overcome the otherwise
stronger inhibition. One resorts to insults because wit is thereby made
impossible. But the satisfaction thus obtained is not produced by wit
alone; it is incomparably greater, in fact it is by so much greater than
the pleasure of the wit, that we must assume that the former suppressed
tendency has succeeded in breaking through, perhaps without the need of
an outlet. Under these circumstances tendency-wit causes the most
prolific laughter.
Perhaps the investigation of the determinations of laughter will aid us
in forming a clearer picture of the process of the aid of wit against
suppression. But we see even now that the case of tendency-wit is a
special case of the principle of aid. A possibility of the development
of pleasure enters into a situation in which another pleasure
possibility is so hindered that individually it would not result in
pleasure. The result is a development of pleasure which is greater by
far than the added possibility. The latter acted, as it were, as an
_alluring premium_; with the aid of a small sum of pleasure a very large
and almost inaccessible amount is obtained. I have good grounds for
thinking that this principle corresponds to an arrangement which holds
true in many widely separated spheres of the psychic life, and I
consider it appropriate to designate the pleasure serving to liberate
the large sum of pleasure as _fore-pleasure_ and the principle as the
_principle of fore-pleasure_.
_Play-pleasure and Removal-pleasure_
The effect of tendency-wit may now be formulated as follows: It enters
the service of tendencies in order to produce new pleasure by removing
suppressions and repressions. This it does, using wit-pleasure as
fore-pleasure. When we now review its development we may say that wit
has remained true to its nature from beginning to end. It begins as play
in order to obtain pleasure from the free use of words and thoughts. As
soon as the growing reason forbids this senseless play with words and
thoughts, it turns to the jest or joke in order to hold to these sources
of pleasure and in order to be able to gain new pleasure from the
liberation of the absurd. In the rôle of harmless wit it assists the
thoughts and fortifies them against the impugnment of the critical
judgment, whereby it makes use of the principle of intermingling the
pleasure-sources. Finally, it enters into the great struggling
suppressed tendencies in order to remove inner inhibitions in accordance
with the principle of fore-pleasure. Reason, critical judgment, and
suppression, these are the forces which it combats in turn. It firmly
holds on to the original word-pleasure-sources, and beginning with the
stage of the jest opens for itself new pleasure-sources by removing
inhibition. The pleasure which it produces, be it play-pleasure or
removal-pleasure, can at all times be traced to the economy of psychic
expenditure, in so far as such a conception does not contradict the
nature of pleasure, and proves itself productive also in other
fields.[51]
V
THE MOTIVES OF WIT AND WIT AS A SOCIAL PROCESS
It seems superfluous to speak of the motives of wit, since the purpose
of obtaining pleasure must be recognized as a sufficient motive of the
wit-work. But on the one hand it is not impossible that still other
motives participate in the production of wit, and on the other hand, in
view of certain well-known experiences, the theme of the subjective
determination of wit must be discussed.
Two things above all urge us to it. Though wit-making is an excellent
means of obtaining pleasure from the psychic processes, we know that not
all persons are equally able to make use of it. Wit-making is not at the
disposal of all, in general there are but a few persons to whom one can
point and say that they are witty. Here wit seems to be a special
ability somewhere within the region of the old “psychic faculties,” and
this shows itself in its appearance as fairly independent of the other
faculties such as intelligence, phantasy, memory, etc. A special talent
or psychic determination permitting or favoring wit-making must be
presupposed in all wit-makers.
I am afraid that we shall not get very far in the exploration of this
theme. Only now and then do we succeed in proceeding from the
understanding of a single witticism to the knowledge of the subjective
determinations in the mind of the wit-maker. It is quite accidental that
the example of wit with which we began our investigation of the
wit-technique permits us also to gain some insight into the subjective
determination of the witticism. I am referring to Heine’s witticism, to
which also Heymans and Lipps have paid attention.
“_I was sitting next to Solomon Rothschild and he treated me just as an
equal, quite famillionaire_” (“Bäder von Lucca”).
_Subjective Determination of the “Famillionaire” Witticism_
Heine put this word in the mouth of a comical person, Hirsch-Hyacinth,
collector, operator and tax appraiser from Hamburg, and valet of the
aristocratic baron, Cristoforo Gumpelino (formerly Gumpel). Evidently
the poet has experienced great pleasure in these productions, for he
allows Hirsch-Hyacinth to talk big and puts in his mouth the most
amusing and most candid utterances; he positively endows him with the
practical wisdom of a Sancho Panza. It is a pity that Heine, as it
seems, had no liking for this dramatic figure and that he drops the
delightful character so soon. From many passages it would seem that the
poet himself is speaking behind the transparent mask of Hirsch-Hyacinth,
and we are quite convinced that this person is nothing but a parody of
the poet himself. Hirsch tells of reasons why he has discarded his
former name and now calls himself Hyacinth. “Besides I have the
advantage,” he continues, “of having an H on my seal already, and
therefore I am in no need of having a new letter engraved.” But Heine
himself resorted to this economy when he changed his surname “Harry” to
“Heinrich” at his baptism. Every one acquainted with the life of the
poet will recall that in Hamburg, where one also meets the personage
Hirsch-Hyacinth, Heine had an uncle of the same name, who played the
greatest rôle in Heine’s life as the wealthy member of the family. The
uncle’s name was likewise Solomon, just like the elderly Rothschild who
treated the impecunious Hirsch on such a famillionaire basis. What seems
to be merely a jest in the mouth of Hirsch-Hyacinth soon reveals a
background of earnest bitterness when we attribute it to the nephew
Harry-Heinrich. For he belonged to the family, nay, more, it was his
earnest wish to marry a daughter of this uncle, but she refused him, and
his uncle always treated him on a somewhat famillionaire basis, as a
poor relative. His rich relatives in Hamburg always dealt with him
condescendingly. I recall the story of one of his old aunts by marriage
who, when she was still young and pretty, sat next to some one at a
family dinner who seemed to her unprepossessing and whom the other
members of the family treated shabbily. She did not feel herself called
upon to be any more condescending towards him. Only many years later did
she discover that the careless and neglected cousin was the poet
Heinrich Heine. We know from many a record how keenly Heine suffered
from these repulses at the hands of his wealthy relatives in his youth
and during later years. The witticism “famillionaire” grew out of the
soil of such a subjective emotional feeling.
One may suspect similar subjective determinations in many other
witticisms of the great scoffers, but I know of no other example by
which one can show this in such a convincing way. It is therefore
hazardous to venture a more definite opinion about the nature of this
personal determination. Furthermore, one is not inclined in the first
place to claim similar complicated conditions for the origin of each and
every witticism. Neither are the witty productions of other celebrated
men better suited to give us the desired insight into the subjective
determination of wit. In fact, one gets the impression that the
subjective determination of wit production is oftentimes not unrelated
to persons suffering from neurotic diseases, when, for example, one
learns that Lichtenberg was a confirmed hypochondriac burdened with all
kinds of eccentricities. The great majority of witticisms, especially
those produced from current happenings, are anonymous; one might be
inquisitive to know what kind of people they are who originate them. The
physician occasionally has an opportunity to make a study of persons
who, if not renowned wits, are recognized in their circle as witty and
as originators of many passable witticisms; he is often surprised to
find such persons showing dissociated personalities and a predisposition
to nervous affections. However, owing to insufficient data, we certainly
cannot maintain that such a psychoneurotic constitution is a regular or
necessary subjective condition for wit-making.
A clearer case is afforded by Jewish witticisms which, as before
mentioned, are made exclusively by Jews themselves, whereas Jewish
stories of different origin rarely rise above the level of the comical
strain or of brutal mockery (p. 166). The determination for the
self-participation here, as in Heine’s joke “famillionaire,” seems to be
due to the fact that the person finds it difficult to express directly
his criticism or aggression and is thus compelled to resort to by-ways.
Other subjective determinations or favorable conditions for wit-making
are less shrouded in darkness. The motive for the production of harmless
wit is usually the ambitious impulse to display one’s spirit or to “show
off.” It is an impulse comparable to the impulse toward sexual
exhibition. The existence of numerous inhibited impulses whose
suppression retains some weakness produces a state favorable for the
production of tendency-wit. Thus certain single components of the sexual
constitution may appear as motives for wit-formation. A whole series of
obscene witticisms lead one to the conclusion that a person who gives
origin to such wit conceals a desire to exhibit. Persons having a
powerful sadistical component in their sexuality, which is more or less
inhibited in life, are most successful with the tendency-wit of
aggression.
_The Impulse to Impart Wit_
The second fact which impels one to examine the subjective determination
of wit is the common experience that nobody is satisfied with making wit
for himself. Wit-making is inseparably connected with the desire to
impart it; in fact this impulse is so strong that it is often realized
after overcoming strong objections. In the comic, too, one experiences
pleasure by imparting it to another person; but this is not imperative;
one can enjoy the comic alone when one happens on it. Wit, on the other
hand, must be imparted. Apparently the process of wit-formation does not
end with the conception of wit. There remains something which strives to
complete the mysterious process of wit-formation by imparting it.
We cannot conjecture, in the first place, what may have motivated the
impulse to impart wit. But in wit we notice another peculiarity which
again distinguishes it from the comic. If I encounter the latter I can
laugh heartily over it alone; I am naturally pleased if by imparting it
to some one else I make him laugh too. In the case of wit, however,
which occurs to me or which I have made, I cannot laugh over it in spite
of the unmistakable feeling of pleasure which I experience in the
witticism. It is possible that my need to impart the witticism to
another is in some way connected with the resultant laughter, which is
manifest in the other, but denied to me.
But why do I not laugh over my own joke? And what rôle does the other
person play in it?
Let us consider the last query first. In the comic usually two persons
come into consideration. Besides my own ego there is another person in
whom I find something comic; if objects appear comical to me, it takes
place by means of a sort of personification which is not uncommon in our
notional life. The comic process is satisfied with these two persons,
the ego and the object person; there may also be a third person, but it
is not obligatory. Wit as a play with one’s own words and thoughts at
first dispenses with an object person, but already, upon the first step
of the jest, it demands another person to whom it can impart its result,
if it has succeeded in safeguarding play and nonsense against the
remonstrance of reason. The second person in wit does not, however,
correspond to the object person, but to the third person who is the
other person in the comic. It seems that in the jest the decision as to
whether wit has fulfilled its task is transferred to the other person,
as if the ego were not quite certain of its opinion in the matter. The
harmless wit is also in need of the other person’s support in order to
ascertain whether it has accomplished its purpose. If wit enters the
service of sexual or hostile tendencies, it can be described as a
psychic process among three persons, just as in the comic, with the
exception that there the third person plays a different rôle. The
psychic process of wit is consummated here between the first person—the
ego, and the third person—the stranger, and not, as in the comic,
between the ego and the object person.
Also, in the case of the third person of wit, the wit is confronted with
subjective determinations which can make the goal of the
pleasure-stimulus unattainable. As Shakespeare says in _Love’s Labor’s
Lost_ (Act V, Scene 2):
“A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it.”
He whose thoughts run in sober channels is incompetent to declare
whether or not the jest is a good one. He himself must be in a jovial,
or at least indifferent, state of mind in order to become the third
person of the jest. The same hindrance is present in the case of both
harmless and tendency-wit; but in the latter the antagonism to the
tendency which wishes to serve wit, appears as a new hindrance. The
readiness to laugh about an excellent smutty joke cannot manifest itself
if the exposure concerns an honored kinsman of the third person. In an
assemblage of divines and pastors no one would dare to refer to Heine’s
comparison of Catholic and Protestant priests as retail dealers and
employees of a wholesale business. In the presence of my opponent’s
friends the wittiest invectives with which I might assail him would not
be considered witticisms but invectives, and in the minds of my hearers
it would create not pleasure, but indignation. A certain amount of
willingness or a certain indifference, the absence of all factors which
might evoke strong feelings in opposition to the tendency, are absolute
conditions for the participation of the third person in the completion
of the wit-process.
_The Third Person of the Witticism_
Wherever such hindrances to the operation of wit fail, we see the
phenomenon which we are now investigating, namely, that the pleasure
which the wit has provided manifests itself more clearly in the third
person than in the originator of the wit. We must be satisfied to use
the expression “more clearly” where we should be inclined to ask whether
the pleasure of the hearer is not more intensive than that of the wit
producer, because we are obviously lacking the means of measuring and
comparing it. We see, however, that the hearer shows his pleasure by
means of explosive laughter after the first person, in most cases with a
serious expression on his face, has related the joke. If I repeat a
witticism which I have heard, I am forced, in order not to spoil its
effect, to conduct myself during its recital exactly like him who made
it. We may now put the question whether from this determination of
laughter over wit we can draw conclusions concerning the psychic process
of wit-formation.
Now it cannot be our intention to take into consideration everything
that has been asserted and printed about the nature of laughter. We are
deterred from this undertaking by the statement which Dugas, one of
Ribot’s pupils, put at the beginning of his book _Psychologie du rire_
(1902). “Il n’est pas de fait plus banal et plus étudié que le rire, il
n’en est pas qui ait eu le don d’exciter davantage la curiosité du
vulgaire et celle des philosophes, il n’ent est pas sur lequel on ait
recueilli plus d’observations et bâti plus de théories, et avec cela il
n’en est pas qui demeure plus inexpliqué, on serait tenté de dire avec
les sceptiques qu’il faut être content de rire et de ne pas chercher à
savoir pourquoi on rit, d’autant que peut-être le réflexion tue le rire,
et qu’il serait alors contradictoire qu’elle en découvrit les causes”
(page 1).
On the other hand, we must make sure to utilize for our purposes a view
of the mechanism of laughter which fits our own realm of thought
excellently. I refer to the attempted explanation of H. Spencer in his
essay entitled _Physiology of Laughter_.[52]
According to Spencer laughter is a phenomenon of discharge of psychic
irritation, and an evidence of the fact that the psychic utilization of
this irritation has suddenly met with a hindrance. The psychological
situation, which discharges itself in laughter, he describes in the
following words: “Laughter naturally results only when consciousness is
unawares transferred from great things to small—only when there is what
we call a descending incongruity.”[53]
In an almost analogous sense the French authors (Dugas) designate
laughter as a “détente,” a manifestation of release of tension, and A.
Bain’s theory, “Laughter a relief from restraint,” seems to me to
approach Spencer’s conceptions nearer than many authors would have us
believe.
However, we experience the desire to modify Spencer’s thought; to give a
more definite meaning to some of the ideas and to change others. We
would say that laughter arises when the sum total of psychic energy,
formerly used for the occupation of certain psychic channels, has become
unutilizable so that it can experience absolute discharge. We know what
criticism such a declaration invites, but for our defense we dare cite a
pertinent quotation from Lipps’s treatise on _Komik und Humor_, an
analysis which throws light on other problems besides the comic and
humor. He says: “In the end individual psychological problems always
lead us fairly deeply into psychology, so that fundamentally no
psychological problem may be considered by itself” (p. 71). The terms
“psychic energy,” “discharge,” and the treatment of psychic energy as a
quantity have become habitual modes of thinking since I began to explain
to myself the fact of psychopathology philosophically. Being of the same
opinion as Lipps I have essayed to represent in my _Interpretation of
Dreams_ the unconscious psychic processes as real entities, and I have
not represented the conscious contents as the “real psychic
activity.”[54] Only when I speak about the “investing energy
(_Besetzung_) of psychic channels,” do I seem to deviate from the
analogies that Lipps uses. The knowledge that I have gained about the
fact that psychic energy can be displaced from one idea to another along
certain association channels, and about the almost indestructible
conservation of the traces of psychic processes, have actually made it
possible for me to attempt such a representation of the unknown. In
order to obviate the possibility of a misunderstanding I must add that I
am making no attempt to proclaim that cells and fibers, or the neuron
system in vogue nowadays, represent these psychic paths, even if such
paths would have to be represented by the organic elements of the
nervous system in a manner which cannot yet be indicated.
_Laughter as a Discharge_
Thus, according to our assumption, the conditions for laughter are such
that a sum of psychic energy hitherto employed in the occupation of some
paths may experience free discharge. And since not all laughter, (but
surely the laughter of wit), is a sign of pleasure, we shall be inclined
to refer this pleasure to the release of previously existing static
energy (_Besetzungsenergie_). When we see that the hearer of the
witticism laughs, while the creator of the same cannot, then that must
indicate that in the hearer a sum of damming energy has been released
and discharged, whereas during the wit-formation, either in the release
or in the discharge, inhibitions resulted. One can characterize the
psychic process in the hearer, in the third person of the witticism,
hardly more pointedly than by asserting that he has bought the pleasure
of the witticism with very little expenditure on his part. One might say
that it is presented to him. The words of the witticism which he hears
necessarily produce in him that idea or thought-connection whose
formation in him was also resisted by great inner hindrances. He would
have had to make an effort of his own in order to bring it about
spontaneously like the first person, or he would have had to put forth
at least as much psychic expenditure as to equalize the force of the
suppression or repression of the inhibition. This psychic expenditure he
has saved himself; according to our former discussion (p. 80) we should
say that his pleasure corresponds to this economy. Following our
understanding of the mechanism of laughter we should be more likely to
say that the static energy utilized in the inhibition has now suddenly
become superfluous and neutralized because a forbidden idea came into
existence on the way to auditory perception and is therefore ready to be
discharged through laughter. Essentially both statements amount to the
same thing, for the economized expenditure corresponds exactly to the
now superfluous inhibition. The latter statement is more obvious, for it
permits us to say that the hearer of the witticism laughs with the
amount of psychic energy which was liberated by the suspension of
inhibition energy; that is, he laughs away, as it were, this amount of
psychic energy.
_Why the First Person Does Not Laugh_
If the person in whom the witticism is formed cannot laugh, then it
indicates, as we have just remarked, that there is a deviation from the
process in the case of the third person which concerns either the
suspension of the inhibition energy or the discharge possibility of the
same. But the first of the two cases is inconclusive, as we must
presently see. The inhibition energy of the first person must have been
dissipated, for otherwise there would have been no witticism, the
formation of which had to overcome just such a resistance. Otherwise,
too, it would have been impossible for the first person to experience
the wit-pleasure which the removal of the inhibition forced us to
deduce. But there remains a second possibility, namely, that even though
he experienced pleasure the first person cannot laugh, because the
possibility of discharge has been disturbed. In the production of
laughter such discharge is essential; an interruption in the possibility
of discharge might result from the attachment of the freed occupation
energy to some immediate endopsychic possibility. It is well that we
have become cognizant of this possibility; we shall soon pay more
attention to it. But with the wit-maker still another condition leading
to the same result is possible. Perhaps, after all, no appreciable
amount of energy has been liberated, in spite of the successful release
of occupation energy. In the first person of the witticism wit-work
actually takes place which must correspond to a certain amount of fresh
psychic expenditure. Thus the first person contributes the power which
removes the inhibitions and which surely results in a gain of pleasure
for himself; in the case of tendency-wit it is indeed a very big gain,
since the fore-pleasure gained from the wit-work takes upon itself the
further removal of inhibitions. But the expenditure of the wit-work is,
in every case, derived from the gain which is the result of the removal
of inhibitions; it is the same expenditure which escapes from the hearer
of the witticism. To confirm what was said above it may be added that
the witticism loses its laughter effect in the third person as soon as
an expenditure of mental work is exacted of him. The allusions of the
witticism must be striking, and the omissions easily supplemented; with
the awakening of conscious interest in thinking, the effect of the
witticism is regularly made impossible. Here lies the real distinction
between the witticism and the riddle. It may be that the psychic
constellations during wit-work are not at all favorable to the free
discharge of the energy gained. We are not here in a position to gain a
deeper understanding; our inquiry as to why the third person laughs we
have been able to clear up better than the question why the first person
does not laugh.
At any rate, if we have well in mind these views about the conditions of
laughter and about the psychic process in the third person, we have
arrived at a place where we can satisfactorily elucidate an entire
series of peculiarities which are familiar in wit, but which have not
been understood. Before an amount of interlocked energy, capable of
discharge, is to be liberated in the third person, there are several
conditions which must be fulfilled or which at least are desirable. 1.
It must be definitely established that the third person really produces
this expenditure of energy. 2. Care must be taken that when the latter
becomes freed that it should find another psychic use instead of
offering itself to the motor discharge. 3. It can be of advantage only
if the energy to be liberated in the third person is first strengthened
and heightened. Certain processes of wit-work which we can gather
together under the caption of secondary or auxiliary techniques serve
all these purposes.
The first of these conditions determines one of the qualifications of
the third person as hearer of the witticism. He must throughout be so
completely in psychic harmony with the first person that he makes use of
the same inner inhibitions which the wit-work has overcome in the first
person. Whoever is focused on smutty jokes will not be able to derive
pleasure from clever exhibitionistic wit. Mr. N.’s aggressions will not
be understood by uncultured people who are wont to give free rein to
their pleasure gained by insulting others. Every witticism thus demands
its own public, and to laugh over the same witticisms is a proof of
absolute psychic agreement. We have indeed arrived at a point where we
are at liberty to examine even more thoroughly the process in the third
person’s mind. The latter must be able habitually to produce the same
inhibition which the joke has surmounted in the first person, so that,
as soon as he hears the joke, there awakens within him compulsively and
automatically a readiness for this inhibition. This readiness for the
inhibition, which I must conceive as a true expenditure analogous to the
mobilization of an army, is simultaneously recognized as superfluous or
as belated, and is thus immediately discharged in its nascent state
through the channel of laughter.[55]
The second condition for the production of the free discharge, a cutting
off of any other outlets for the liberated energy, seems to me of far
greater importance. It furnishes the theoretical explanation for the
uncertainty of the effect of wit; if the thoughts expressed in the
witticism evoke very exciting ideas in the hearer, (depending on the
agreement or antagonism between the wit’s tendencies and the train of
thought dominating the hearer), the witty process either receives or is
refused attention. Of still greater theoretical interest, however, are a
series of auxiliary wit-techniques which obviously serve the purpose of
diverting the attention of the listeners from the wit-process so as to
allow the latter to proceed automatically. I advisedly use the term
“automatically” rather than “unconsciously” because the latter
designation might prove misleading. It is only a question of keeping the
psychic process from getting more than its share of attention during the
recital of the witticism, and the usefulness of these auxiliary
techniques permits us to assume rightfully that it is just the
occupation of attention which has a large share in the control and in
the fresh utilization of the freed energy of occupation.
_The Automatism of the Wit-process_
It seems to be by no means easy to avoid the endopsychic utilization of
energy that has become superfluous, for in our mental processes we are
constantly in the habit of transferring such emotional outputs from one
path to another without losing any of their energy through discharge.
Wit prevents this in the following way. In the first place it strives
for the shortest possible expression in order to expose less points of
attack to the attention. Secondly, it strictly adheres to the condition
that it be easily understood (_v. s._), for as soon as it has recourse
to mental effort or demands a choice between different mental paths, it
imperils the effect not only through the unavoidable mental expenditure,
but also through the awakening of attention. Besides this, wit also
makes use of the artifice of diverting the attention by offering to it
something in the expression of the witticism which fascinates it so that
meanwhile the liberation of inhibition energy and its discharge can take
place undisturbed. The omissions in the wording of wit already carry out
this intention. They impel us to fill in the gaps and in this way they
keep the wit-process free from attention. The technique of the riddle,
as it were, which attracts attention is here pressed into the service of
the wit-work. The façade formations, which we have already discovered in
many groups of tendency-wit, are still more effective (see p. 155). The
syllogistical façades excellently fulfill the purpose of riveting the
attention by an allotted task. While we begin to ponder wherein the
given answer was lacking already we are laughing; our attention has been
surprised, and the discharge of the liberated emotional inhibition has
been effected. The same is true of witticisms possessing a comic façade
in which the comic serves to assist the wit-technique. A comic façade
promotes the effect of wit in more than one way; it makes possible not
only the automatism of the wit-process by riveting the attention, but
also it facilitates the discharge of wit by sending ahead a discharge
from the comic. Here the effect of the comic resembles that of a
fascinating fore-pleasure, and we can thus understand that many
witticisms are able to dispense entirely the fore-pleasures produced by
other means of wit, and make use of only the comic as a fore-pleasure.
Among the true techniques of wit it is especially displacement and
representation through absurdity which, besides other properties, also
develop the deviation of attention so desirable for the automatic
discharge of the wit-process.[56]
We already surmise, and later will be able to see more clearly, that in
this condition of deviation of attention we have disclosed no
unessential characteristic of the psychic process in the hearer of wit.
In conjunction with this, we can understand something more. First, how
it happens that we rarely ever know in a joke why we are laughing,
although by analytical investigation we can determine the cause. This
laughing is the result of an automatic process which was first made
possible by keeping our conscious attention at a distance. Secondly, we
arrive at an understanding of that characteristic of wit as a result of
which wit can exert its full effect on the hearer only when it is new
and when it comes to him as a surprise. This property of wit, which
causes wit to be short-lived and forever urges the production of new
wit, is evidently due to the fact that it is inherent in the surprising
or the unexpected to succeed but once. When we repeat wit the awakened
memory leads the attention to the first hearing. This also explains the
desire to impart wit to others who have not heard it before, for the
impression made by wit on the new hearer replenishes that part of the
pleasure which has been lost by the lack of novelty. And an analogous
motive probably urges the wit producer to impart his wit to others.
_Elements Favoring the Wit-process_
As elements favoring the wit-process, even if we can no longer consider
them essentials, I present in the third place three technical aids to
wit-work which are destined to increase the sums of energy to be
discharged and thus enhance the effect of the wit. These technical aids
also very often accentuate the attention directed to the wit, but they
neutralize its influence by simultaneously fascinating it and impeding
its movements. Everything that provokes interest and confusion exerts
its influence in these two directions. This is especially true of the
nonsense and contrast elements, and above all the “contrast of ideas,”
which some authors consider the essential character of wit, but in which
I see only a means to reinforce the effect of wit. All that is confusing
evokes in the hearer that condition of distribution of energy which
Lipps has designated as “psychic damming”; and, doubtless, he has a
right to assume that the force of the “discharge” varies with the
success of the damming process which precedes it. Lipps’s exposition
does not explicitly refer to wit, but to the comic in general, yet it
seems quite probable that the discharge in wit, releasing a gush of
inhibition energy, is brought to its height in a similar manner by means
of the damming.
At length we are aware that the technique of wit is really determined by
two kinds of tendencies, those which make possible the formation of wit
in the first person, and those guaranteeing that the witticism produces
in the third person as much pleasurable effect as possible. The
Janus-like double-facedness of wit, which safeguards its original
resultant pleasure against the impugnment of critical reason, belongs to
the first tendency together with the mechanism of fore-pleasure; the
other complications of technique produced by the conditions discussed in
this chapter concern the third person of the witticism. Thus wit in
itself is a double-tongued villain which serves two masters at the same
time. Everything that aims toward gaining pleasure is calculated by the
witticism to arouse the third person, as if inner, unsurmountable
inhibitions in the first person were in the way of the same. Thus one
gets the full impression of the absolute necessity of this third person
for the completion of the wit-process. But while we have succeeded in
obtaining a good insight concerning the nature of this process in the
third person, we feel that the corresponding process in the first person
is still shrouded in darkness. So far we have not succeeded in answering
the first of our two questions: Why can we not laugh over wit made by
ourselves? and: Why are we urged to impart our own witticisms to others?
We can only suspect that there is an intimate connection between the two
facts yet to be explained, and that we must impart our witticisms to
others for the reason that we ourselves are unable to laugh over them.
From our examinations of the conditions in the third person for pleasure
gaining and pleasure discharging we can draw the conclusion that in the
first person the conditions for discharge are lacking and that those for
gaining pleasure are only incompletely fulfilled. Thus it is not to be
disputed that we enhance our pleasure in that we attain the—to us
impossible—laughter in this roundabout way from the impression of the
person who was stimulated to laughter. Thus we laugh, so to speak, _par
ricochet_, as Dugas expresses it. Laughter belongs to those
manifestations of psychic states which are highly infectious; if I make
some one else laugh by imparting my wit to him, I am really using him as
a tool in order to arouse my own laughter. One can really notice that
the person who at first recites the witticism with a serious mien later
joins the hearer with a moderate amount of laughter. Imparting my
witticisms to others may thus serve several purposes. First, it serves
to give me the objective certainty of the success of the wit-work;
secondly, it serves to enhance my own pleasure through the reaction of
the hearer upon myself; thirdly, in the case of repeating a not original
joke, it serves to remedy the loss of pleasure due to the lack of
novelty.
_Economy and Full Expenditure_
At the end of these discussions about the psychic processes of wit, in
so far as they are enacted between two persons, we can glance back to
the factor of economy which impressed us as an important item in the
psychological conception of wit since we offered the first explanation
of wit-technique. Long ago we dismissed the nearest but also the
simplest conception of this economy, where it was a matter of avoiding
psychic expenditure in general by a maximum restriction in the use of
words and by the production of associations of ideas. We had then
already asserted that brevity and laconisms are not witty in themselves.
The brevity of wit is a peculiar one; it has to be a “witty” brevity.
The original pleasure gain produced by playing with words and thoughts
resulted, to be sure, from simple economy in expenditure, but with the
development of play into wit the tendency to economize also had to shift
its goals, for whatever might be saved by the use of the same words or
by avoiding new thought connections would surely be of no account when
compared to the colossal expenditure of our mental activity. We may be
permitted to make a comparison between the psychic economy and a
business enterprise. So long as the latter’s transactions are very
small, good policy demands that expenses be kept low and that the costs
of operation be minimized as much as possible. The economy still follows
the absolute height of the expenditure. Later on when the volume of
business has increased, the importance of the business expenses
dwindles; increases in the expenditure totals matter little so long as
the transactions and returns can be sufficiently increased. Keeping down
running expenses would be parsimonious; in fact, it would mean a direct
loss. Nevertheless it would be equally false to assume that with a very
great expenditure there would be no more room for saving. The manager
inclined to economize would now make an effort to save on particular
things and would feel satisfied if the same establishment, with its
costly upkeep, could reduce its expenses at all, no matter how small the
saving would seem in comparison to the entire expenditure. In quite an
analogous manner the detailed economy in our complicated psychic affairs
remains a source of pleasure, as may be shown by everyday occurrences.
Whoever used to have a gas lamp in his room, but now uses electric
light, will experience for a long time a definite feeling of pleasure
when he presses the electric light button; this pleasure continues as
long as at that moment he remembers the complicated arrangements
necessary to light the gas lamp. Similarly the economy of expenditure in
psychic inhibition brought about by wit—small though it may be in
comparison to the sum total of psychic expenditure—will remain a source
of pleasure for us, because we thereby save a particular expenditure
which we were wont to make and which as before we were ready to make.
That the expenditure is expected and prepared for is a factor which
stands unmistakably in the foreground.
A localized economy, as the one just considered, will not fail to give
us momentary pleasure, but it will not bring about a lasting alleviation
so long as what has been saved here can be utilized in another place.
Only when this disposal into a different path can be avoided, will the
special economy be transformed into a general alleviation of the psychic
expenditures. Thus, with clearer insight into the psychic processes of
wit, we see that the factor of alleviation takes the place of economy.
Obviously the former gives us the greater feeling of pleasure. The
process in the first person of the witticism produces pleasure by
removing inhibitions and by diminishing local expenditure; it does not,
however, seem to come to rest until it succeeds through the intervention
of the third person in attaining general relief through discharge.
C. THEORETICAL PART
VI.
THE RELATION OF WIT TO DREAMS AND TO THE UNCONSCIOUS
At the end of the chapter which dealt with the elucidation of the
technique of wit (p. 125) we asserted that the processes of condensation
with and without substitutive formation, displacement, representation
through absurdity, representation through the opposite, indirect
representation, etc., all of which we found participated in the
formation of wit, evinced a far-reaching agreement with the processes of
“dream-work.” We promised, at that time, first to examine more carefully
these similarities, and secondly, so far as such indications point to
search for what is common to both wit and dreams. The discussion of this
comparison would be much easier for us if we could assume that one of
the subjects to be compared—the “dream-work”—were well known. But we
shall probably do better not to take this assumption for granted. I
received the impression that my book _The Interpretation of Dreams_
created more “confusion” than “enlightenment” among my colleagues, and I
know that the wider reading circles have contented themselves to reduce
the contents of the book to a catchword, “Wish fulfillment”—a term
easily remembered and easily abused.
However, in my continued occupation with the problems considered
therein, for the study of which my practice as a psychotherapeutist
affords me much opportunity, I found nothing that would impel me to
change or improve on my ideas; I can therefore peacefully wait until the
reader’s comprehension has risen to my level, or until an intelligent
critic has pointed out to me the basic faults in my conception. For the
purposes of comparison with wit, I shall briefly review the most
important features of dreams and dream-work.
We know dreams by the recollection which usually seems fragmentary and
which occurs upon awakening. It is then a structure made up mostly of
visual or other sensory impressions, which represents to us a deceptive
picture of an experience, and may be mingled with mental processes (the
“knowledge” in the dream) and emotional manifestations. What we thus
remember as a dream I call “the manifest dream-content.” The latter is
often altogether absurd and confused, at other times it is merely one
part or another that is so affected. But even if it be entirely
coherent, as in the case of some anxiety dreams, it stands out in our
psychic life as something strange, for the origin of which one cannot
account. Until recently the explanation for these peculiarities of the
dream has been sought in the dream itself in that it was considered
roughly speaking an indication of a muddled, dissociated, and “sleepy”
activity of the nervous elements.
As opposed to this view I have shown that the excessively peculiar
“manifest” dream-content can regularly be made comprehensible, and that
it is a disfigured and changed transcription of certain correct psychic
formations which deserve the name of “latent dream-thoughts.” One gains
an understanding of the latter by resolving the manifest dream-content
into its component parts without regard for its apparent meaning, and
then by following up the threads of associations which emanate from each
one of the now isolated elements. These become interwoven and in the end
lead to a structure of thoughts, which is not only entirely accurate,
but also fits easily into the familiar associations of our psychic
processes. During this “analysis” the dream-content loses all of the
peculiarities so strange to us; but if the analysis is to be successful,
we must firmly cast aside the critical objections which incessantly
arise against the reproduction of the individual associations.
_The Dream-work_
From the comparison of the remembered manifest dream-content with the
latent dream-thoughts thus discovered there arises the conception of
“dream-work.” The entire sum of the transforming processes which have
changed the latent dream-thought into the manifest dream is called the
dream-work. The astonishment which formerly the dream evoked in us is
now perceived to be due to the dream-work.
The function of the dream-work may be described in the following manner.
A structure of thoughts, mostly very complicated, which has been built
up during the day and not brought to settlement—a day remnant—clings
firmly even during night to the energy which it had assumed—the
underlying center of interest—and thus threatens to disturb sleep. This
day remnant is transformed into a dream by the dream-work and in this
way rendered harmless to sleep. But in order to make possible its
employment by the dream-work, this day remnant must be capable of being
cast into the form of a wish, a condition that is not difficult to
fulfill. The wish emanating from the dream-thoughts forms the first step
and later on the nucleus of the dream. Experience gained from
analyses—not the theory of the dream—teaches us that with children a
fond wish left from the waking state suffices to evoke a dream, which is
coherent and senseful, but almost always short, and easily recognizable
as a “wish fulfillment.” In the case of adults the universally valid
condition for the dream-creating wish seems to be that the latter should
appear foreign to conscious thinking, that is, it should be a repressed
wish, or that it should supply consciousness with reinforcement from
unknown sources. Without the assumption of the unconscious activity in
the sense used above, I should be at a loss to develop further the
theory of dreams and to explain the material gleaned from experience in
dream-analyses. The action of this unconscious wish upon the logical
conscious material of dream-thoughts now results in the dream. The
latter is thereby drawn down into the unconscious, as it were, or to
speak more precisely, it is exposed to a treatment which usually takes
place at the level of unconscious mental activity, and which is
characteristic of this mental level. Only from the results of the
“dream-work” have we thus far learned to know the qualities of this
unconscious mental activity and its differentiation from the
“foreconscious” which is capable of consciousness.
_The Unconscious_
A novel and difficult theory that runs counter to our habitual modes of
thinking can hardly gain in lucidity by a condensed exposition. I can
therefore accomplish little more in this discussion than refer the
reader to the detailed treatment of the unconscious in my
_Interpretation of Dreams_, and also to Lipps’s work, which I consider
most important. I am aware that he who is under the spell of a good old
philosophical training, or stands aloof from a so-called philosophical
system, will oppose the assumption of the “unconscious psychic
processes” in Lipps’s sense and in mine and will desire to prove the
impossibility of it preferably by means of definitions of the term
psychic. But definitions are conventional and changeable. I have often
found that persons who dispute the unconscious on the grounds of its
absurdity or impossibility have not received their impressions from
those sources from which I, at least, have found it necessary to draw,
in order to become aware of its existence. These opponents had never
witnessed the effect of a posthypnotic suggestion, and they were
immensely surprised at the evidence I imparted to them gleaned from my
analysis of unhypnotized neurotics. They had never gained the conception
of the unconscious as something which one does not really know, while
cogent proofs force one to supplement this idea by saying that one
understands by the unconscious something capable of consciousness,
something concerning which one has not thought and which is not in the
field of vision of consciousness. Nor had they attempted to convince
themselves of the existence of such unconscious thoughts in their own
psychic life by means of an analysis of one of their own dreams, and
when I attempted this with them, they could perceive their own mental
occurrences only with astonishment and confusion. I have also gotten the
impression that these are essentially affective resistances which stand
in the way of the acceptation of the “unconscious,” and that they are
based on the fact that no one is desirous of becoming acquainted with
his unconscious, and it is most convenient to deny altogether its
possibility.
_Condensation and Displacement in the Dream-work_
The dream-work, to which I return after this digression, subjects the
thought material uttered in the optative mood to a very peculiar
elaboration. First of all it proceeds from the optative to the
indicative mood; it substitutes “it is” for “would it were!” This “it
is” is destined to become part of an hallucinatory representation which
I have called the “regression” of the dream-work. This regression
represents the path from the mental images to the sensory perceptions of
the same, or if one chooses to speak with reference to the still
unfamiliar—not to be understood anatomically—topic of the psychic
apparatus, it is the region of the thought-formation to the region of
the sensory perception. Along this road which runs in an opposite
direction to the course of development of psychic complications the
dream-thoughts gain in clearness; a plastic situation finally results as
a nucleus of the manifest “dream picture.” In order to arrive at such a
sensory representation the dream-thoughts have had to experience
tangible changes in their expression. But while the thoughts are changed
back into mental images they are subjected to still greater changes,
some of which are easily conceivable as necessary, while others are
surprising. As a necessary secondary result of the regression one
understands that nearly all relationships within the thoughts which have
organized the same are lost to the manifest dream. The dream-work takes
over, as it were, only the raw material of the ideas for representation,
and not the thought-relations which held each other in check; or at
least it reserves the freedom of leaving the latter out of the question.
On the other hand, there is a certain part of the dream-work which
cannot be traced to the regression or to the recasting into mental
images; it is just that part which is significant to us for the analogy
to wit-formation. The material of the dream-thoughts experiences an
extraordinary compression or _condensation_ during the dream-work. The
starting-points of this condensation are those points which are common
to two or more dream-thoughts because they naturally pertain to both or
because they are inevitable consequences of the contents of two or more
dream-thoughts, and since these points do not regularly suffice for a
prolific condensation new artificial and fleeting common points come
into existence, and for this purpose preferably words are used which
combine different meanings in their sounds. The newly framed common
points of condensation enter as representatives of the dream-thoughts
into the manifest dream-content, so that an element of the dream
corresponds to a point of junction or intersection of the
dream-thoughts, and with regard to the latter it must in general be
called “overdetermined.” The process of condensation is that part of the
dream-work which is most easily recognizable; it suffices to compare the
recorded wording of a dream with the written dream-thoughts gained by
means of analysis, in order to get a good impression of the
productiveness of dream condensation.
It is not easy to convince one’s self of the second great change that
takes place in the dream-thoughts through the agency of the dream-work.
I refer to that process which I have called the dream _displacement_. It
manifests itself by the fact that what occupies the center of the
manifest dream and is endowed with vivid sensory intensity has occupied
a peripheral and secondary position in the dream-thoughts, and _vice
versa_. This process causes the dream to appear out of proportion when
compared with the dream-thoughts, and it is because of this displacement
that it seems strange and incomprehensible to the waking state. In order
that such a displacement should occur it must be possible for the
occupation energy to pass uninhibited from important to insignificant
ideas,—a process which in normal conscious thinking can only give the
impression of “faulty thinking.”
Transformation into expressive activity, condensation, and displacement
are the three great functions which we can ascribe to the dream-work. A
fourth, to which too little attention was given in _The Interpretation
of Dreams_, does not come into consideration here for our purpose. In a
consistent elucidation of the ideas dealing with the “topic of the
psychic apparatus” and “regression,” which alone can lend value to these
working hypotheses, an effort would have to be made to determine at what
stages of regression the various transformations of the dream-thoughts
occur. As yet no serious effort has been made in this direction, but at
least we can speak definitely about displacement when we say that it
must arise in the thought material while the latter is in the level of
the unconscious processes. One will probably have to think of
condensation as a process that extends over the entire course up to the
outposts of the perceptive region; but in general it suffices to assume
that there is a simultaneous activity of all the forces which
participate in the formation of dreams. In view of the reserve which one
must naturally exercise in the treatment of such problems, and in
consideration of the inability to discuss here the main objections to
these problems, I should like to trust somewhat to the assertion that
the process of the dream-work which prepares the dream is situated in
the region of the unconscious. Roughly speaking, one can distinguish
three general stages in the formation of the dream; first, the
transference of the conscious day remnants into the unconscious, a
transference in which the conditions of the sleeping state must
co-operate; secondly, the actual dream-work in the unconscious; and
thirdly, the regression of the elaborated dream material to the region
of perception, whereby the dream becomes conscious.
The forces participating in the dream-formation may be recognized as the
following: the wish to sleep; the sum of occupation energy which still
clings to the day remnants after the depression brought about by the
state of sleep; the psychic energy of the unconscious wish forming the
dream; and the opposing force of the “_censor_,” which exercises its
authority in our waking state, and is not entirely abolished during
sleep. The task of dream-formation is, above all, to overcome the
inhibition of the censor, and it is just this task that is fulfilled by
the displacement of the psychic energy within the material of the
dream-thoughts.
_The Formula for Wit-work_
Now we recall what caused us to think of the dream while investigating
wit. We found that the character and activity of wit were bound up in
certain forms of expression and technical means, among which the various
forms of condensation, displacement, and indirect representation were
the most conspicuous. But the processes which led to the same
results—condensation, displacement, and indirect expression—we learned
to know as peculiarities of dream-work. Does not this analogy almost
force us to the conclusion that wit-work and dream-work must be
identical at least in one essential point? I believe that the dream-work
lies revealed before us in its most important characters, but in wit we
find obscured just that portion of the psychic processes which we may
compare with the dream-work, namely, the process of wit-formation in the
first person. Shall we not yield to the temptation to construct this
process according to the analogy of dream-formation? Some of the
characteristics of dreams are so foreign to wit that that part of the
dream-work corresponding to them cannot be carried over to the
wit-formation. The regression of the stream of thought to perception
certainly falls away as far as wit is concerned. However, the other two
stages of dream-formation, the sinking of a foreconscious[57] thought
into the unconscious, and the unconscious elaboration, would give us
exactly the result which we might observe in wit if we assumed this
process in wit-formation. Let us decide to assume that this is the
proceeding of wit-formation in the case of the first person. _A
foreconscious thought is left for a moment to unconscious elaboration
and the results are forthwith grasped by the conscious perception._
Before, however, we attempt to prove the details of this assertion we
wish to consider an objection which may jeopardize our assumption. We
start with the fact that the techniques of wit point to the same
processes which become known to us as peculiarities of dream-work. Now
it is an easy matter to say in opposition that we would not have
described the techniques of wit as condensation, displacement, etc., nor
would we have arrived at such a comprehensive agreement in the means of
representation of wit and dreams, if our previous knowledge of
dream-work had not influenced our conception of the technique of wit; so
that at the bottom we find that wit confirms only those tentative
theories which we brought to it from our study of dreams. Such a genesis
of agreement would be no certain guarantee of its stability beyond our
preconceived judgment. No other author has thought of considering
condensation, displacement, and indirect expression as active factors of
wit. This might be a possible objection, but nevertheless it would not
be justified. It might just as well be said that in order to recognize
the real agreement between dreams and wit our ordinary knowledge must be
augmented by a specialized knowledge of dream-work. However, the
decision will really depend only upon the question whether the examining
critic can prove that such a conception of the technique of wit in the
individual examples is forced, and that other nearer and
farther-reaching interpretations have been suppressed in favor of mine;
or whether the critic will have to admit that the tentative theories
derived from the study of dreams can be really confirmed through wit. My
opinion is that we have nothing to fear from such a critic and that our
processes of reduction have confidently pointed out in which forms of
expression we must search for the techniques of wit. That we designated
these techniques by names which previously anticipated the result of the
agreement between the technique of wit and the dream-work was our just
prerogative, and really nothing more than an easily justified
simplification.
There is still another objection which would not be vital, but which
could not be so completely refuted. One might think that the techniques
of wit that fit in so well considering the ends we have in view deserve
recognition, but that they do not represent all possible techniques of
wit or even all those in use. Also that we have selected only the
techniques of wit which were influenced by and would suit the pattern of
the dream-work, whereas others ignored by us would have demonstrated
that such an agreement was not common to all cases. I really do not
trust myself to make the assertion that I have succeeded in explaining
all the current witticisms with reference to their techniques, and I
therefore admit the possibility that my enumeration of wit-techniques
may show many gaps. But I have not purposely excluded from my discussion
any form of technique that was clear to me, and I can affirm that the
most frequent, the most essential, and the most characteristic technical
means of wit have not eluded my attention.
_Wit as an Inspiration_
Wit possesses still another character which entirely corresponds to our
conception of the wit-work as originally discovered in our study of
dreams. It is true that it is common to hear one say “I _made_ a joke,”
but one feels that one behaves differently during this process than when
one pronounces a judgment or offers an objection. Wit shows in a most
pronounced manner the character of an involuntary “inspiration” or a
sudden flash of thought. A moment before one cannot tell what kind of
joke one is going to make, though it lacks only the words to clothe it.
One usually experiences something indefinable which I should like most
to compare to an absence, or sudden drop of intellectual tension; then
all of a sudden the witticism appears, usually simultaneously with its
verbal investment. Some of the means of wit are also utilized in the
expression of thought along other lines, as in the cases of comparison
and allusion. I can purposely will to make an allusion. In doing this I
have first in mind (in the inner hearing) the direct expression of my
thought, but as I am inhibited from expressing the same through some
objection from the situation in question, I almost resolve to substitute
the direct expression by a form of indirect expression, and then I utter
it in the form of an allusion. But the allusion that comes into
existence in this manner having been formed under my continuous control
is never witty, no matter how useful it may be. On the other hand, the
witty allusion appears without my having been able to follow up these
preparatory stages in my mind. I do not wish to attribute too much value
to this procedure, it is scarcely decisive, but it does agree well with
our assumption that in wit-formation a stream of thought is dropped for
a moment and suddenly emerges from the unconscious as a witticism.
Witticisms also evince a peculiar behavior along the lines of
association of ideas. Frequently they are not at the disposal of our
memory when we look for them; on the other hand, they often appear
unsolicited and at places in our train of thought where we cannot
understand their presence. Again, these are only minor qualities, but
none the less they point to their unconscious origin.
Let us now collect the properties of wit whose formation can be referred
to the unconscious. Above all there is the peculiar brevity of wit
which, though not an indispensable, is a marked and distinctive
characteristic feature. When we first encountered it we were inclined to
see in it an expression of a tendency to economize, but owing to very
evident objections we ourselves depreciated the value of this
conception. At present we look upon it more as a sign of the unconscious
elaboration which the thought of wit has undergone. The process of
condensation which corresponds to it in dreams we can correlate with no
other factor than with the localization in the unconscious, and we must
assume that the conditions for such condensations which are lacking in
the foreconscious are present in the unconscious mental process.[58] It
is to be expected that in the process of condensation some of the
elements subjected to it become lost, while others which take over their
occupation energy are strengthened by the condensation or are built up
too energetically. The brevity of wit, like the brevity of dreams, would
thus be a necessary concomitant manifestation of the condensation which
occurs in both cases; both times it is a result of the condensation
process. The brevity of wit is indebted also to this origin for its
peculiar character which though not further assignable produces a
striking impression.
_The Unconscious and the Infantile_
We have defined above the one result of condensation—the manifold
application of the same material, play upon words, and similarity of
sound—as a localized economy, and have also referred the pleasure
produced by harmless wit to that economy. At a later place we have found
that the original purpose of wit consisted in producing this kind of
pleasure from words, a process which was permitted to the individual
during the stage of playing, but which became banked in during the
course of intellectual development or by rational criticism. Now we have
decided upon the assumption that such condensations as serve the
technique of wit originate automatically and without any particular
purpose during the process of thinking in the unconscious. Have we not
here two different conceptions of the same fact which seem to be
incompatible with each other? I do not think so. To be sure, there are
two different conceptions, and they demand to be brought in unison, but
they do not contradict each other. They are merely somewhat strange to
each other, and as soon as we have established a relationship between
them we shall probably gain in knowledge. That such condensations are
sources of pleasure is in perfect accord with the supposition that they
easily find in the unconscious the conditions necessary for their
origin; on the other hand, we see the motivation for the sinking into
the unconscious in the circumstance that the pleasure-bringing
condensation necessary to wit easily results there. Two other factors
also, which upon first examination seem entirely foreign to each other
and which are brought together quite accidentally, will be recognized on
deeper investigation as intimately connected, and perhaps may be found
to be substantially the same. I am referring to the two assertions that
on the one hand wit could form such pleasure-bringing condensations
during its development in the stage of playing, that is, during the
infancy of reason; and, on the other hand, that it accomplishes the same
function on higher levels by submerging the thought into the
unconscious. For the infantile is the source of the unconscious. The
unconscious mental processes are no others than those which are solely
produced during infancy. The thought which sinks into the unconscious
for the purpose of wit-formation only revisits there the old homestead
of the former playing with words. The thought is put back for a moment
into the infantile state in order to regain in this way childish
pleasure-sources. If, indeed, one were not already acquainted with it
from the investigation of the psychology of the neuroses, wit would
surely impress one with the idea that the peculiar unconscious
elaboration is nothing else but the infantile type of the mental
process. Only it is by no means an easy matter to grasp, in the
unconscious of the adult, this peculiar infantile manner of thinking,
because it is usually corrected, so to say, _statu nascendi_. However,
it is successfully grasped in a series of cases, and then we always
laugh about the “childish stupidity.” In fact every exposure of such an
unconscious fact affects us in a “comical” manner.[59]
It is easier to comprehend the character of these unconscious mental
processes in the utterances of patients suffering from various psychic
disturbances. It is very probable that, following the assumption of old
Griesinger, we would be in a position to understand the deliria of the
insane and to turn them to good account as valuable information, if we
would not make the demands of conscious thinking upon them, but instead
treat them as we do dreams by means of our art of interpretation.[60] In
the dream, too, we were able to show the “return of psychic life to the
embryonal state.”[61]
In discussing the processes of condensation we have entered so deeply
into the signification of the analogy between wit and dreams that we can
here be brief. As we know that displacements in dream-work point to the
influence of the censor of conscious thought, we will consequently be
inclined to assume that an inhibiting force also plays a part in the
formation of wit when we find the process of displacement among the
techniques of wit. We also know that this is commonly the case; the
endeavor of wit to revive the old pleasure in nonsense or the old
pleasure in word-play meets with resistance in every normal state, a
resistance which is exerted by the protest of critical reason, and which
must be overcome in each individual case. But a radical distinction
between wit and dreams is shown in the manner in which the wit-work
solves this difficulty. In the dream-work the solution of this task is
brought about regularly through displacements and through the choice of
ideas which are remote enough from the objectionable ones to secure
passage through the censor; the latter themselves are but offsprings of
those whose psychic energy they have taken upon themselves through full
transference. The displacements are therefore not lacking in any dream
and are far more comprehensive; they not only comprise the deviations
from the trend of thought but also all forms of indirect expression, the
substitution for an important but offensive element of one seemingly
indifferent and harmless to the censor which form very remote allusions
to the first, they include substitution also occurring through symbols,
comparisons, or trifles. It is not to be denied that parts of this
indirect representation really originate in the foreconscious thoughts
of the dream,—as, for example, symbolical representation and
representation through comparisons—because otherwise the thought would
not have reached the state of the foreconscious expression. Such
indirect expressions and allusions, whose reference to the original
thought is easily findable, are really permissible and customary means
of expression even in our conscious thought. The dream-work, however,
exaggerates the application of these means of indirect expression to an
unlimited degree. Under the pressure of the censor any kind of
association becomes good enough for substitution by allusion; the
displacement from one element to any other is permitted. The
substitution of the inner associations (similarity, causal connection,
etc.) by the so-called outer associations (simultaneity, contiguity in
space, assonance) is particularly conspicuous and characteristic of the
dream-work.
_The Difference between Dream-technique and Wit-technique_
All these means of displacement also occur as techniques of wit, but
when they do occur they usually restrict themselves to those limits
prescribed for their use in conscious thought; in fact they may be
lacking, even though wit must regularly solve a task of inhibition. One
can comprehend this retirement of the process of displacement in
wit-work when one remembers that wit usually has another technique at
its disposal through which it defends itself against inhibitions.
Indeed, we have discovered nothing more characteristic of it than just
this technique. For wit does not have recourse to compromises as does
the dream, nor does it evade the inhibition; it insists upon retaining
the play with words or nonsense unaltered, but thanks to the ambiguity
of words and multiplicity of thought-relations, it restricts itself to
the choice of cases in which this play or nonsense may appear at the
same time admissible (jest) or senseful (wit). Nothing distinguishes wit
from all other psychic formations better than this double-sidedness and
this double-dealing; by emphasizing the “sense in nonsense,” the authors
have approached nearest the understanding of wit, at least from this
angle.
Considering the unexceptional predominance of this peculiar technique in
overcoming inhibitions in wit, one might find it superfluous that wit
should make use of the displacement-technique even in a single case. But
on the one hand certain kinds of this technique remain useful for wit as
objects and sources of pleasure—as, for example, the real displacement
(deviation of the trend of thought) which in fact shares in the nature
of nonsense,—and on the other hand one must not forget that the highest
stage of wit, tendency-wit, must frequently overcome two kinds of
inhibitions which oppose both itself and its tendency (p. 147), and that
allusion and displacements are qualified to facilitate this latter task.
The numerous and unrestricted application of indirect representation, of
displacements, and especially of allusions in the dream-work, has a
result which I mention not because of its own significance but because
it became for me the subjective inducement to occupy myself with the
problem of wit. If a dream analysis is imparted to one unfamiliar with
the subject and unaccustomed to it, and the peculiar ways of allusions
and displacements (objectionable to the waking thoughts but utilized by
the dream-work) are explained, the hearer experiences an uncomfortable
impression; he declares these interpretations to be “witty,” but it
seems obvious to him that these are not successful jokes but forced ones
which run contrary to the rules of wit. This impression can be easily
explained; it is due to the fact that the dream-work operates with the
same means as wit, but in the application of the same the dream exceeds
the bounds which wit restricts. We shall soon learn that in consequence
of the rôle of the third person wit is bound by a certain condition
which does not affect the dream.
_Irony—Negativism_
Among those techniques which are common to both wit and dreams
representation through the opposite and the application of absurdity are
especially interesting. The first belongs to the strongly effective
means of wit as shown in the examples of “outdoing wit” (p. 98). The
representation through the opposite, unlike most of the wit-techniques,
is unable to withdraw itself from conscious attention. He who
intentionally tries to make use of wit-work, as in the case of the
“habitual wit,” soon discovers that the easiest way to answer an
assertion with a witticism is to concentrate one’s mind on the opposite
of this assertion and trust to the chance flash of thought to brush
aside the feared objection to this opposite by means of a different
interpretation. Maybe the representation through its opposite is
indebted for such a preference to the fact that it forms the nucleus of
another pleasurable mode of mental expression, for an understanding of
which we do not have to consult the unconscious. I refer to _irony_,
which is very similar to wit and is considered a subspecies of the
comic. The essence of irony consists in imparting the very opposite of
what one intended to express, but it precludes the anticipated
contradiction by indicating through the inflections, concomitant
gestures, and through slight changes in style—if it is done in
writing—that the speaker himself means to convey the opposite of what he
says. Irony is applicable only in cases where the other person is
prepared to hear the reverse of the statement actually made, so that he
cannot fail to be inclined to contradict. As a consequence of this
condition ironic expressions are particularly subject to the danger of
being misunderstood. To the person who uses it, it gives the advantage
of readily avoiding the difficulties to which direct expressions, as,
for example, invectives, are subject. In the hearer it produces comic
pleasure, probably by causing him to make preparations for
contradiction, which are immediately found to be unnecessary. Such a
comparison of wit with a form of the comical that is closely allied to
it might strengthen us in the assumption that the relation of wit to the
unconscious is the peculiarity that also distinguishes it from the
comical.[62]
In dream-work, representation through the opposite has a far more
important part to play than in wit. The dream not only delights in
representing a pair of opposites by means of one and the same composite
image, but in addition it often changes an element from the
dream-thoughts into its opposite, thus causing considerable difficulty
in the work of interpretation. In the case of any element capable of
having an opposite it is impossible to tell whether it is to be taken
negatively or positively in the dream-thoughts.[63]
I must emphasize that as yet this fact has by no means been understood.
Nevertheless, it seems to give indications of an important
characteristic of unconscious thinking which in all probability results
in a process comparable to “judging.” Instead of setting aside judgments
the unconscious forms “repressions.” The repression may correctly be
described as a stage intermediate between the defense reflex and
condemnation.[64]
_The Unconscious as the Psychic Stage of the Wit-work_
Nonsense, or absurdity, which occurs so often in dreams and which has
made them the object of so much contempt, has never really come into
being as the result of an accidental shuffling of conceptual elements,
but may in every case be proven to have been purposely admitted by the
dream-work. Nonsense and absurdity are intended to express embittered
criticism and scornful contradiction within the dream-thoughts.
Absurdity in the dream-content thus stands for the judgment: “It’s pure
nonsense,” expressed in dream-thoughts. In my work on the Interpretation
of Dreams, I have placed great emphasis on the demonstration of this
fact because I thought that I could in this manner most strikingly
controvert the error expressed by many that the dream is no psychic
phenomenon at all—an error which bars the way to an understanding of the
unconscious. Now we have learnt (in the analysis of certain
tendency-witticisms on p. 73) that nonsense in wit is made to serve the
same purposes of expression. We also know that a nonsensical façade of a
witticism is peculiarly adapted to enhance the psychic expenditure in
the hearer and hence also to increase the amount to be discharged
through laughter. Moreover, we must not forget that nonsense in wit is
an end in itself, since the purpose of reviving the old pleasure in
nonsense is one of the motives of the wit-work. There are other ways to
regain the feeling of nonsense in order to derive pleasure from it;
caricature, exaggeration, parody, and travesty utilize the same and thus
produce “comical nonsense.” If we subject these modes of expression to
an analysis similar to the one used in studying wit, we shall find that
there is no occasion in any of them for resorting to unconscious
processes in our sense for the purpose of getting explanations. We are
now also in a position to understand why the “witty” character may be
added as an embellishment to caricature, exaggeration, and parody; it is
the manifold character of the performance upon the “psychic stage”[65]
that makes this possible.
I am of the opinion that by transferring the wit-work into the system of
the unconscious we have made a distinct gain, since it makes it possible
for us to understand the fact that the various techniques to which wit
admittedly adheres are on the other hand not its exclusive property.
Many doubts, which have arisen in the beginning of our investigation of
these techniques and which we were forced temporarily to leave, can now
be conveniently cleared up. Hence we shall give due consideration to the
doubt which expresses itself by asserting that the undeniable relation
of wit to the unconscious is correct only for certain categories of
tendency-wit, while we are ready to claim this relation for all forms
and all the stages of development of wit. We may not shirk the duty of
testing this objection.
We may assume that we deal with a sure case of wit-formation in the
unconscious when it concerns witticisms that serve unconscious
tendencies, or those strengthened by unconscious tendencies, as, for
example, most “cynical” witticisms. For in such cases the unconscious
tendency draws the foreconscious thought down into the unconscious in
order to remodel it there; a process to which the study of the
psychology of the neuroses has added many analogies with which we are
acquainted. But in the case of tendency-wit of other varieties, namely,
harmless wit and the jest, this power seems to fall away, and the
relation of the wit to the unconscious is an open question.
But now let us consider the case of the witty expression of a thought
that is not without value in itself and that comes to the surface in the
course of the association of mental processes. In order that this
thought may become a witticism, it is of course necessary that it make a
choice among the possible forms of expression in order to find the exact
form that will bring along the gain in word-pleasure. We know from
self-observation that this choice is not made by conscious attention;
but the selection will certainly be better if the occupation energy of
the foreconscious thought is lowered to the unconscious. For in the
unconscious, as we have learnt from the dream-work, the paths of
association emanating from a word are treated on a par with associations
from objects. The occupation energy from the unconscious presents by far
the more favorable conditions for the selection of the expression.
Moreover, we may assume without going farther that the possible
expression which contains the gain in word-pleasure exerts a lowering
effect on the still fluctuating self-command of the foreconscious,
similar to that exerted in the first case by the unconscious tendency.
As an explanation for the simpler case of the jest we may imagine that
an ever watchful intention of attaining the gain in word-pleasure seizes
the opportunity offered in the foreconscious of again drawing the
investing energy down into the unconscious, according to the familiar
scheme.
I earnestly wish that it were possible for me on the one hand to present
one decisive point in my conception of wit more clearly, and on the
other hand to fortify it with compelling arguments. But as a matter of
fact it is not a question here of two failures, but of one and the same
failure. I can give no clearer exposition because I have no further
testimony on behalf of my conception. The latter has developed as the
result of my study of the technique and of comparison with dream-work,
and indeed from this one side only. I now find that the dream-work is
altogether excellently adapted to the peculiarities of wit. This
conception is now concluded; if the conclusion leads us not to a
familiar province, but rather to one that is strange and novel to our
modes of thought, the conclusion is called a “hypothesis,” and the
relation of the hypothesis to the material from which it is drawn is
justly not accepted as “proof.” The hypothesis is admitted as “proved”
only if it can be reached by other ways and if it can be shown to be the
junction point for other associations. But such proof, in view of the
fact that our knowledge of unconscious processes has hardly begun,
cannot be had. Realizing then that we are on soil still virgin, we shall
be content to project from our viewpoint of observation one narrow
slender plank into the unexplored region.
We shall not build a great structure on such a foundation as this. If we
correlate the different stages of wit to the mental dispositions
favorable to them we may say: The _jest_ has its origin in the happy
mood; what seems to be peculiar to it is an inclination to lower the
psychic static energies (_Besetzungen_). The jest already makes use of
all the characteristic techniques of wit and satisfies the fundamental
conditions of the same through the choice of such an assortment of words
or mental associations as will conform not only to the requirements for
the production of pleasure, but also conform to the demands of the
intelligent critic. We shall conclude that the sinking of the mental
energy to the unconscious stage, a process facilitated by the happy
mood, has already taken place in the case of the jest. The mood does
away with this requirement in the case of _harmless_ wit connected with
the expression of a valuable thought; here we must assume a particular
_personal adaptation_ which finds it as easy to come to expression as it
is for the foreconscious thought to sink for a moment into the
unconscious. An ever watchful tendency to renew the original resultant
pleasure of wit exerts thereby a lowering effect upon the still
fluctuating foreconscious expression of the thought. Most people are
probably capable of making jests when in a happy mood; aptitude for
joking independent of the mood is found only in a few persons. Finally,
the most powerful incentive for wit-work is the presence of strong
tendencies which reach back into the unconscious and which indicate a
particular fitness for witty productions; these tendencies might explain
to us why the subjective conditions of wit are so frequently fulfilled
in the case of neurotic persons. Even the most inapt person may become
witty under the influence of strong tendencies.
_Differences Between Wit and Dreams_
This last contribution, the explanation of wit-work in the first person,
though still hypothetical, strictly speaking, ends our interest in wit.
There still remains a short comparison of wit to the more familiar dream
and we may expect that, outside of the one agreement already considered,
two such diverse mental activities should show nothing but differences.
The most important difference lies in their social behavior. The dream
is a perfectly asocial psychic product. It has nothing to tell to anyone
else, having originated in an individual as a compromise between
conflicting psychic forces it remains incomprehensible to the person
himself and has therefore altogether no interest for anybody else. Not
only does the dream find it unnecessary to place any value on
intelligibleness, but it must even guard against being understood, as it
would then be destroyed; it can only exist in disguised form. For this
reason the dream may make use freely of the mechanism that controls
unconscious thought processes to the extent of producing undecipherable
disfigurements. Wit, on the other hand, is the most social of all those
psychic functions whose aim is to gain pleasure. It often requires three
persons, and the psychic process which it incites always requires the
participation of at least one other person. It must therefore bind
itself to the condition of intelligibleness; it may employ disfigurement
made practicable in the unconscious through condensation and
displacement, to no greater extent than can be deciphered by the
intelligence of the third person. As for the rest, wit and dreams have
developed in altogether different spheres of the psychic life, and are
to be classed under widely separated categories of the psychological
system. No matter how concealed the dream is still a wish, while wit is
a developed play. Despite its apparent unreality the dream retains its
relation to the great interests of life; it seeks to supply what is
lacking through a regressive detour of hallucinations; and it owes its
existence solely to the strong need for sleep during the night. Wit, on
the other hand, seeks to draw a small amount of pleasure from the free
and unencumbered activities of our psychic apparatus, and later to seize
this pleasure as an incidental gain. It thus _secondarily_ reaches to
important functions relative to the outer world. The dream serves
preponderately to guard from pain while wit serves to acquire pleasure;
in these two aims all our psychic activities meet.
VII
WIT AND THE VARIOUS FORMS OF THE COMIC
We have approached the problems of the comic in an unusual manner. It
appeared to us that wit, which is usually regarded as a subspecies of
the comic, offered enough peculiarities to warrant our taking it
directly under consideration, and thus it came about that we avoided
discussing its relation to the more comprehensive category of the comic
as long as it was possible to do so, yet we did not proceed without
picking up on the way some hints that might be valuable for studying the
comic. We found it easy to ascertain that the comic differs from wit in
its social behavior. The comic can be content with only two persons, one
who finds the comical, and one in whom it is found. The third person to
whom the comical may be imparted reinforces the comic process, but adds
nothing new to it. In wit, however, this third person is indispensable
for the completion of the pleasure-bearing process, while the second
person may be omitted, especially when it is not a question of
aggressive wit with a tendency. Wit is made, while the comical is found;
it is found first of all in persons, and only later by transference may
be seen also in objects, situations, and the like. We know, too, in the
case of wit that it is not strange persons, but one’s own mental
processes that contain the sources for the production of pleasure. In
addition we have heard that wit occasionally reopens inaccessible
sources of the comic, and that the comic often serves wit as a façade to
replace the fore-pleasure usually produced by the well-known technique
(p. 236). All of this does not really point to a very simple
relationship between wit and the comic. On the other hand, the problems
of the comic have shown themselves to be so complicated, and have until
now so successfully defied all attempts made by the philosophers to
solve them, that we have not been able to justify the expectation of
mastering it by a sudden stroke, so to speak, even if we approach it
along the paths of wit. Incidentally we came provided with an instrument
for investigating wit that had not yet been made use of by others;
namely, the knowledge of dream-work. We have no similar advantage at our
disposal for comprehending the comic, and we may therefore expect that
we shall learn nothing about the nature of the comic other than that
which we have already become aware of in wit; in so far as wit belongs
to the comic and retains certain features of the same unchanged or
modified in its own nature.
_The Naïve_
The species of the comic that is most closely allied to wit is the
_naïve_. Like the comic the naïve is found universally and is not made
like in the case of wit. The naïve cannot be made at all, while in the
case of the pure comic the question of making or evoking the comical may
be taken into account. The naïve must result without our intervention
from the speech and actions of other persons who take the place of the
_second_ person in the comic or in wit. The naïve originates when one
puts himself completely outside of inhibition, because it does not exist
for him; that is, if he seems to overcome it without any effort. What
conditions the function of the naïve is the fact that we are aware that
the person does not possess this inhibition, otherwise we should not
call it naïve but impudent, and instead of laughing we should be
indignant. The effect of the naïve, which is irresistible, seems easy to
understand. An expenditure of that inhibition energy which is commonly
already formed in us suddenly becomes inapplicable when we hear the
naïve and is discharged through laughter; as the removal of the
inhibition is direct, and not the result of an incited operation, there
is no need for a suspension of attention. We behave like the hearer in
wit, to whom the economy of inhibition is given without any effort on
his part.
In view of the understanding about the genesis of inhibitions which we
obtained while tracing the development of play into wit, it will not
surprise us to learn that the naïve is mostly found in children,
although it may also be observed in uneducated adults, whom we look on
as children as far as their intellectual development is concerned. For
the purposes of comparison with wit, naïve speech is naturally better
adapted than naïve actions, for speech and not actions are the usual
forms of expression employed by wit. It is significant, however, that
naïve speeches, such as those of children, can without straining also be
designated as “naïve witticisms.” The points of agreement as well as
demonstration between wit and naïveté will become clear to us upon
consideration of a few examples.[66]
_A little girl of three years was accustomed to hear from her German
nurse the exclamatory word “Gesundheit” (God bless you!; literally, may
you be healthy!) whenever she happened to sneeze. While suffering from a
severe cold during which the profuse coughing and sneezing caused her
considerable pain, she pointed to her chest and said to her father,
“Daddy, Gesundheit hurts.”_
_Another little girl of four years heard her parents refer to a Jewish
acquaintance as a Hebrew, and on later hearing the latter’s wife
referred to as Mrs. X, she corrected her mother, saying, “No, that is
not her name; if her husband is a Hebrew she is a Shebrew.”_
In the first example the wit is produced through the use of a contiguous
association in the form of an abstract thought for the concrete action.
The child so often heard the word “Gesundheit” associated with sneezing
that she took it for the act itself. While the second example may be
designated as word-wit formed by the technique of sound similarity. The
child divided the word Hebrew into He-brew and having been taught the
genders of the personal pronouns, she naturally imagined that if the man
is a He-brew his wife must be a She-brew. Both examples could have
originated as real witticisms upon which we would have unwillingly
bestowed a little mild laughter. But as examples of naïveté they seem
excellent and cause loud laughter. But what is it here that produces the
difference between wit and naïveté? Apparently it is neither the wording
nor the technique, which is the same for both wit and the naïve, but a
factor which at first sight seems remote from both. It is simply a
question whether we assume that the speakers had the intention of making
a witticism or whether we assume that they—the children—wished to draw
an earnest conclusion, a conclusion held in good faith though based on
uncorrected knowledge. Only the latter case is one of naïveté. It is
here that our attention is first called to the mechanism in which the
second person places himself into the psychic process of the person who
produces the wit.
The investigation of a third example will confirm this opinion. A
brother and a sister, the former ten and the latter twelve years old,
produce a play of their own composition before an audience of uncles and
aunts. The scene represents a hut on the seashore. In the first act the
two dramatist-actors, a poor fisherman and his devoted wife, complain
about the hard times and the difficulty of getting a livelihood. The man
decides to sail over the wide ocean in his boat in order to seek wealth
elsewhere, and after a touching farewell the curtain is drawn. The
second act takes place several years later. The fisherman has come home
rich with a big bag of money and tells his wife, whom he finds waiting
in front of the hut, what good luck he has had in the far countries. His
wife interrupts him proudly, saying: “Nor have I been idle in the
meanwhile,” and opens the hut, on whose floor the fisherman sees twelve
large dolls representing children asleep. At this point of the drama the
performers were interrupted by an outburst of laughter on the part of
the audience, a thing which they could not understand. They stared
dumfounded at their dear relatives, who had thus far behaved respectably
and had listened attentively. The explanation of this laughter lies in
the assumption on the part of the audience that the young dramatists
know nothing as yet about the origin of children, and were therefore in
a position to believe that a wife would actually boast of bearing
offspring during the prolonged absence of her husband, and that the
husband would rejoice with her over it. But the results achieved by the
dramatists on the basis of this ignorance may be designated as nonsense
or absurdity.
These examples show that the naïve occupies a position midway between
wit and the comic. As far as wording and contents are concerned, the
naïve speech is identical with wit; it produces a misuse of words, a bit
of nonsense, or an obscenity. But the psychic process of the first
person or producer which, in the case of wit, offered us so much that
was interesting and puzzling, is here entirely absent. The naïve person
imagines that he is using his thoughts and expressions in a simple and
normal manner; he has no other purpose in view, and receives no pleasure
from his naïve production. All the characteristics of the naïve lie in
the conception of the hearer, who corresponds to the third person in the
case of wit. The producing person creates the naïve without any effort.
The complicated technique, which in wit serves to paralyze the
inhibition produced by the critical reason, does not exist here, because
the person does not possess this inhibition, and he can therefore
readily produce the senseless and the obscene without any compromise.
The naïve may be added to the realm of wit if it comes into existence
after the important function of the censor, as observed in the formula
for wit-formation, has been reduced to zero.
If the affective determination of wit consists in the fact that both
persons should be subject to about the same inhibitions or inner
resistances, we may say now that the determination of the naïve consists
in the fact that one person should have inhibitions which the other
lacks. It is the person provided with inhibitions who understands the
naïve, and it is he alone who gains the pleasure produced by the naïve.
We can easily understand that this pleasure is due to the removal of
inhibitions. Since the pleasure of wit is of the same origin—a kernel of
word-pleasure and nonsense-pleasure, and a shell of removal- and
release-pleasure,—the similarity of this connection to the inhibition
thus determines the inner relationship between the naïve and wit. In
both cases pleasure results from the removal of inner inhibitions. But
the psychic process of the recipient person (which in the naïve
regularly corresponds with our ego, whereas in wit we may also put
ourselves in place of the producing person) is by as much more
complicated in the case of the naïve as it is simpler in the producing
person in wit. For one thing, the naïve must produce the same effect
upon the receiving person as wit does, this may be fully confirmed by
our examples, for just as in wit the removal of the censor has been made
possible by the mere effort of hearing the naïve. But only a part of the
pleasure created by the naïve admits of this explanation, in other cases
of naïve utterances, even this portion would be endangered, as, for
example, while listening to naïve obscenities. We would react to a naïve
obscenity with the same indignation felt toward a real obscenity, were
it not for the fact that another factor saves us from this indignation
and at the same time furnishes the more important part of the pleasure
derived from the naïve.
This other factor is the result of the condition mentioned before,
namely, that in order to recognize the naïve we have to be cognizant of
the fact that there are no inner inhibitions in the producing person. It
is only when this is assured that we laugh instead of being indignant.
Hence we take into consideration the psychic state of the producing
person; we imagine ourselves in this same psychic state and endeavor to
understand it by comparing it to our own. This putting ourselves into
the psychic state of the producing person and comparing it with our own
results in an economy of expenditure which we discharge through
laughing.
We might prefer the simpler explanation, namely, that when we reflect
that the person has no inhibition to overcome our indignation becomes
superfluous; the laughing therefore results at the cost of economized
indignation. In order to avoid this conception, which is, in general,
misleading, I shall distinguish more sharply between two cases that I
had treated as one in the above discussion. The naïve, as it appears to
us, may either be in the nature of a witticism, as in our example, or an
obscenity, or of anything generally objectionable; which becomes
especially evident if the naïve is expressed not in speech but in
action. This latter case is really misleading; for it might lead one to
assume that the pleasure originated from the economized and transformed
indignation. The first case is the illuminating one. The naïve speech in
the example “Hebrew” can produce the effect of a light witticism and
give no cause for indignation; it is certainly the more rare, or the
more pure and by far the more instructive case. In so far as we think
that the child took the syllable “he” in “Hebrew” seriously, and without
any additional reason identified it with the masculine personal pronoun,
the increase in pleasure as a result of hearing it has no longer
anything to do with the pleasure of the wit. We shall now consider what
has been said from two viewpoints, first how it came into existence in
the mind of the child, and secondly, how it would occur to us. In
following this comparison we find that the child has discovered an
identity and has overcome barriers which exist in us, and by continuing
still further it may express itself as follows: “If you wish to
understand what you have heard, you may save yourself the expenditure
necessary for holding these barriers in place.” The expenditure which
became freed by this comparison is the source of pleasure in the naïve,
and is discharged through laughter; to be sure, it is the same
expenditure which we would have converted into indignation if our
understanding of the producing person, and in this case the nature of
his utterance, had not precluded it. But if we take the case of the
naïve joke as a model for the second case, viz., the objectionable
naïve, we shall see that here, too, the economy in inhibition may
originate directly from the comparison. That is, it is unnecessary for
us to assume an incipient and then a strangulated indignation, an
indignation corresponding to a different application of the freed
expenditure, against which, in the case of wit, complicated defensive
mechanisms were required.
_Source of Comic Pleasure in the Naïve_
This comparison and this economy of expenditure that occur as the result
of putting one’s self into the psychic process of the producing person
can have an important bearing on the naïve only if they do not belong to
the naïve alone. As a matter of fact we suspect that this mechanism
which is so completely foreign to wit is a part—perhaps the essential
part—of the psychic process of the comic. This aspect—it is perhaps the
most important aspect of the naïve—thus represents the naïve as a form
of the comic. Whatever is added to the wit-pleasure by the naïve
speeches in our examples is “comical” pleasure. Concerning the latter we
might be inclined to make a general assumption that this pleasure
originates through an economized expenditure by comparing the utterance
of some one else with our own. But since we are here in the presence of
very broad views we shall first conclude our consideration of the naïve.
The naïve would thus be a form of the comic, in so far as its pleasure
originates from the difference in expenditure which results in our
effort to understand the other person; and it resembles wit through the
condition that the expenditure saved by the comparison must be an
inhibition expenditure.[67]
Before concluding we shall rapidly point out a few agreements and
differences between the conceptions at which we have just arrived and
those that have been known for a long time in the psychology of the
comic. The putting one’s self into the psychic process of another and
the desire to understand him is obviously nothing else than the “comic
burrowing” (_komisches Leihen_) which has played a part in the analysis
of the comic ever since the time of Jean Paul; the “comparing” of the
psychic process of another with our own corresponds to a “psychological
contrast,” for which we here at last find a place, after we did not know
what to do with it in wit. But in our explanation of comic pleasure we
take issue with many authors who contend that this pleasure originates
through the fluctuation of our attention to and fro between contrasting
ideas. We are unable to see how such a mechanism could produce pleasure,
and we point to the fact that in the comparing of contrasts there
results a difference in expenditure which, if not used for anything
else, becomes capable of discharge and hence a source of pleasure.[68]
It is with misgiving only that we approach the problem of the comic. It
would be presumptuous to expect from our efforts any decisive
contribution to the solution of this problem after the works of a large
number of excellent thinkers have not resulted in an explanation that is
in every respect satisfactory. As a matter of fact, we intend simply to
follow out into the province of the comic certain observations that have
been found valuable in the study of wit.
_Occurrence and Origin of the Comic_
The comical appears primarily as an unintentional discovery in the
social relations of human beings. It is found in persons, that is, in
their movements, shapes, actions, and characteristic traits. In the
beginning it is found probably only in their psychical peculiarities and
later on in their mental qualities, especially in the expression of
these latter. Even animals and inanimate objects become comical as the
result of a widely used method of personification. However, the comical
can be considered apart from the person in whom it is found, if the
conditions under which a person becomes comical can be discerned. Thus
arises the comical situation, and this knowledge enables us to make a
person comical at will by putting him into situations in which the
conditions necessary for the comic are bound up with his actions. The
discovery that it is in our power to make another person comical opens
the way to unsuspected gains in comic pleasure, and forms the foundation
of a highly developed technique. It is also possible to make one’s self
just as comical as others. The means which serve to make a person
comical are transference into comic situations, imitations, disguise,
unmasking, caricature, parody, travesty, and the like. It is quite
evident that these techniques may enter into the service of hostile or
aggressive tendencies. A person may be made comical in order to render
him contemptible or in order to deprive him of his claims to dignity and
authority. But even if such a purpose were regularly at the bottom of
all attempts to make a person comical this need not necessarily be the
meaning of the spontaneous comic.
As a result of this superficial survey of the manifestations of the
comic we can readily see that the comic originates from wide-spread
sources, and that conditions so specialized as those found in the naïve
cannot be expected in the case of the comic. In order to get a clue to
the conditions that are applicable to the comic the selection of the
first example is most important. We will examine first the comic
movement because we remember that the most primitive stage performance,
the pantomime, uses this means to make us laugh. The answer to the
question, Why do we laugh at the actions of clowns? would be that they
appear to us immoderate and inappropriate; that is, we really laugh over
the excessive expenditure of energy. Let us look for the same condition
outside of the manufactured comic, that is, under circumstances where it
may unintentionally be found. The child’s motions do not appear to us
comical, even if it jumps and fidgets, but it is comical to see a little
boy or girl follow with the tongue the movement of his pen-holder when
he is trying to master the art of writing; we see in these additional
motions a superfluous expenditure of energy which under similar
conditions we should save. In the same way we find it comical to see
unnecessary motions or even marked exaggeration of expressive motions in
adults. Among the genuinely comic cases we might mention the motions
made by the bowler after he has released the ball while he is following
its course as though he were still able to control it; all grimaces
which exaggerate the normal expression of the emotions are comical, even
if they are involuntary, as in the case of persons suffering from St.
Vitus’ dance (chorea); the impassioned movements of a modern orchestra
leader will appear comical to every unmusical person, who cannot
understand why they are necessary. Indeed, the comic element found in
bodily shapes and physiognomy is a branch of the comic of motion, in
that they are conceived as though they were the result of motion that
either has been carried too far or is purposeless. Wide exposed eyes, a
crook-shaped nose bent towards the mouth, handle-like ears, a hunch
back, and all similar physical defects probably produce a comical
impression only in so far as the movements that would be necessary to
produce these features are imagined, whereby the nose and other parts of
the body are pictured as more movable than they actually are. It is
certainly comical if some one can “wiggle his ears,” and it would
undoubtedly be a great deal more comical if he could raise and lower his
nose. A large part of the comical impression that animals make upon us
is due to the fact that we perceive in them movements which we cannot
imitate.
_Comic of Motion_
But how does it come about that we laugh as soon as we have recognized
that the actions of some one else are immoderate and inappropriate? I
believe that we laugh because we compare the motions observed in others
with those which we ourselves should produce if we were in their place.
The two persons must naturally be compared in accordance with the same
standard, but this standard is my own innervation expenditure connected
with my idea of motion in the one case as well as the other. This
assertion is in need of discussion and amplification.
What we are here putting into juxtaposition is, on the one hand, the
psychic expenditure of a given idea, and on the other hand, the content
of this idea. We maintain that the former is not primarily and
principally independent of the latter—the content of the
idea—particularly because the idea of something great requires a larger
expenditure than the idea of something small. As long as we are
concerned only with the idea of different coarse movements we shall
encounter no difficulties in the theoretical determination of our thesis
or in establishing its proof through observation. It will be shown that
in this case an attribute of the idea actually coincides with an
attribute of the object conceived, although psychology warns us of
confusions of this sort.
I obtain an idea of a definite coarse movement by performing this motion
or by imitating it, and in so doing I set a standard for this motion in
my feelings of innervation.[69]
Now if I perceive a similar more or less coarse motion in some one else,
the surest way to the understanding—to apperception—of the same is to
carry it out imitatively and the comparison will then enable me to
decide in which motion I expended more energy. Such an impulse to
imitate certainly arises on perceiving a movement. But in reality I do
not carry out the imitation any more than I still spell out words simply
because I have learnt to read by means of spelling. Instead of imitating
the movement by my muscles I substitute the idea of the same through my
memory traces of the expenditures necessary for similar motions.
Perceiving, or “thinking,” differs above all from acting or carrying out
things by the fact that it entails a very much smaller displacement of
energy and keeps the main expenditure from being discharged. But how is
the quantitative factor, the more or less big element of the movement
perceived, given expression in the idea? And if the representation of
the quantity is left off from the idea that is composed of qualities,
how am I to differentiate the ideas of different big movements, how am I
to compare them?
Here, physiology shows the way in that it teaches us that even while an
idea is in the process of conception innervations proceed to the
muscles, which naturally represent only a moderate expenditure. It is
now easy to assume that this expenditure of innervation which
accompanies the conception of the idea is utilized to represent the
quantitative factor of the idea, and that when a great motion is
imagined it is greater than it would be in the case of a small one. The
conception of greater motions would thus actually be greater, that is,
it would be a conception accompanied by greater expenditure.
_Ideational Mimicry_
Observation shows directly that human beings are in the habit of
expressing the big and small things in their ideation content by means
of a manifold expenditure or by means of a sort of _ideational mimicry_.
When a child or a person of the common people or one belonging to a
certain race imparts or depicts something, one can easily observe that
he is not content to make his ideas intelligible to the hearer through
the choice of correct words alone, but that he also represents the
contents of the same through his expressive motions. Thus he designates
the quantities and intensities of “a high mountain” by raising his hands
over his head, and those of “a little dwarf” by lowering his hand to the
ground. If he broke himself of the habit of depicting with his hands, he
would nevertheless do it with his voice, and if he should also control
his voice, one may be sure that in picturing something big he would
distend his eyes, and describing something little he would press his
eyes together. It is not his own affects that he thus expresses, but it
is really the content of what he imagines.
Shall we now assume that this need for mimicry is first aroused through
the demand for imparting, whereas a good part of this manner of
representation still escapes the attention of the hearer? I rather
believe that this mimicry, though less vivid, exists even if all
imparting is left out of the question, that it comes about when the
person imagines for himself alone, or thinks of something in a graphic
manner; that then such a person, just as in talking, expresses through
his body the idea of big and small which manifests itself at least
through a change of innervation in the facial expressions and sensory
organs. Indeed, I can imagine that the bodily innervation which is
consensual to the content of the idea conceived is the beginning and
origin of mimicry for purposes of communication. For, in order to be in
a position to serve this purpose, it is only necessary to increase it
and make it conspicuous to the other. When I take the view that this
“expression of the ideation content” should be added to the expression
of the emotions, which are known as a physical by-effect of psychic
processes, I am well aware that my observations which refer to the
category of the big and small do not exhaust the subject. I myself could
add still other things, even before reaching to the phenomenon of
tension through which a person physically indicates the accumulation of
his attention and the _niveau_ of abstraction upon which his thoughts
happen to rest. I maintain that this subject is very important, and I
believe that tracing the ideation mimicry in other fields of æsthetics
would be just as useful for the understanding of the comic as it is
here.
To return to the comic movement, I repeat that with the perception of a
certain motion the impulse to conceive it will be given through a
certain expenditure. In the “desire to understand,” in the apperception
of this movement I produce a certain expenditure, and I behave in this
part of the psychic process just as if I put myself in the place of the
person observed. Simultaneously I probably grasp the aim of the motion,
and through former experiences I am able to estimate the amount of
expenditure necessary to attain this aim. I thereby drop out of
consideration the person observed and behave as if I myself wished to
attain the aim of the motion. These two ideational possibilities depend
on a comparison of the motion observed with my own inhibited motion. In
the case of an immoderate or inappropriate movement on the part of the
other, my greater expenditure for understanding becomes inhibited _statu
nascendi_ during the mobilization as it were, it is declared superfluous
and stands free for further use or for discharge through laughing. If
other favorable conditions supervened this would be the nature of the
origin of pleasure in comic movement,—an innervation expenditure which,
when compared with one’s own motion, becomes an inapplicable surplus.
_Comparison of Two Kinds of Expenditure as Pleasure-sources_
We now note that we must continue our discussion by following two
different paths; first, to determine the conditions for the discharge of
the surplus; secondly, to test whether the other cases of the comic can
be conceived similarly to our conception of comic motion.
We shall turn first to the latter task and after considering comic
movement and action we shall turn to the comic found in the psychic
activities and peculiarities of others.
As an example of this kind we may consider the comical nonsense produced
by ignorant students at examinations; it is more difficult, however, to
give a simple example of the peculiarities. We must not be confused by
the fact that nonsense and foolishness which so often act in a comical
manner are nevertheless not perceived as comical in all cases, just as
the same things which once made us laugh because they seemed comical
later may appear to us contemptible and hateful. This fact, which we
must not forget to take into account, seems only to show that besides
the comparison familiar to us other relations come into consideration
for the comic effect,—conditions which we can investigate in other
connections.
The comic found in the mental and psychic attributes of another person
is apparently again the result of a comparison between him and my own
ego. But it is remarkable that it is a comparison which mostly furnishes
the result opposite to that obtained through comic movement and action.
In the latter case it is comical if the other person assumes a greater
expenditure than I believe to be necessary for me; in the case of
psychic activity it is just the reverse, it is comical if the other
person economizes in expenditure, which I consider indispensable; for
nonsense and foolishness are nothing but inferior activities. In the
first case I laugh because he makes it too difficult for himself, and in
the latter case because he makes it too easy for himself. In the case of
the comic effect it seems to be a question only of the difference
between the two energy expenditures—the one of “feeling one’s self into
something” (_Einfühlung_)—and the other of the ego—and it makes no
difference in whose favor this difference inclines. This peculiarity,
which at first confuses our judgment, disappears, however, when we
consider that it is in accord with our personal development towards a
higher stage of culture, to limit our muscular work and increase our
mental work. By heightening our mental expenditure we produce a
diminution of motion expenditure for the same activity. Our machines
bear witness to this cultural success.[70]
Thus it coincides with a uniform understanding that that person appears
comical to us who puts forth too much expenditure in his psychical
activities and too little in his mental activities; and it cannot be
denied that in both cases our laughing is the expression of a
pleasurably perceived superiority which we adjudge to ourselves in
comparison with him. If the relation in both cases becomes reversed,
that is, if the somatic expenditure of the other is less and the psychic
expenditure greater, then we no longer laugh, but are struck with
amazement and admiration.[71]
_Comic of Situation._
The origin of the comic pleasure discussed here, that is, the origin of
such pleasure in a comparison of the other person with one’s own self in
respect to the difference between the identification expenditure
(_Einfühlungsaufwand_) and normal expenditure—is genetically probably
the most important. It is certain, however, that it is not the only one.
We have learned before to disregard any such comparison between the
other person and one’s self, and to obtain the pleasure-bringing
difference from one side only, either from identification, or from the
processes in one’s own ego, proving thereby that the feeling of
superiority bears no essential relations to comic pleasure. A comparison
is indispensable, however, for the origin of this pleasure, and we find
this comparison between two energy expenditures which rapidly follow
each other and refer to the same function. It is produced either in
ourselves by way of identification with the other, or we find it without
any identification in our own psychic processes. The first case, in
which the other person still plays a part, though he is not compared
with ourselves, results when the pleasure-producing difference of energy
expenditures comes into existence through outer influences which we can
comprehend as a “situation,” for which reason this species of comic is
also called the “comic of situation.” The peculiarities of the person
who furnishes the comic do not here come into essential consideration;
we laugh when we admit to ourselves that had we been placed in the same
situation we should have done the same thing. Here we draw the comic
from the relation of the individual to the often all-too-powerful outer
world, which is represented in the psychic processes of the individual
by the conventions and necessities of society, and even by his bodily
needs. A typical example of the latter is when a person engaged in an
activity, which claims all his psychic forces, is suddenly disturbed by
a pain or excremental need. The opposite case which furnishes us the
comic difference through identification, lies between the great interest
which existed before the disturbance occurred and the minimum left for
his psychic activity after the disturbance made its appearance. The
person who furnishes us this difference again becomes comical through
inferiority; but he is only inferior in comparison with his former ego
and not in comparison with us, for we know that in a similar case we
could not have behaved differently. It is remarkable, however, that we
find this inferiority of the person only in the case where we “feel
ourselves” into some one, that is, we can only find it comical in the
other, whereas we ourselves are conscious only of painful emotions when
such or similar embarrassments happen to us. It is by keeping away the
painful from our own person that we are probably first enabled to enjoy
as pleasurable the difference which resulted from the comparison of the
changing energy.
_Comic of Expectation_
The other source of the comic, which we find in our own changes of
investing energy, lies in our relations to the future, which we are
accustomed to anticipate through our ideas of expectation. I assume that
a quantitatively determined expenditure underlies our every idea of
expectation, which in case of disappointment becomes diminished by a
certain difference, and I again refer to the observations made before
concerning “ideational mimicry.” But it seems to me easier to
demonstrate the real mobilized psychic expenditure for the cases of
expectation. It is well known concerning a whole series of cases that
the manifestation of expectation is formed by motor preliminaries; this
is first of all true of cases in which the expected events make demands
on my motility, and these preparations are quantitatively determinable
without anything further. If I am expecting to catch a ball thrown at
me, I put my body in states of tension in order to enable me to
withstand the collision with the ball, and the superfluous motions which
I make if the ball turns out to be light make me look comical to the
spectators. I allowed myself to be misled by the expectation to exert an
immoderate expenditure of motion. A similar thing happens if, for
example, I lift out a basket of fruit which I took to be heavy but which
was hollow and formed out of wax in order to deceive me. By its upward
jerk my arm betrays the fact that I have prepared a superfluous
innervation for this purpose and hence I am laughed at. In fact there is
at least one case in which the expectation expenditure can be directly
demonstrated by means of physiological experimentation with animals. In
Pawlof’s experiments with salivary secretions of dogs who, provided with
salivary fistulæ, are shown different kinds of food, it is noticed that
the amount of saliva secreted through the fistulæ depends on whether the
conditions of the experiment have strengthened or disappointed the dogs’
expectation to be fed with the food shown them.
Even where the thing expected lays claims only to my sensory organs, and
not to my motility, I may assume that the expectation manifests itself
in a certain motor emanation causing tension of the senses, and I may
even conceive the suspension of attention as a motor activity which is
equivalent to a certain amount of expenditure. Moreover, I can
presuppose that the preparatory activity of expectation is not
independent of the amount of the expected impression, but that I
represent mimically the bigness and smallness of the same by means of a
greater or smaller preparatory expenditure, just as in the case of
imparting something and in the case of thinking when there is no
expectation. The expectation expenditure naturally will be composed of
many components, and also for my disappointment diverse factors will
come into consideration; it is not only a question whether the realized
event is perceptibly greater or smaller than the expected one, but also
whether the expectation is worthy of the great interest which I had
offered for it. In this manner I am instructed to consider, besides the
expenditure for the representation of bigness and smallness (the
conceptual mimicry), also the expenditure for the tension of attention
(expectation expenditure), and in addition to these two expenditures
there is in all cases the abstraction expenditure. But these other forms
of expenditure can easily be reduced to the one of bigness and
smallness, for what we call more interesting, more sublime, and even
more abstract, are only particularly qualified special cases of what is
greater. Let us add to this that, among other things, Lipps holds that
the quantitative, not the qualitative, contrast is primarily the source
of comic pleasure, and we shall be altogether content to have chosen the
comic element of motion as the starting-point of our investigation.
In working out Kant’s thesis, “The comic is an expectation dwindled into
nothing,” Lipps made the attempt in his book, often cited here, to trace
the comic pleasure altogether to expectation. Despite the many
instructive and valuable results which this attempt brought to light I
should like to agree with the criticism expressed by other authors,
namely, that Lipps has formulated a field of origin of the comic which
is much too narrow, and that he could not subject its phenomena to his
formula without much forcing.
_Caricature_
Human beings are not satisfied with enjoying the comic as they encounter
it in life, but they aim to produce it purposely, thus we discover more
of the nature of the comic by studying the methods employed in producing
the comic. Above all one can produce comical elements in one’s
personality for the amusement of others, by making one’s self appear
awkward or stupid. One then produces the comic exactly as if one were
really so, by complying with the condition of comparison which leads to
the difference of expenditure; but one does not make himself laughable
or contemptible through this; indeed, under certain circumstances one
can even secure admiration. The feeling of superiority does not come
into existence in the other when he knows that the actor is only
shamming, and this furnishes us a good new proof that the comic is
independent in principle of the feeling of superiority.
To make another comical, the method most commonly employed is to
transfer him into situations wherein he becomes comical regardless of
his personal qualities, as a result of human dependence upon external
circumstances, especially social factors; in other words, one resorts to
the comical situation. This transferring into a comic situation may be
real as in practical jokes, such as placing the foot in front of one so
that he falls like a clumsy person, or making one appear stupid by
utilizing his credulity to make him believe some nonsense, etc., or it
can be feigned by means of speech or play. It is a good aid in
aggression, in the service of which production of the comic is wont to
place itself in order that the comic pleasure may be independent of the
reality of the comic situation; thus every person is really defenseless
against being made comical.
But there are still other means of making one comical which deserve
special attention and which in part also show new sources of comic
pleasure. _Imitation_, for example, belongs here; it accords the hearer
an extraordinary amount of pleasure and makes its subject comic, even if
it still keeps away from the exaggeration of caricature. It is much
easier to fathom the comic effect of caricature than that of simple
imitation. Caricature, parody and travesty, like their practical
counterpart—unmasking, range themselves against persons and objects who
command authority and respect and who are exalted in some sense—these
are procedures tending towards degradation.[72] In the transferred
psychic sense, the exalted is equivalent to something great and I want
to make the statement, or more accurately to repeat the statement, that
psychic greatness like somatic greatness is exhibited by means of an
increased expenditure. It needs little observation to ascertain that
when I speak of the exalted I give a different innervation to my voice,
I change my facial expression, an attempt to bring my entire bearing as
it were into complete accord with the dignity of that which I present. I
impose upon myself a dignified restriction not much different than if I
were coming into the presence of an illustrious personage, monarch, or
prince of science. I can scarcely err when I assume that this added
innervation of conceptual mimicry corresponds to an increased
expenditure. The third case of such an added expenditure I readily find
when I indulge in abstract trains of thought instead of in the concrete
and plastic ideas. If I can now imagine that the mentioned processes for
degrading the illustrious are quite ordinary, that during their activity
I need not be on my guard and in whose ideal presence I may, to use a
military formula, put myself “at ease,” all that saves me the added
expenditure of dignified restriction. Moreover, the comparison of this
manner of presentation instigated by identification with the manner of
presentation to which I have been hitherto accustomed which seeks to
present itself at the same time, again produces a difference in
expenditure which can be discharged through laughter.
As is known, caricature brings about the degradation by rendering
prominent one feature, comic in itself, from the entire picture of the
exalted object, a feature which would be overlooked if viewed with the
entire picture. Only by isolating this feature can the comic effect be
obtained which spreads in our memory over the whole picture. This has,
however, this condition; the presence of the exalted itself must not
force us into a disposition of reverence. Where such a comical feature
is really lacking then caricature unhesitatingly creates it by
exaggerating one that is not comical in itself. It is again
characteristic of the origin of comic pleasure that the effect of the
caricature is not essentially impaired through such a falsifying of
reality.
_Unmasking_
_Parody_ and _travesty_ accomplish the degradation of the exalted by
other means; they destroy the uniformity between the attributes of
persons familiar to us and their speech and actions; by replacing
either the illustrious persons or their utterances by lowly ones.
Therein they differ from caricature, but not through the mechanism of
the production of the comic pleasure. The same mechanism also holds
true in _unmasking_, which comes into consideration only where some
one has attached to himself dignity and authority which in reality
should be taken from him. We have seen the comic effect of unmasking
through several examples of wit, for example, in the story of the
fashionable lady who in her first labor-pains cries: “Ah, mon Dieu!”
but to whom the physician paid no attention until she screamed:
“A-a-a-ai-e-e-e-e-e-e-E-E-E!” Being now acquainted with the character
of the comic, we can no longer dispute that this story is really an
example of comical unmasking and has no just claim to the term
witticism. It recalls wit only through the setting, through the
technical means of “representation through a trifle”; here it is the
cry which was found sufficient to indicate the point. The fact
remains, however, that our feeling for the niceties of speech, when we
call on it for judgment, does not oppose calling such a story a
witticism. We can find the explanation for this in the reflection that
usage of speech does not enter scientifically into the nature of wit
so far as we have evolved it by means of this painstaking examination.
As it is a function of the activities of wit to reopen hidden sources
of comic pleasure (p. 150), every artifice which does not bring to
light barefaced comic may in looser analogy be called a witticism.
This is especially true in the case of unmasking, though in other
methods of comic-making the appellation also holds good.[73]
In the mechanism of “unmasking” one can also utilize those processes of
comic-making already known to us which degrade the dignity of
individuals in that they call attention to one of the common human
frailties, but particularly to the dependence of his mental functions
upon physical needs. Unmasking them becomes equivalent to the reminder:
This or that one who is admired like a demigod is only a human being
like you and me after all. Moreover, all efforts in this mechanism serve
to lay bare the monotonous psychic automatism which is behind wealth and
apparent freedom of psychic achievements. We have become acquainted with
examples of such “unmasking” through the witticisms dealing with
marriage agents, and at that time to be sure we felt doubt whether we
could rightly count these stories as wit. Now we can decide with more
certainty that the anecdote of the echo who reinforces all assertions of
the marriage agent and in the end reinforces the latter’s admission that
the bride has a hunch back with the exclamation “And what a hunch!” is
essentially a comic story, an example of the unmasking of the psychic
automatism. But here the comic story serves only as a façade; to any one
who wishes to note the hidden meaning of the marriage agent, the whole
remains a splendidly put together piece of wit. He who does not
penetrate so far sees only the comic story. The same is true of the
other witticism of the agent who, to refute an objection, finally
confirms the truth through the exclamation: “But who in the world would
lend them anything?” This is a comic unmasking which serves as a façade
for a witticism. Still the character of the wit is here quite evident,
as the speech of the agent is at the same time an expression through the
opposite. In trying to prove that the people are rich he proves at the
same time that they are not rich but very poor. Wit and the comic unite
here and teach us that a statement may be simultaneously witty and
comical.
We eagerly grasp the opportunity to return from the comic of unmasking
to wit, for our real task is to explain the relation between wit and
comic and not to determine the nature of the comic. Hence to the case of
uncovering the psychic automatism, wherein our feeling left us in doubt
as to whether the matter was comical or witty, we add another, the case
of nonsense-wit, wherein likewise wit and the comic fuse. But our
investigation will ultimately show us that in this second case the
meeting of wit and comic may be theoretically deduced.
In the discussion of the techniques of wit we have found that giving
free play to such modes of thinking as are common in the unconscious and
which in consciousness are conceived only as “faulty thinking,”
furnishes the technical means of a great many witticisms. We had then
doubted their witty character and were inclined to classify them simply
as comic stories. We could come to no decision regarding our uncertainty
because in the first place the real character of wit was not familiar to
us. Later we found this character by following the analogy to the
dream-work as to the compromise formed by the wit-work between the
demands of the rational critic and the impulse not to abandon the old
word-pleasure and nonsense-pleasure. What thus came into existence as a
compromise, when the foreconscious thought was left for a moment to
unconscious elaboration, satisfied both demands in all cases, but it
presented itself to the critic, in various forms and had to stand
various criticisms from it. In one case wit succeeded in surreptitiously
assuming the form of an unimportant but none the less admissible
proposition; a second time it smuggled itself into the expression of a
valuable thought. But within the outer limit of the compromise activity
it made no effort to satisfy the critic, and defiantly utilizing the
pleasure-sources at its disposal, it appeared before the critic as pure
nonsense. It had no fear of provoking contradiction because it could
rely on the fact that the hearer would decipher the disfigurement of the
expression through the operation of his unconscious and thus give back
to it its meaning.
Now in what case will wit appear to the critic as nonsense? Particularly
when it makes use of those modes of thought, which are common in the
unconscious, but forbidden in conscious thought; that is, when it
resorts to faulty thinking. Some of the modes of thinking, of the
unconscious, have also been retained in conscious thinking, for example,
many forms of indirect expression, allusions, etc., even though their
conscious use has to be much restricted. Using these techniques wit will
arouse little or no opposition on the part of the critic; but this only
happens when it also uses that technical means with which conscious
thought no longer cares to have anything to do. Wit can still further
avoid offending if it disguises the faulty thinking by investing it with
a semblance of logic as in the story of the fancy cake and liqueur,
salmon with mayonnaise, and similar ones. But should it present the
faulty thinking undisguised, the critic is sure to protest.
_The Meeting of Wit and the Comic_
In this case, something else comes to the aid of wit. The faulty
thinking, which as a form of thinking of the unconscious, wit utilizes
for its technique, appears comical to the critic, although this is not
necessarily the case. The conscious giving of free play to the
unconscious and to those forms of thinking which are rejected as faulty,
furnishes a means for the production of comic pleasure. This can be
easily understood, as a greater expenditure is surely needed for the
production of the foreconscious investing energy than for the giving of
free play to the unconscious. When we hear the thought which is formed
like one from the unconscious we compare it to its correct form, and
this results in a difference of expenditure which gives origin to comic
pleasure. A witticism which makes use of such faulty thinking as its
technique and therefore appears absurd can produce a comic impression at
the same time. If we do not strike the trail of the wit, there remains
to us only the comic or funny story.
The story of the borrowed kettle, which showed a hole on being returned,
whereupon the borrower excused himself by stating that in the first
place he had not borrowed the kettle; secondly, that it already had a
hole when he borrowed it; and thirdly, that he had returned it intact
without any hole (p. 82), is an excellent example of a purely comic
effect through giving free play to one’s unconscious modes of thinking.
Just this mutual neutralization of several thoughts, each of which is
well motivated in itself, is the province of the unconscious.
Corresponding to this, the dream in which the unconscious thoughts
become manifest, also shows an absence of either—or.[74] These are
expressed by putting the thoughts next to one another. In that dream
example given in my _Interpretation of Dreams_,[75] which in spite of
its complication I have chosen as a type of the work of interpretation,
I seek to rid myself of the reproach that I have not removed the pains
of a patient by psychic treatment. My arguments are: 1. she is herself
to blame for her illness, because she does not wish to accept my
solution, 2. her pains are of organic origin, therefore none of my
concern, 3. her pains are connected with her widowhood, for which I am
certainly not to blame, 4. her pains resulted from an injection with a
dirty syringe, which was given by another. All these motives follow one
another just as though one did not exclude the other. In order to escape
the reproach that it was nonsense I had to insert the words “either—or”
instead of the “and” of the dream.
_A similar comical story is the one which tells of a blacksmith in a
Hungarian village who has committed a crime punishable by death; the
bürgomaster, however, decreed that not the smith but a tailor was to be
hanged, as there were two tailors in the village but only one
blacksmith, and the crime had to be expiated._ Such a displacement of
guilt from one person to another naturally contradicts all laws of
conscious logic, but in no ways the mental trends of the unconscious. I
am in doubt whether to call this story comic, and still I put the story
of the kettle among the witticisms. Now I admit that it is far more
correct to designate the latter as comic rather than witty. But now I
understand how it happens that my feelings, usually so reliable, can
leave me in the lurch as to whether this story be comic or witty. The
case in which I cannot come to a conclusion through my feelings is the
one in which the comic results through the uncovering of modes of
thought which exclusively belong to the unconscious. A story of that
kind can be comic and witty at the same time; but it will impress me as
being witty even if it be only comic, because the use of the faulty
thinking of the unconscious reminds me of wit, just as in the case of
the arrangements for the uncovering of the hidden comic discussed before
(p. 325).
I must lay great stress upon making clear this most delicate point of my
analysis, namely, the relation of wit to the comic, and will therefore
supplement what has been said with some negative statements. First of
all, I call attention to the fact that the case of the meeting of wit
and comic treated here (p. 327) is not identical with the preceding one.
I grant it is a fine distinction, but it can be drawn with certainty. In
the preceding case the comic originated from the uncovering of the
psychic automatism. This is in no way peculiar to the unconscious alone
and it does not at all play a conspicuous part in the technique of wit.
Unmasking appears only accidentally in relation with wit, in that it
serves another technique of wit, namely, representation through the
opposite. But in the case of giving free play to unconscious ways of
thinking the union of wit and comic is an essential one, because the
same method which is used by the first person in wit as the technique of
releasing pleasure will naturally produce comic pleasure in the third
person.
We might be tempted to generalize this last case and seek the relation
of wit to the comic in the fact that the effect of wit upon the third
person follows the mechanism of comic pleasure. But there is no question
about that; contact with the comic is not in any way found in all nor
even in most witticisms; in most cases wit and the comic can be cleanly
separated. As often as wit succeeds in escaping the appearance of
absurdity, which is to say in most witticisms of double meaning or of
allusion, one cannot discover any effect in the hearer resembling the
comic. One can make the test with examples previously cited or with some
new ones given here.
Congratulatory telegram to be sent to a gambler on his 70th birthday.
“_Trente et quarante_”[76] (word-division with allusion).
Madame de _Maintenon_ was called Madame de _Maintenant_ (modification of
a name).
We might further believe that at least all jokes with nonsense façades
appear comical and must impress us as such. But I recall here the fact
that such witticisms often have a different effect on the hearer,
calling forth confusion and a tendency to rejection (see footnote, p.
212). Therefore it evidently depends whether the nonsense of the wit
appears comical or common plain nonsense, and the conditions for this we
have not yet investigated. Accordingly we hold to the conclusion that
wit, judging by its nature, can be separated from the comic, and that it
unites with it on the one hand only in certain special cases, on the
other in the tendency to gain pleasure from intellectual sources.
In the course of these examinations concerning the relations of wit and
the comic there revealed itself to us that distinction which we must
emphasize as most significant, and which at the same time points to a
psychologically important characteristic of the comic. We had to
transfer to the unconscious the source of wit-pleasure; there is no
occasion which can be discovered for the same localization of the comic.
On the contrary all analyses which we have made thus far indicate that
the source of comic pleasure lies in the comparison of two expenditures,
both of which we must adjudge to the foreconscious. Wit and the comic
can above all be differentiated in the psychic localization; _wit is, so
to speak, the contribution to the comic from the sphere of the
unconscious_.
_Comic of Imitation_
We need not blame ourselves for digressing from the subject, for the
relation of wit to the comic is really the occasion which urged us to
the examination of the comic. But it is time for us to return to the
point under discussion, to the treatment of the means which serve to
produce the comic. We have advanced the discussion of caricature and
unmasking, because from both of them we can borrow several points of
similarity for the analysis of the comic of _imitation_. Imitation is
mostly replaced by caricature, which consists in the exaggeration of
certain otherwise not striking traits, and also bears the character of
degradation. Still this does not seem to exhaust the nature of
imitation; it is incontestable that in itself it represents an
extraordinarily rich source of comic pleasure, for we laugh particularly
over faithful imitations. It is not easy to give a satisfactory
explanation of this if we do not accept Bergson’s view,[77] according to
which the comic of imitation is put next to the comic produced by
uncovering the psychic automatism. Bergson believes that everything
gives a comic impression which manifests itself in the shape of a
machine-like inanimate movement in the human being. His law is that “the
attitudes, gestures, and movements of the human body are laughable in
exact proportion as that body reminds us of a mere machine.” He explains
the comic of imitation by connecting it with a problem formulated by
Pascal in his _Thoughts_, why is it that we laugh at the comparison of
two faces that are alike although neither of them excites laughter by
itself. “The truth is that a really living life should never repeat
itself. Wherever there is repetition or complete similarity, we always
suspect some mechanism at work behind the living.” Analyze the
impression you get from two faces that are too much alike, and you will
find that you are thinking of two copies cast in the same mould, or two
impressions of the same soul, or two reproductions of the same
negative,—in a word, of some manufacturing process or other. This
deflection of life towards the mechanical is here the real cause of
laughter (l. c., p. 34). We might say, it is the degradation of the
human to the mechanical or inanimate. If we accept these winning
arguments of Bergson, it is moreover not difficult to subject his view
to our own formula. Taught by experience that every living being is
different and demands a definite amount of expenditure from our
understanding, we find ourselves disappointed when, as a result of a
perfect agreement or deceptive imitation, we need no new expenditure.
But we are disappointed in the sense of being relieved, and the
expenditure of expectation which has become superfluous is discharged
through laughter. The same formula will also cover all cases of comic
rigidity considered by Bergson, such as professional habits, fixed
ideas, and modes of expression which are repeated on every occasion. All
these cases aim to compare the expenditure of expectation with what is
commonly required for the understanding, whereby the greater expectation
depends on observation of individual variety and human plasticity. Hence
in imitation the source of comic pleasure is not the comic of situation
but that of expectation.
As we trace the comic pleasure in general to comparison, it is incumbent
upon us to investigate also the comic element of the comparison itself,
which likewise serves as a means of producing the comic. Our interest in
this question will be enhanced when we recall that in the case of
comparison the “feeling” as to whether something was to be classed as
witty or merely comical often left us in the lurch (v. p. 114).
The subject really deserves more attention than we can bestow upon it.
The main quality for which we ask in comparison is whether it is
pertinent, that is, whether it really calls our attention to an existing
agreement between two different objects. The original pleasure in
refinding the same thing (Groos, p. 103) is not the only motive which
favors the use of comparison. Besides this there is the fact that
comparison is capable of a utilization which facilitates intellectual
work; when for example, as is usually the case, one compares the less
familiar to the more familiar, the abstract to the concrete, and
explains through this comparison the more strange and the more difficult
objects. With every such comparison, especially of the abstract to the
concrete, there is a certain degradation and a certain economy in
abstraction expenditure (in the sense of a conceptual mimicry) yet this
naturally does not suffice to render prominent the character of the
comic. The latter does not emerge suddenly from the freed pleasure of
the comparison but comes gradually; there are many cases which only
touch the comic, in which one might doubt whether they show the comic
character. The comparison undoubtedly becomes comical when the _niveau_
difference of the expenditure of abstraction between the two things
compared becomes increased, if something serious and strange, especially
of intellectual or moral nature is compared to something banal and
lowly. The former release of pleasure and the contribution from the
conditions of conceptual mimicry may perhaps explain the gradual
change—which is determined by quantitative relations,—from the
universally pleasurable to the comic, which takes place during the
comparison. I am certainly avoiding misunderstandings in that I
emphasize that I deduce the comic pleasure in the comparison, not from
the contrast of the two things compared but from the difference of the
two abstraction expenditures. The strange which is difficult to grasp,
the abstract and really intellectually sublime, through its alleged
agreement with a familiar lowly one, in the imagination of which every
abstraction expenditure disappears, is now itself unmasked as something
equally lowly. The comic of comparison thus becomes reduced to a case of
degradation.
The comparison, as we have seen above, can now be witty without a trace
of comic admixture, especially when it happens to evade the degradation.
Thus the comparison of Truth to a torch which one cannot carry through a
crowd without singeing somebody’s beard is pure wit, because it takes an
obsolete expression (“The torch of truth”) at its full value and not at
all in a comical sense, and because the torch as an object does not lack
a certain distinction, though it is a concrete object. However, a
comparison may just as well be witty as comic, and what is more one may
be independent of the other, in that the comparison becomes an aid for
certain techniques of wit, as, for example, unification or allusion.
Thus Nestroy’s comparison of memory to a “Warehouse” (p. 120) is
simultaneously comical and witty, first, on account of the extraordinary
degradation to which the psychological conception must consent in the
comparison to a “Warehouse,” and secondly, because he who utilizes the
comparison is a clerk, and in this comparison he establishes a rather
unexpected unification between psychology and his vocation. Heine’s
verse, “until at last the buttons tore from the pants of my patience,”
seems at first an excellent example of a comic degrading comparison, but
on closer reflection we must ascribe to it also the attribute of
wittiness, since the comparison as a means of allusion strikes into the
realm of the obscene and causes a release of pleasure from the obscene.
Through a union not altogether incidental the same material also gives
us a resultant pleasure which is at the same time comical and witty; it
does not matter whether or not the conditions of the one promote the
origin of the other, such a union acts confusingly on the “feeling”
whose function it is to announce to us whether we have before us wit or
the comic, and only a careful examination independent of the disposition
of pleasure can decide the question.
As tempting as it would be to trace these more intimate determinations
of comic pleasure, the author must remember that neither his previous
education nor his daily vocation justifies him in extending his
investigations beyond the spheres of wit, and he must confess that it is
precisely the subject of comic comparison which makes him feel his
incompetence.
We are quite willing to be reminded that many authors do not recognize
the clear notional and objective distinction between wit and comic, as
we were impelled to do, and that they classify wit merely as “the comic
of speech” or “of words.” To test this view let us select one example of
intentional and one of involuntary comic of speech and compare it with
wit. We have already mentioned before that we are in a good position to
distinguish comic from witty speech. “With a fork and with effort, his
mother pulled him out of the mess,” is only comical, but Heine’s verse
about the four castes of the population of Göttingen: “Professors,
students, Philistines, and cattle,” is exquisitely witty.
As an example of the intentional comic of speech I will take as a model
Stettenheim’s _Wippchen_. We call Stettenheim witty because he possesses
the cleverness that evokes the comic. The wit which one “has” in
contradistinction to the wit which one “makes,” is indeed correctly
conditioned by this ability. It is true that the letters of Wippchen are
also witty in so far as they are interspersed with a rich collection of
all sorts of witticisms, some of which very successful ones, (as
“festively undressed” when he speaks of a parade of savages), but what
lends the peculiar character to these productions is not these isolated
witticisms, but the superabundant flow of comic speech contained
therein. Originally _Wippchen_ was certainly meant to represent a
satirical character, a modification of Freytag’s Schmock, one of those
uneducated persons who trade in the educational treasure of the nation
and abuse it; but the pleasure in the comic effect experienced in
representing this person seems gradually to have pushed to the
background the author’s satirical tendency. Wippchen’s productions are
for the most part “comic nonsense.” The author has justly utilized the
pleasant mood resulting from the accumulation of such achievements to
present beside the altogether admissible material all sorts of
absurdities which would be intolerable in themselves. Wippchen’s
nonsense appears to be of a specific nature only on account of its
special technique. If we look closer into some of these “witticisms,” we
find that some forms which have impressed their character on the whole
production are especially conspicuous. Wippchen makes use mostly of
compositions (fusions), of modifications of familiar expressions and
quotations. He replaces some of the banal elements in these expressions
by others which are usually more pretentious and more valuable. This
naturally comes near to the techniques of wit.
_The Comic of Speech_
Some of the fusions taken from the preface and the first pages are the
following: “_Turkey’s money is like the hay of the sea._” This is only a
condensation of the two expressions, “Money like hay,” “Money like the
sands of the sea.” Or: “_I am nothing but a leafless pillar which tells
of a vanished splendor_,” which is a fusion of “leafless trunk” and “a
pillar which, etc.” Or: “_Where is Ariadne’s thread which leads out of
the Scylla of this Augean stable?_” for which three different Greek
myths contribute an element each.
The modifications and substitutions can be treated collectively without
much forcing; their character can be seen from the following examples
which are peculiar to Wippchen, they are regularly permeated by a
different wording which is more fluent, most banal, and reduced to mere
platitudes.
“_To hang my paper and ink high._” The saying: “To hang one’s
bread-basket high,” expresses metaphorically the idea of placing one
under difficult conditions. But why not stretch this figure to other
material?
“_Already in my youth Pegasus was alive in me._” When the word “pegasus”
is replaced by “the poet,” one can recognize it as an expression often
used in autobiographies. Naturally “pegasus” is not the proper word to
replace the words “the poet,” but it has thought associations to it and
is a high-sounding word.
From Wippchen’s other numerous productions some examples can be shown
which present the pure comic. As an example of comic disillusionment the
following can be cited: “_For hours the battle raged, finally it
remained undecisive_”; an example of comical unmasking (of ignorance) is
the following: “_Clio, the Medusa of history_,” or quotations like the
following: “_Habent sua fata morgana._” But our interest is aroused more
by the fusions and modifications because they recall familiar techniques
of wit. We may compare them to such modification witticisms as the
following: “He has a great future behind him,” and Lichtenberg’s
modification witticisms such as: “New baths heal well,” etc. Should
Wippchen’s productions having the same technique be called witticisms,
or what distinguishes them from the latter?
It is surely not difficult to answer this. Let us remember that wit
presents to the hearer a double face, and forces him to two different
views. In nonsense-witticisms such as those mentioned last, one view,
which considers only the wording, states that they are nonsense; the
other view, which, in obedience to suggestion, follows the road that
leads through the hearer’s unconscious, finds very good sense in these
witticisms. In Wippchen’s wit-like productions one of these views of wit
is empty, as if stunted. It is a Janus head with only one countenance
developed. One would get nowhere should he be tempted to proceed by
means of this technique to the unconscious. The condensations lead to no
case in which the two fused elements really result in a new sense; they
fall to pieces when an attempt is made to analyze them. As in wit, the
modifications and substitutions lead to a current and familiar wording,
but they themselves tell us little else and as a rule nothing that is of
any possible use. Hence the only thing remaining to these “witticisms”
is the nonsense view. Whether such productions, which have freed
themselves from one of the most essential characters of wit, should be
called “bad” wit or not wit at all, every one must decide as he feels
inclined.
There is no doubt that such stunted wit produces a comic effect for
which we can account in more than one way. Either the comic originates
through the uncovering of the unconscious modes of thinking in a manner
similar to the cases considered above, or the wit originates by
comparison with perfect wit. Nothing prevents us from assuming that we
here deal with a union of both modes of origin of the comic pleasure. It
is not to be denied that it is precisely the inadequate dependence on
wit which here shapes the nonsense into comic nonsense.
_Comic of Inadequacy_
There are, of course, other quite apparent cases, in which such
inadequacy produced by the comparison with wit, makes the nonsense
irresistibly comic. The counterpart to wit, the riddle, can perhaps give
us better examples for this than wit itself. A facetious question
states: _What is this: It hangs on the wall and one can dry his hands on
it? It would be a foolish riddle if the answer were: a towel. On the
contrary this answer is rejected with the statement: No, it is a
herring,—“But, for mercy’s sake,” is the objection, “a herring does not
hang on the wall.”—“But you can hang it there,”—“But who wants to dry
his hands on a herring?”—“Well,” is the soft answer, “you don’t have
to.”_ This explanation given through two typical displacements show how
much this question lacks of being a real riddle, and because of this
absolute insufficiency it impresses one as irresistibly comic, rather
than mere nonsensical foolishness. Through such means, that is, by not
restricting essential conditions, wit, riddles, and other forms, which
in themselves produce no comic pleasure, can be made into sources of
comic pleasure.
It is not so difficult to understand the case of the involuntary comic
of speech which we can perhaps find realized with as much frequency as
we like in the poems of Frederika Kempner.[78]
ANTI-VIVISECTION.
Fraternal sentiment should urge us
To champion the Guinea-pig,
For has it not a soul like ours,
Although most likely not as big?
Or a conversation between a loving couple.
THE CONTRAST.
The young wife whispers “I’m so happy,”
“And I!” chimes in her husband’s voice,
“Because your virtues, dearest help-mate,
Reveal the wisdom of my choice.”
There is nothing here which makes one think of wit. Doubtless, however,
it is the inadequacy of these “poetic productions,” as the very
extraordinary clumsiness of the expressions which recall the most
commonplace or newspaper style, the ingenious poverty of thoughts, the
absence of every trace of poetic manner of thinking or speaking,—it is
all these inadequacies which make these poems comic. Nevertheless it is
not at all self-evident that we should find Kempner’s poems comical;
many similar productions we merely consider very bad, we do not laugh at
them but are rather vexed with them. But here it is the great disparity
in our demand of a poem which impels us to the comic conception; where
this difference is less, we are inclined to criticise rather than laugh.
The comic effect of Kempner’s poetic productions is furthermore assured
by the additional circumstances of the lady author’s unmistakably good
intentions, and by the fact that her helpless phrases disarm our feeling
of mockery and anger. We are now reminded of a problem the consideration
of which we have so far postponed. The difference of expenditure is
surely the main condition of the comic pleasure, but observation teaches
that such difference does not always produce pleasure. What other
conditions must be added, or what disturbances must be checked in order
that pleasure should result from the difference of expenditure? But
before proceeding with the answers to these questions we wish to verify
what was said in the conclusions of the former discussion, namely, that
the comic of speech is not synonymous with wit, and that wit must be
something quite different from speech comic.
As we are about to attack the problem just formulated, concerning the
conditions of the origin of comic pleasure from the difference of
expenditure, we may permit ourselves to facilitate this task so as to
cause ourselves some pleasure. To give a correct answer to this question
would amount to an exhaustive presentation of the nature of the comic
for which we are fitted neither by ability nor authority. We shall
therefore again be content to elucidate the problem of the comic only so
far as it distinctly separates itself from wit.
All theories of the comic were objected to by the critics on the ground
that in defining the comic these theories overlooked the essential
element of it. This can be seen from the following theories, with their
objections. The comic depends on a contrasting idea; yes, in so far as
this contrast effects one comically and in no other way. The feeling of
the comic results from the dwindling away of an expectation; yes, if the
disappointment does not prove to be painful. There is no doubt that
these objections are justified, but they are overestimated if one
concludes from them that the essential characteristic mark of the comic
has hitherto escaped our conception. What depreciates the general
validity of these definitions are conditions which are indispensable for
the origin of the comic pleasure, but which will be searched in vain for
the nature of comic pleasure. The rejection of the objections and the
explanations of the contradictions to the definitions of the comic will
become easy for us, only after we trace back comic pleasure to the
difference resulting from a comparison of two expenditures. Comic
pleasure and the effect by which it is recognized—laughter, can
originate only when this difference is no longer utilizable and when it
is capable of discharge. We gain no pleasurable effect, or at most a
flighty feeling of pleasure in which the comic does not appear, if the
difference is put to other use as soon as it is recognized. Just as
special precautions must be taken in wit, in order to guard against
making new use of expenditure recognized as superfluous, so also can
comic pleasure originate only under relations which fulfil this latter
condition. The cases in which such differences of expenditure originate
in our ideational life are therefore uncommonly numerous, while the
cases in which the comic originates from them is comparatively very
rare.
_The Conditions of Isolation of the Comic_
Two observations obtrude themselves upon the observer who reviews even
only superficially the origin of comic pleasure from the difference of
expenditure; first, that there are cases in which the comic appears
regularly and as if necessarily; and, in contrast to these cases, others
in which this appearance depends on the conditions of the case and on
the viewpoint of the observer; but secondly, that unusually large
differences very often triumph over unfavorable conditions, so that the
comic feeling originates in spite of it. In reference to the first point
one may set up two classes, the inevitable comic and the accidental
comic, although one will have to be prepared from the beginning to find
exceptions in the first class to the inevitableness of the comic. It
would be tempting to follow the conditions which are essential to each
class.
What is important in the second class are the conditions of which one
may be designated as the “isolation” of the comic case. A closer
analysis renders conspicuous relations something like the following:
a) The favorable condition for the origin of comic pleasure is brought
about by a general happy disposition in which “one is in the mood for
laughing.” In happy toxic states almost everything seems comic, which
probably results from a comparison with the expenditure in normal
conditions. For wit, the comic, and all similar methods of gaining
pleasure from the psychic activities, are nothing but ways to regain
this happy state—euphoria—from one single point, when it does not exist
as a general disposition of the psyche.
b) A similar favorable condition is produced by the expectation of the
comic or by putting one’s self in the right mood for comic pleasure.
Hence when the intention to make things comical exists and when this
feeling is shared by others, the differences required are so slight that
they probably would have been overlooked had they been experienced in
unpremeditated occurrences. He who decides to attend a comic lecture or
a farce at the theater is indebted to this intention for laughing over
things which in his everyday life would hardly produce in him a comic
effect. He finally laughs at the recollection of having laughed, at the
expectation of laughing, and at the appearance of the one who is to
present the comic, even before the latter makes the attempt to make him
laugh. It is for this reason that people admit that they are ashamed of
that which made them laugh at the theater.
c) Unfavorable conditions for the comic result from the kind of psychic
activity which may occupy the individual at the moment. Imaginative or
mental activity tending towards serious aims disturbs the discharging
capacity of the investing energies which the activity needs for its own
displacements, so that only unexpected and great differences of
expenditure can break through to form comic pleasure. All manner of
mental processes far enough removed from the obvious to cause a
suspension of ideational mimicry are unfavorable to the comic; in
abstract contemplation there is hardly any room left for the comic,
except when this form of thinking is suddenly interrupted.
d) The occasion for releasing comic pleasure vanishes when the attention
is fixed on the comparison capable of giving rise to the comic. Under
such circumstances the comic force is lost from that which is otherwise
sure to produce a comic effect. A movement or a mental activity cannot
become comical to him whose interest is fixed at the time of comparing
this movement with a standard which distinctly presents itself to him.
Thus the examiner does not see the comical in the nonsense produced by
the student in his ignorance; he is simply annoyed by it, whereas the
offender’s classmates who are more interested in his chances of passing
the examination than in what he knows, laugh heartily over the same
nonsense. The teacher of dancing or gymnastics seldom has any eyes for
the comic movements of his pupils, and the preacher entirely loses sight
of humanity’s defects of character, which the writer of comedy brings
out with so much effect. The comic process cannot stand examination by
the attention, it must be able to proceed absolutely unnoticed in a
manner similar to wit. But for good reasons, it would contradict the
nomenclature of “conscious processes” which I have used in _The
Interpretation of Dreams_, if one wished to call it of necessity
_unconscious_. It rather belongs to the _foreconscious_, and one may use
the fitting name “automatic” for all those processes which are enacted
in the foreconscious and dispense with the attention energy which is
connected with consciousness. The process of comparison of the
expenditures must remain automatic if it is to produce comic pleasure.
_Conditions Disturbing the Discharge_
e) It is exceedingly disturbing to the comic if the case from which it
originates gives rise at the same time to a marked release of affect.
The discharge of the affective difference is then as a rule excluded.
Affects, disposition, and the attitude of the individual in occasional
cases make it clear that the comic comes or goes with the viewpoint of
the individual person; that only in exceptional cases is there an
absolute comic. The dependence or relativity of the comic is therefore
much greater than of wit, which never happens but is regularly made, and
at its production one may already give attention to the conditions under
which it finds acceptance. But affective development is the most
intensive of the conditions which disturb the comic, the significance of
which is well known.[79] It is therefore said that the comic feeling
comes most in tolerably indifferent cases which evince no strong
feelings or interests. Nevertheless it is just in cases with affective
release that one may witness the production of a particularly strong
expenditure-difference in the automatism of discharge. When Colonel
Butler answers Octavio’s admonitions with “bitter laughter,” exclaiming:
“Thanks from the house of Austria!”
his bitterness has thus not prevented the laughter which results from
the recollection of the disappointment which he believes he has
experienced; and on the other hand, the magnitude of this disappointment
could not have been more impressively depicted by the poet than by
showing it capable of affecting laughter in the midst of the storm of
unchained affects. It is my belief that this explanation may be
applicable in all cases in which laughing occurs on other than
pleasurable occasions, and in conjunction with exceedingly painful or
tense affects.
f) If we also mention that the development of the comic pleasure can be
promoted by means of any other pleasurable addition to the case which
acts like a sort of contact-effect (after the manner of the
fore-pleasure principle in the tendency-wit), then we have discussed
surely not all the conditions of comic pleasure, yet enough of them to
serve our purpose. We then see that no other assumption so easily covers
these conditions, as well as the inconstancy and dependence of the comic
effect, as this: the assumption that comic pleasure is derived from the
discharge of a difference, which under many conditions can be diverted
to a different use than discharge.
It still remains to give a thorough consideration of the comic of the
sexual and obscene, but we shall only skim over it with a few
observations. Here, too, we shall take the act of exposing one’s body as
the starting-point. An accidental exposure produces a comical effect on
us, because we compare the ease with which we attained the enjoyment of
this view with the great expenditure otherwise necessary for the
attainment of this object. The case thus comes nearer to the
naïve-comic, but it is simpler than the latter. In every case of
exhibitionism in which we are made spectators—or, in the case of the
smutty joke hearers,—we play the part of the third person, and the
person exposed is made comical. We have heard that it is the purpose of
wit to replace obscenity and in this manner to reopen a source of comic
pleasure that has been lost. On the contrary, spying out an exposure
forms no example of the comic for the one spying, because the effort he
exerts thereby abrogates the condition of comic pleasure; the only thing
remaining is the sexual pleasure in what is seen. If the spy relates to
another what he has seen, the person looked at again becomes comical,
because the viewpoint that predominates is that the expenditure was
omitted which would have been necessary for the concealment of the
private parts. At all events, the sphere of the sexual or obscene offers
the richest opportunities for gaining comic pleasure beside the
pleasurable sexual stimulation, as it exposes the person’s dependence on
his physical needs (degradation) or it can uncover behind the spiritual
love the physical demands of the same (unmasking.)
_The Psychogenesis of the Comic_
An invitation to seek the understanding of the comic in its
psychogenesis comes surprisingly from Bergson’s well written and
stimulating book _Laughter_. Bergson, whose formula for the conception
of the comic character has already become known to us—“mechanization of
life,” “the substitution of something mechanical for the
natural”—reaches by obvious associations from automatism to the
automaton, and seeks to trace a series of comic effects to the blurred
memories of children’s toys. In this connection he once reaches this
viewpoint, which, to be sure, he soon drops; he seeks to trace the comic
to the after-effect of childish pleasure. “Perhaps we ought even to
carry simplification still farther, and, going back to our earliest
recollection, try to discover in the games that amused us as children
the first faint traces of the combinations that make us laugh as
grown-up persons.”... “Above all, we are too apt to ignore the childish
element, so to speak, latent in most of our joyful emotions” (p. 67). As
we have now traced wit to that childish playing with words and thoughts
which is prohibited by the rational critic, we must be tempted to trace
also these infantile roots of the comic, conjectured by Bergson.
As a matter of fact we meet a whole series of conditions which seem most
promising, when we examine the relation of the comic to the child. The
child itself does not by any means seem comic to us, although its
character fulfills all conditions which, in comparison to our own, would
result in a comic difference. Thus we see the immoderate expenditure of
motion as well as the slight psychic expenditure, the control of the
psychic activities through bodily functions, and other features. The
child gives us a comic impression only when it does not behave as a
child but as an earnest grown-up, and even then it affects us only in
the same manner as other persons in disguise; but as long as it retains
the nature of the child our perception of it furnishes us a pure
pleasure, which perhaps recalls the comic. We call it naïve in so far as
it displays to us the absence of inhibitions, and we call naïve-comic
those of its utterances which in another we would have considered
obscene or witty.
On the other hand the child lacks all feeling for the comic. This
sentence seems to say no more than that this comic feeling, like many
others, first makes its appearance in the course of psychic development;
and that would by no means be remarkable, especially since we must admit
that it shows itself distinctly even during years which must be
accredited to childhood. Nevertheless it can be demonstrated that the
assertion that the child lacks feeling for the comic has a deeper
meaning than one would suppose. In the first place it will readily be
seen that it cannot be different, if our conception is correct, that the
comic feeling results from a difference of expenditure produced in the
effort to understand the other. Let us again take comic motion as an
example. The comparison which furnishes the difference reads as follows,
when put in conscious formulæ: “So he does it,” and: “So I would do it,”
or “So I have done it.” But the child lacks the standard contained in
the second sentence, it understands simply through imitation; it just
does it. Education of the child furnishes it with the standard: “So you
shall do it,” and if it now makes use of the same in comparisons, the
nearest conclusion is: “He has not done it right, and I can do it
better.” In this case it laughs at the other, it laughs at him with a
feeling of superiority. There is nothing to prevent us from tracing this
laughter also to a difference of expenditure; but according to the
analogy with the examples of laughter occurring in us we may conclude
that the comic feeling is not experienced by the child when it laughs as
an expression of superiority. It is a laughter of pure pleasure. In our
own case whenever the judgment of our own superiority occurs we smile
rather than laugh, or if we laugh, we are still able to distinguish
clearly this conscious realization of our superiority from the comic
which makes us laugh.
It is probably correct to say that in many cases which we perceive as
“comical” and which we cannot explain, the child laughs out of pure
pleasure, whereas the child’s motives are clear and assignable. If, for
instance, some one slips on the street and falls, we laugh because this
impression—we know not why—is comical. The child laughs in the same case
out of a feeling of superiority or out of joy over the calamity of
others. It amounts to saying: “You fell, but I did not.” Certain
pleasure motives of the child seems to be lost for us grown-ups, but as
a substitute for these we perceive under the same conditions the “comic”
feeling.
_The Infantile and the Comic_
If we were permitted to generalize, it would seem very tempting to
transfer the desired specific character of the comic into the awakening
of the infantile, and to conceive the comic as a regaining of “lost
infantile laughing.” One could then say, “I laugh every time over a
difference of expenditure between the other and myself, when I discover
in the other the child.” Or expressed more precisely, the whole
comparison leading to the comic would read as follows:
“He does it this way—I do it differently—
He does it just as I did when I was a child.”
This laughter would thus result every time from the comparison between
the ego of the grown-up and the ego of the child. The uncertainty itself
of the comic difference, causing now the lesser and now the greater
expenditure to appear comical to me, would correspond to the infantile
determination; the comic therein is actually always on the side of the
infantile.
This is not contradicted by the fact that the child itself as an object
of comparison does not make a comic impression on me but a purely
pleasurable one, nor by the fact that this comparison with the infantile
produces a comic effect only when any other use of the difference is
avoided. For the conditions of the discharge come thereby into
consideration. Everything that confines a psychic process in an
association of ideas works against the discharge of the surplus
occupation of energy and directs the same to other utilization; whatever
isolates a psychic act favors the discharge. By consciously focussing on
the child as the person of comparison, the discharge necessary for the
production of comic pleasure therefore becomes impossible; only in
foreconscious energetic states is there a similar approach to the
isolation which we may moreover also ascribe to the psychic processes in
the child. The addition to the comparison: “Thus I have also done it as
a child,” from which the comic effect would emanate, could come into
consideration for the average difference only when no other association
could obtain control over the freed surplus.
If we still continue with our attempt to find the nature of the comic in
the foreconscious association of the infantile, we have to go a step
further than Bergson and admit that the comparison resulting in the
comic need not necessarily awake old childish pleasure and play, but
that it is enough if it touches the childish nature in general, perhaps
even childish pain. Herein we deviate from Bergson, but remain
consistent with ourselves, when we connect the comic pleasure not with
remembered pleasure but always with a comparison. This is possible, for
cases of the first kind comprise in a measure those which are regularly
and irresistibly comic. Let us now draw up the scheme of the comic
possibilities instanced above. We stated that the comic difference would
be found either
(a) through a comparison between the other and one’s self, or (b)
through a comparison altogether within the other, or (c) through a
comparison altogether within one’s self.
In the first case the other would appear to me as a child, in the second
he would put himself on the level of a child, and in the third I would
find the child in myself. To the first class belong the comic of
movement and of forms, of psychic activity and of character. The
infantile corresponding to it would be the motion-impulse and the
inferior mental and moral development of the child, so that the fool
would perhaps become comical to me by reminding me of a lazy child, and
the bad person by reminding me of a naughty child. The only time one
might speak of a childish pleasure lost to grown-ups would be where the
child’s own motion pleasure came into consideration.
The second case, in which the comic altogether depends on identification
with the other, comprises numerous possibilities such as the comic
situation, exaggeration (caricature), imitation, degradation, and
unmasking. It is under this head that the presentation of infantile
viewpoints mostly take place. For the comic situation is largely based
on embarrassment, in which we feel again the helplessness of the child.
The worst of these embarrassments, the disturbance of other activities
through the imperative demands of natural wants, corresponds to the
child’s lack of control of the physical functions. Where the comic
situation acts through repetitions it is based on the pleasure of
constant repetition peculiar to the child (asking questions, telling
stories), through which it makes itself a nuisance to grown-ups.
Exaggeration, which also affords pleasure even to the grown-up in so far
as it is justified by his reason, corresponds to the characteristic want
of moderation in the child, and its ignorance of all quantitative
relations which it later really learns to know as qualitative. To keep
within bounds, to practice moderation even in permissible feelings is a
late fruit of education, and is gained through opposing inhibitions of
the psychic activity acquired in the same association. Wherever this
association is weakened as in the unconscious of dreams and in the
monoideation of the psychoneuroses, the want of moderation of the child
again makes its appearance.
The understanding of comic imitation has caused us many difficulties so
long as we left out of consideration the infantile factor. But imitation
is the child’s best art and is the impelling motive of most of its
playing. The child’s ambition is not so much to distinguish himself
among his equals as to imitate the big fellows. The relation of the
child to the grown-up determines also the comic of degradation, which
corresponds to the lowering of the grown-up in the life of the child.
Few things can afford the child greater pleasure than when the grown-up
lowers himself to its level, disregards his superiority, and plays with
the child as its equal. The alleviation which furnishes the child pure
pleasure is a debasement used by the adult as a means of making things
comic and as a source of comic pleasure. As for unmasking we know that
it is based on degradation.
The infantile determination of the third case, the comic of expectation,
presents most of the difficulties; this really explains why those
authors who put this case to the foreground in their conception of the
comic, found no occasion to consider the infantile factor in their
studies of the comic. The comic of expectation is farthest from the
child’s thoughts, the ability to understand this is the latest quality
to appear in him. Most of those cases which produce a comic effect in
the grown-up are probably felt by the child as a disappointment. One can
refer, however, to the blissful expectation and gullibility of the child
in order to understand why one considers himself as comical “as a
child,” when he succumbs to comic disappointment.
If the preceding remarks produce a certain probability that the comic
feeling may be translated into the thought; everything is comic that
does not fit the grown-up, I still do not feel bold enough,—in view of
my whole position to the problem of the comic—to defend this last
proposition with the same earnestness as those that I formulated before.
I am unable to decide whether the lowering to the level of the child is
only a special case of comic degradation, or whether everything comical
fundamentally depends on the degradation to the level of the child.[80]
_Humor_
An examination of the comic, however superficial it may be, would be
most incomplete if it did not devote at least a few remarks to the
consideration of _humor_. There is so little doubt as to the essential
relationship between the two that a tentative explanation of the comic
must furnish at least one component for the understanding of humor. It
does not matter how much appropriate and important material was
presented as an appreciation of humor, which, as one of the highest
psychic functions, enjoys the special favor of thinkers, we still cannot
elude the temptation to express its essence through an approach to the
formulæ given for wit and the comic.
We have heard that the release of painful emotions is the strongest
hindrance to the comic effect. Just as aimless motion causes harm,
stupidity mischief, and disappointment pain;—the possibility of a comic
effect eventually ends, at least for him who cannot defend himself
against such pain, who is himself affected by it or must participate in
it, whereas the disinterested party shows by his behavior that the
situation of the case in question contains everything necessary to
produce comic effect. Humor is thus a means to gain pleasure despite the
painful affects which disturb it; it acts as a substitute for this
affective development, and takes its place. If we are in a situation
which tempts us to liberate painful affects according to our habits, and
motives then urge us to suppress these affects _statu nascendi_, we have
the conditions for humor. In the cases just cited the person affected by
misfortune, pain, etc., could obtain humoristic pleasure while the
disinterested party laughs over the comic pleasure. We can only say that
the pleasure of humor results at the cost of this discontinued
liberation of affect; it originates through the _economized expenditure
of affect_.
_The Economy in Expenditure of Affect_
Humor is the most self-sufficient of the forms of the comic; its process
consummating itself in one single person and the participation of
another adds nothing new to it. I can enjoy the pleasure of humor
originating in myself without feeling the necessity of imparting it to
another. It is not easy to tell what happens dining the production of
humoristic pleasure in a person; but one gains a certain insight by
investigating these cases of humor which have emanated from persons with
whom we have entered into a sympathetic understanding. By
sympathetically understanding the humoristic person in these cases one
gets the same pleasure. The coarsest form of humor, the so-called humor
of the gallows or grim-humor (_Galgenhumor_), may enlighten us in this
regard. The rogue, on being led to execution on Monday, remarked: “Yes,
this week is beginning well.” This is really a witticism, as the remark
is quite appropriate in itself, on the other hand it is displaced in the
most nonsensical fashion, as there can be no further happening for him
this week. But it required humor to make such wit, that is, to overlook
what distinguished the beginning of this week from other weeks, and to
deny the difference which could give rise to motives for very particular
emotional feelings. The case is the same when on the way to the gallows
he requests a neckerchief for his bare neck, in order to guard against
taking cold, a precaution which would be quite praiseworthy under
different circumstances, but becomes exceedingly superfluous and
indifferent in view of the impending fate of this same neck. We must say
that there is something like greatness of soul in this _blague_, in this
clinging to his usual nature and in deviating from that which would
overthrow and drive this nature into despair. This form of grandeur of
humor thus appears unmistakably in cases in which our admiration is not
inhibited by the circumstances of the humoristic person.
In Victor Hugo’s _Ernani_ the bandit who entered into a conspiracy
against his king, Charles I, of Spain, (Charles V, as the German
Emperor), falls into the hands of his most powerful enemy; he foresees
his fate; as one convicted of high treason his head will fall. But this
prospect does not deter him from introducing himself as a hereditary
Grandee of Spain and from declaring that he has no intention of waiving
any prerogative belonging to such personage. A Grandee of Spain could
appear before his royal master with his head covered. Well:
“Nos têtes ont le droit
De tomber couvertes devant de toi.”[81]
This is excellent humor and if we do not laugh on hearing it, it is
because our admiration covers the humoristic pleasure. In the case of
the rogue who did not wish to take cold on the way to the gallows we
roar with laughter. The situation which should have driven this criminal
to despair, might have evoked in us intense pity, but this pity is
inhibited because we understand that he who is most concerned is quite
indifferent to the situation. As a result of this understanding the
expenditure for pity, which was already prepared in us, became
inapplicable and we laughed it off. The indifference of the rogue, which
we notice has cost him a great expenditure of psychic labor, infects us
as it were.
Economy of sympathy is one of the most frequent sources of humoristic
pleasure. Mark Twain’s humor usually follows this mechanism. When he
tells us about the life of his brother, how, as mi employee in a large
road-building enterprise, he was hurled into the air through a premature
explosion of a blast, to come to earth again far from the place where he
was working, feelings of sympathy for this unfortunate are invariably
aroused in us. We should like to inquire whether he sustained no injury
in this accident; but the continuation of the story that the brother
lost a half-day’s pay for being away from the place he worked diverts us
entirely from sympathy and makes us almost as hard-hearted as that
employer, and just as indifferent to the possible injury to the victim’s
health. Another time Mark Twain presents us his pedigree, which he
traces back almost as far back as one of the companions of Columbus. But
after describing the character of this ancestor, whose entire
possessions consisted of several pieces of linen each bearing a
different mark, we cannot help laughing at the expense of the stored-up
piety, a piety which characterized our frame of mind at the beginning of
this family history. The mechanism of humoristic pleasure is not
disturbed by our knowing that this family history is a fictitious one,
and that this fiction serves a satirical tendency to expose the
embellishments which result in imparting such pedigrees to others; it is
just as independent of the conditions of reality as the manufactured
comic. Another of Mark Twain’s stories relates how his brother
constructed for himself subterranean quarters into which he brought a
bed, a table, and a lamp, and that as a roof he used a large piece of
sail-cloth with a hole through the centre; how during the night after
the room was completed, a cow being driven home fell through the opening
in the ceiling on to the table and extinguished the lamp; how his
brother helped patiently to hoist the animal out and to rearrange
everything; how he did the same thing when the same disturbance was
repeated the following night; and then every succeeding night; such a
story becomes comical through repetition. But Mark Twain closes with the
information that in the forty-sixth night when the cow again fell
through, his brother finally remarked that the thing was beginning to
grow monotonous; and here we can no longer restrain our humoristic
pleasure, for we had long expected to hear how the brother would express
his anger over this chronic _malheur_. The slight humor which we draw
from our own life we usually produce at the expense of anger instead of
irritating ourselves.[82]
_Forms of Humor_
The forms of humor are extraordinarily varied according to the nature of
the emotional feelings which are economized in favor of humor, as
sympathy, anger, pain, compassion, etc. And this series seems incomplete
because the sphere of humor experiences a constant enlargement, as often
as an artist or writer succeeds in mastering humoristically the, as yet,
unconquered emotional feelings and in making them, through artifices
similar to those in the above example, a source of humoristic pleasure.
Thus the artists of _Simplicissimus_ have worked wonders in gaining
humor at the expense of fear and disgust. The manifestations of humor
are above all determined by two peculiarities, which are connected with
the conditions of its origin. In the first place, humor may appear fused
with wit or any other form of the comic; whereby it is entrusted with
the task of removing a possible emotional development which would form a
hindrance to the pleasurable effect. Secondly, it can entirely set aside
this emotional development or only partially, which is really the more
frequent case, because the simpler function and the different forms of
“broken”[83] humor, results in that humor which smiles under its tears.
It withdraws from the affect a part of its energy and gives instead the
accompanying humoristic sound.
As may be noticed by former examples the humoristic pleasure gained by
entering into sympathy with a thing results from a special technique
resembling displacement through which the liberation of affect held
ready is disappointed and the energy occupation is deflected to other,
and, not often, to secondary matters. This does not help us, however, to
understand the process by which the displacement from the development of
affect proceeds in the humoristic person himself. We see that the
recipient intimates the producer of the humor in his psychic processes,
but we discover nothing thereby concerning the forces which make this
process possible in the latter.
We can only say, when, for example, somebody succeeds in paying no heed
to a painful affect because he holds before himself the greatness of the
world’s interest as a contrast to his own smallness, that we see in this
no function of humor but one of philosophic thinking, and we gain no
pleasure even if we put ourselves into his train of thought. The
humoristic displacement is therefore just as impossible in the light of
conscious attention as is the comic comparison; like the latter it is
connected with the condition to remain in the foreconscious—that is to
say, to remain automatic.
One reaches some solution of humoristic displacement if one examines it
in the light of a defense process. The defense processes are the psychic
correlates of the flight reflex and follow the task of guarding against
the origin of pain from inner sources; in fulfilling this task they
serve the psychic function as an automatic adjustment, which finally
proves harmful and therefore must be subjected to the control of the
conscious thinking. A definite form of this defense, the failure of
repression, I have demonstrated as the effective mechanism in the origin
of the psychoneuroses. Humor can now be conceived as the loftiest
variant of this defense activity. It disdains to withdraw from conscious
attention the ideas which are connected with the painful affect, as
repression does, and thus it overcomes the defense automatism. It brings
this about by finding the means to withdraw the energy resulting from
the liberation of pain which is held in readiness and through discharge
changes the same into pleasure. It is even credible that it is again the
connection with the infantile that puts at humor’s disposal the means
for this function. Only in childhood did we experience intensively
painful affects over which to-day as grown-ups we would laugh; just as a
humorist laughs over his present painful affects. The elevation of his
ego, of which humoristic displacement gives evidence,—the translation of
which would read: I am too big to have these causes affect me
painfully—he could find in the comparison of his present ego with his
infantile ego. This conception is to some extent confirmed by the rôle
which falls to the infantile in the neurotic processes of repression.
_The Relation of Humor to Wit and Comic_
On the whole humor is closer to the comic than wit. Like the former its
psychic localization is in the foreconscious, whereas wit, as we had to
assume, is formed as a compromise between the unconscious and the
foreconscious. On the other hand, humor has no share in the peculiar
nature in which wit and the comic meet, a peculiarity which perhaps we
have not hitherto emphasized strongly enough. It is a condition for the
origin of the comic that we be induced to apply—either _simultaneously_
or in rapid succession—to the same thought function two different modes
of ideas, between which the “comparison” then takes place and thus forms
the comic difference. Such differences originate between the expenditure
of the stranger and one’s own, between the usual expenditure and the
emergency expenditure, between an anticipated expenditure and one which
has already occurred.[84]
The difference between two forms of conception resulting simultaneously,
which work with different expenditures, comes into consideration in wit,
in respect to the hearer. The one of these two conceptions, by taking
the hints contained in the witticism, follows the train of thought
through the unconscious, while the other conception remains on the
surface and presents the witticism like any wording from the
foreconscious which has become conscious. Perhaps it would not be
considered an unjustified statement if we should refer the pleasure of
the witticism heard to the difference between these two forms of
presentation.
Concerning wit we here repeat our former statement concerning its
Janus-like double-facedness, a simile we used when the relation between
wit and the comic still appeared to us unsettled.[85]
The character thus put into the foreground becomes indistinct when we
deal with humor. To be sure, we feel the humoristic pleasure where an
emotional feeling is evaded, which we might have expected as a pleasure
usually belonging to the situation; and in so far humor really falls
under the broadened conception of the comic of expectation. But in humor
it is no longer a question of two different kinds of presentations
having the same content; the fact that the situation comes under the
domination of a painful emotional feeling which should have been
avoided, puts an end to possible comparison with the nature in the comic
and in wit. The humoristic displacement is really a case of that
different kind of utilization of a freed expenditure which proved to be
so dangerous for the comic effect.
_Formulæ for Wit, Comic, and Humor_
Now, that we have reduced the mechanism of humoristic pleasure to a
formula analogous to the formula of comic pleasure and of wit, we are at
the end of our task. It has seemed to us that the pleasure of wit
originates from an _economy of expenditure in inhibition_, of the comic
from an _economy of expenditure in thought_, and of humor from an
_economy of expenditure in feeling_. All three activities of our psychic
apparatus derive pleasure from economy. They all strive to bring back
from the psychic activity a pleasure which has really been lost in the
development of this activity. For the euphoria which we are thus
striving to obtain is nothing but the state of a bygone time in which we
were wont to defray our psychic work with slight expenditure. It is the
state of our childhood in which we did not know the comic, were
incapable of wit, and did not need humor to make us happy.
INDEX
A
Abstract wit, 128
Absurdity, 77
Actuality, 186
Æsthetics, vi
Agassiz, 54
Aggression, 138, 152, 160, 232
Alluring-premiums, 210
Allusions, 107, 108, 232
Ambiguity, 45
Ambitious impulse, 219
Application of same material, 49
Aristotle, 184
Attributions, 121
Automatic process, 238
Automatisms, 85, 86, 87, 235, 358
B
Bain, 226, 322
Bergson, 301, 337, 360
Blasphemous witticisms, 171
Bleuler, 278
_Bonmot_, 43
Brevity, 10, 29, 52, 243
Brill, 22, 31, 35, 37, 38, 56
C
Caricature, 280, 303, 320
Censor, 260
Characterization-wit, 71
Child, 190, 309, 362
Childhood, 149
Comic, 4, 10, 221, 287, 313
element, 88
façade, 236
its origin, 302
its psychogenesis, 360
of expectation, 317
of imitation, 336
Comic, of speech, 345
motion, 304
pleasure, its origin, 351
situations, 303, 314
Comical character, 277
Comparison, 113
with unification, 130
Composition, 31
Condensation, 20, 48
examples of, 21, 22, 23
in dreams, 31, 49, 256
with modification and substitution, 25
Conflict, 163
Contrast, 8
Critical witticisms, 171
Cynical tendency, 204
witticisms and self-criticism, 166
Cynicism, 65, 161
pessimistic, 170
D
Darwin, 226
Defence, 138
reaction, 142
Derision, 157
De Quincey, 22
Disguise, 303
Displacement, 67, 61, 161
in dreams, 256
Displacement-wit, 68, 71, 237
Don Quixote, 377
Double meaning, 40, 103
and displacement, 66
of a name, 41
Doubt in witty comparisons, 118
Dream-formation, 260
Dream-work, 249, 275
Dreams, 30, 250, 251
Dugas, 224, 242
E
Economy, 49, 52, 242, 245
of psychic expenditure, 180
Ehrenfels, 165
Exaggeration, 280
Exhibitionism, 142
F
Façade, 155, 158
Facetious questions, 238
Falke, 14, 80, 95
Falstaff, Sir John, 376
Faulty thinking, 81, 84
Fechner, 188, 207, 280
Fischer, 3, 4, 6, 11, 43, 47, 55, 89, 132, 136
Flaubert, 24
Foreconscious, 282
Fore-pleasure, 209, 211
G
Goethe, 133
Grim-humor, 372
Groos, 183, 184, 185, 195
Gross, 278
H
Harmless wit, 128, 211, 219, 222, 284
and tendency-wit, 130
Heine, 9, 15, 26, 43, 44, 47, 55, 57, 92, 94, 106, 109, 119, 122, 171,
215, 216, 223, 341
Heymans, 9, 215
Holmes, 37
Hugo, 373
Humor, 370
Mark Twain’s, 374
I
Imitations, 303, 322
Impulse to impart wit, 200
Indirect expression, 100
with allusion, 101
Infantile and the comic, 364
Inhibitions, 140, 197, 206, 230, 231, 236, 290
expenditure of, 180
Insults, 209
Invectives, 148, 277
Ironical wit, 100
Irony, 276
J
Jest, 197, 201, 211, 274, 284
Johnson, 45
Jokes, cynical, 164
good or poor, 182
Jewish, 59, 72, 97, 166, 218
smutty, 139, 140, 145, 233
K
Kant, 320
Kleinpaul, 198
Kraepelin, 7
L
Lassalle, 115
Laugh, 221
Laughter as a discharge, 228
its determination, 224, 226
Lessing, 97, 130
Libido, 141
Lichtenberg, 39, 78, 89, 95, 97, 104, 115, 118, 121, 122, 129, 132,
149, 218
Lipps, 3, 4, 6, 10, 30, 93, 215, 227, 254, 320, 326
M
Manifold application, 40, 45
Matthews, 44
Michelet, 78
Modification, 42
Moll, 141
Morality, 163
Motives, 214, 239
N
Naïve, 290
characteristics of, 295
examples of, 291
Negativism, 276
Nestroy, 120, 341
Nonsense, 72, 192, 200, 279
Nonsense-witticisms, 76
O
Obscene wit, 138, 203
Obscenity, 142
Omission, 82, 107, 232
Outdoing wit, 96, 97
P
Parody, 280, 324
Pascal, 337
Paul, 3, 7, 8, 18, 29, 301
Persons in tendency-wit, 144, 221, 222, 230, 231, 240
Perversion, 141
Phillips, 151
Play, 211
and jest, 195
on words, 40
Playing with words, 196
Pleasure in nonsense, 190, 271
mechanisms of wit, 177
sources, 150
Psychic energy, 227
Psychoneuroses, 147
Puns, 53
R
Recognition, 183
Regression, 259
Representation through the opposite, 93, 95
through the minute, 111, 112
Repression, 147, 205, 211
Riddle, 232
Rousseau, J. B., 91
Rousseau, J. J., 33
S
Sancho Panza, 216
Satire, 43, 137
Schnitzler, 42
Sense in nonsense, 73, 74, 75, 199
Sexual elements, 139, 140, 219
Shakespeare, 222
Shake-up rhymes, 129
Sky-larking, 192
Smutty jokes, 139, 145, 233
Society, 150
Sophism, 82, 83, 159
Sophistic displacement, 161
faulty thinking, 78, 79
Soulié, 57
Sound, similarity, 39
Spencer, 225
Spinoza, 106
Stettenheim, 343
Subjective determinations, 155, 156, 166, 215, 217
Substitutive formation, 20
T
Tendencies of wit, 127, 206
Tendency to economy, 49
Tendency-wit, 130
its effect, 210
Thought-wit, 128
its techniques, 154
Travesty, 280, 324
U
Ueberhorst, 91
Unconscious, 254, 255, 269, 279, 281, 329
and the infantile, 268
Unification, 45, 88, 117, 121, 188
Unmasking, 303, 324
V
Vischer, 3, 8, 128
Voltaire, 91
W
Winslow, 45
Wish fulfilment, 249, 253
Wit, 4
and comic, 4, 330
and dreams, 249, 273, 285
and rebellion against authority, 153
as an inspiration, 265
as a social process, 214
by word-division, 32
definitions of, 6, 7, 8
desire to impart it, 239
double-facedness of, 240
harmless, 128
hostile and obscene, 138
in the service of tendencies, 146
ironical, 100
its motives, 214
its subjective determinations, 155
its tendencies, 127
Wit, literature of, 134
outdoing, 96, 97
pleasure mechanisms of, 177, 230
psychogenesis of, 177, 195, 200
shallow, 131
skeptical, 172, 173
technique of, 14, 194, 240
Wit-work, its formula, 261
Witticism and riddle, 232
critical, 171
Witticisms, blasphemous, 171
Witty nonsense, 211, 212
Woman, unyieldingness of, 143
Word-division, 32, 33, 34
Word-pleasure, 190
Word-wit, 128, 131
-----
Footnote 1:
Monograph Series, Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases Pub. Co., 2nd
Ed., 1912.
Footnote 2:
Monograph Series, Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases Pub. Co., 2nd
Ed., 1916.
Footnote 3:
The Macmillan Co., New York, and Allen &
Unwin, London.
Footnote 4:
The Macmillan Co., New York, and T. Fisher Unwin, London.
Footnote 5:
This expression is used advisedly in order to distinguish it from
other methods of “analysis,” which Professor Freud fully disavows. Cf.
_The History of the Psychoanalytic Movement_, translated by A. A.
Brill, _The Psychoanalytic Review_, June-Sept., 1916.
Footnote 6:
Cf. the works of Freud, Abraham, Rank, and others.
Footnote 7:
Cf. Freud: _Totem and Taboo_, a translation in preparation, and the
works of Jones, Rank and Sachs, Jung, and Storfer.
Footnote 8:
Cf. Freud, Berny, Rank, and Sachs, and Sperber.
Footnote 9:
Cf. Freud: _Leonardo da Vinci_, a translation in preparation, and the
works of many others.
Footnote 10:
Cf. _v._ Hug-Hellmuth: _Aus dem Seelenleben des Kindes_, and the works
of Jones, Pfister, and many others.
Footnote 11:
Cf. the works of Freud, Putnam, Hitschmann, Winterstein, and others.
Footnote 12:
_Beiträge zur Aesthetik_, edited by Theodor Lipps and Richard Maria
Werner, VI,—a book to which I am indebted for the courage and capacity
to undertake this attempt.
Footnote 13:
J. V. Falke: _Lebenserinnerungen_, 1897.
Footnote 14:
Since this joke will occupy us again and we do not wish to disturb the
discussion following here, we shall find occasion later to point out a
correction in Lipps’s given interpretation which follows our own.
Footnote 15:
The same holds true for Lipps’s interpretation.
Footnote 16:
_Psychanalysis_: Its Theories and Application, 2nd Ed., p. 331.
Footnote 17:
This same witticism was supposed to have been coined before by Heine
concerning Alfred de Musset.
Footnote 18:
One of the complications involved in the technique of this example
lies in the fact that the modification through which the omitted abuse
is substituted is to be taken as an allusion to the latter, for it
leads to it only through a process of deduction.
Footnote 19:
Another factor which I shall mention later on is also effective in the
technique of this witticism. It has to do with the inner character of
the modification (representation through the opposite—contradiction).
The technique of wit does not hesitate to make use simultaneously of
several means, with which, however, we can only become acquainted in
their sequential order.
Footnote 20:
Translation of 4th Ed. by A. A. Brill, the Macmillan Co., New York,
and Allen &
Unwin, London.
Footnote 21:
_The Interpretation of Dreams_, p. 280.
Footnote 22:
Cited by Brill: _Psychanalysis_, p. 335.
Footnote 23:
l. c., p. 334.
Footnote 24:
The excellence of these jokes depends upon the fact that they, at the
same time, present another technical means of a much higher order.
Footnote 25:
Given by Translator.
Footnote 26:
This resembles an excellent joke of Oliver Wendell Holmes cited by
Brill: “Put not your trust in money, but put your money in trust.” A
contradiction is here announced which does not appear. At all events
it is a good example of the untranslatableness of the witticisms of
such technique.
Footnote 27:
Brill cites a very analogous modification wit: _Amantes—Amentes_
(lovers—lunatics).
Footnote 28:
Compare here K. Fischer (p. 85), who applies the term “double meaning”
to those witticisms in which both meanings are not equally prominent,
but where one overshadows the other. I have applied this term
differently. Such a nomenclature is a matter of choice. Usage of
speech has rendered no definite decision about them.
Footnote 29:
L. c., page 339.
Footnote 30:
Heine’s answer is a combination of two wit-techniques—a displacement
and an allusion—for he does not say directly: “He is an ox.”
Footnote 31:
The word “take,” owing to its meanings, lends itself very well towards
the formation of plays upon words, a pure example of which I wish to
cite as a contrast to the displacement mentioned above. While walking
with his friend, in front of a café, a well-known stock-plunger and
bank director made this proposal: “Let us go in and take something.”
His friend held him back and said: “My dear sir, remember there are
people in there.”
Footnote 32:
For the latter see a later chapter. It will perhaps not be superfluous
to add here a few words for better understanding. The displacement
regularly occurs between a statement and an answer, and turns the
stream of thought to a direction different from the one started in the
statement. The justification for separating the displacement from the
double meaning is best seen in the examples where both are combined,
that is, where the wording of the statement admits of a double meaning
which was not intended by the speaker, but which reveals in the answer
the way to the displacement (see examples).
Footnote 33:
See Chapter III.
Footnote 34:
A similar nonsense technique results when the joke aims to maintain a
connection which seems to be removed through the special conditions of
its content. A joke of this sort is related by J. Falke (l. c.): “_Is
this the place where the Duke of Wellington spoke these words?_”
“_Yes, this is the place; but he never spoke these words._”
Footnote 35:
Following an example of the _Greek Anthology_.
Footnote 36:
Cf. my _Interpretation of Dreams_, Chap. VI, _The Dream Work_,
translated by A. A. Brill, The Macmillan Co., New York, and Allen
& Unwin, London.
Footnote 37:
The word tendency encountered hereafter in the expression
“Tendency-Wit” (Tendenz Witz) is used adjectively in the same sense as
in the familiar phrase “Tendency Play.”
Footnote 38:
Cf. my _Psychopathology of Everyday Life_, translated by A. A. Brill,
The Macmillan Co., New York, and T. Fisher Unwin, London.
Footnote 39:
Cf. _Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex_, 2nd Ed., 1916,
translated by A. A. Brill, Monograph Series, _Journal of Nervous and
Mental Diseases_.
Footnote 40:
Moll’s _Kontrektationstrieb_ (Untersuchungen über die Libido
sexualies, 1898).
Footnote 41:
It is the same mechanism that controls “slips of the tongue” and other
phenomena of self-betrayal. Cf. _The Psychopathology of Everyday
Life_.
Footnote 42:
“There is nothing certain about to-morrow,” Lorenzo del Medici.
Footnote 43:
See his essays in the _Politisch-anthropologischen Revue_, II, 1903.
Footnote 44:
An habitual beggar.
Footnote 45:
If I may be permitted to anticipate what later is discussed in the
text I can here throw some light upon the condition which seems to be
authoritative in the usage of language when it is a question of
calling a joke “good” or “poor.” If by means of a double meaning or
slightly modified word I have gotten from one idea to another by a
short route, and if this does not also simultaneously result in
senseful association between the two ideas, then I have made a “poor”
joke. In this poor joke one word or the “point” forms the only
existing association between the two widely separated ideas. The joke
“Home-Roulard” used above is such an example. But a “good” joke
results if the infantile expectation is right in the end and if with
the similarity of the word another essential similarity in meaning is
really simultaneously produced—as in the examples Traduttore—Traditore
(translator—traitor), and Amantes—Amentes (lovers—lunatics). The two
disparate ideas which are here linked by an outer association are held
together besides by a senseful connection which expresses an important
relationship between them. The outer association only replaces the
inner connection; it serves to indicate the latter or to clarify it.
Not only does “translator” sound somewhat similar to “traitor,” but he
is a sort of a traitor whose claims to that name are good. The same
may be said of Amantes—Amentes. Not only do the words bear a
resemblance, but the similarity between “love” and “lunacy” has been
noted from time immemorial.
The distinction made here agrees with the differentiation, to be made
later, between a “witticism” and a “jest.” However, it would not be
correct to exclude examples like Home-Roulard from the discussion of
the nature of wit. As soon as we take into consideration the peculiar
pleasure of wit, we discover that the “poor” witticisms are by no
means poor as witticisms, i.e., they are by no means unsuited for the
production of pleasure.
Footnote 46:
_Die Spiele der Menschen_, 1899, p. 153.
Footnote 47:
_Vorschule der Aesthetik_, 1, XVII.
Footnote 48:
Chapter XVII.
Footnote 49:
Kleinpaul: _Die Rätsel der Sprache_, 1890.
Footnote 50:
_Vorschule der Aesthetik_, Vol. 1, V, p. 51, 2nd Ed., Leipzig, 1897.
Footnote 51:
The nonsense-witticisms, which have been somewhat slighted in this
treatise, deserve a short supplementary comment.
In view of the significance attributed by our conception to the factor
“sense in nonsense,” one might be tempted to demand that every
witticism should be a nonsense-joke. But this is not necessary,
because only the play with thoughts inevitably leads to nonsense,
whereas the other source of wit-pleasure, the play with words, makes
this impression incidental and does not regularly invoke the criticism
connected with it. The double root of wit-pleasure—from the play with
words and thoughts, which corresponds to the most important division
into word- and thought-witticisms—sets its face against a short
formulation of general principles about wit as a tangible aggravation
of difficulties. The play with words produces laughter, as is well
known, in consequence of the factor of recognition described above,
and therefore suffers suppression only in a small degree. The play
with thoughts cannot be motivated through such pleasure: it has
suffered a very energetic suppression and the pleasure which it can
give is only the pleasure of released inhibitions. Accordingly one may
say that wit-pleasure shows a kernel of the original play-pleasure and
a shell of removal-pleasure. Naturally we do not grant that the
pleasure in nonsense-wit is due to the fact that we have succeeded in
making nonsense despite the suppression, while we do notice that the
play with words gives us pleasure. Nonsense, which has remained fixed
in thought-wit, acquires secondarily the function of stimulating our
attention through confusion, it serves as a reinforcement of the
effect of wit, but only when it is insistent, so that the confusion
can anticipate the intellect by a definite fraction of time. That
nonsense in wit may also be employed to represent a judgment contained
within the thought has been demonstrated by the example on p. 73. But
even this is not the primal signification of nonsense in wit.
A series of wit-like productions for which we have no appropriate
name, but which may lay claim to the designation of “witty nonsense,”
may be added to the nonsense-jokes. They are very numerous, but I
shall cite only two examples: As the fish was served to a guest at the
table he put both hands twice into the mayonnaise and then ran them
through his hair. Being looked at by his neighbor with astonishment he
seemed to have noticed his mistake and excused himself, saying:
“Pardon me, I thought it was spinach.”
Or: “Life is like a suspension bridge,” said the one. “How is that?”
asked the other. “How should I know?” was the answer.
These extreme examples produce an effect through the fact that they
give rise to the expectation of wit, so that one makes the effort to
find the hidden sense behind the nonsense. But none is found, they are
really nonsense. Under that deception it was possible for one moment
to liberate the pleasure in nonsense. These witticisms are not
altogether without tendencies, they furnish the narrator a certain
pleasure in that they deceive and annoy the hearer. The latter then
calms his anger by resolving that he himself should take the place of
the narrator.
Footnote 52:
H. Spencer, _The Physiology of Laughter_ (first published in
_Macmillan’s Magazine_ for March, 1860), Essays, Vol. 11, 1901.
Footnote 53:
Different points in this declaration would demand an exhaustive
inquiry into an investigation of the pleasure of the comic, a thing
that other authors have already done, and which, at all events, does
not touch our discussion. It seems to me that Spencer was not happy in
his explanation of why the discharge happens to find just that path,
the excitement of which results in the physical picture of laughter. I
should like to add one single contribution to the subject of the
physiological explanation of laughter, that is, to the derivation or
interpretation of the muscular actions that characterize laughter—a
subject that has been often treated before and since Darwin, but which
has never been conclusively settled. According to the best of my
knowledge the grimaces and contortions of the corners of the mouth
that characterize laughter appear first in the satisfied and satiated
nursling when he drowsily quits the breasts. There it is a correct
motion of expression since it bespeaks the determination to take no
more nourishment, an “enough,” so to speak, or rather a “more than
enough.” This primal sense of pleasurable satiation may have furnished
the smile, which ever remains the basic phenomenon of laughter, the
later connection with the pleasurable processes of discharge.
Footnote 54:
Cf. _The Interpretation of Dreams_, Chap. VII, also _On the Psychic
Force_, etc., in the above cited book of Lipps (p. 123), where he
says: “This is the general principle: The dominant factors of the
psychic life are not represented by the contents of consciousness but
by those psychic processes which are unconscious. The task of
psychology, provided it does not limit itself to a mere description of
the content of consciousness, must also consist of revealing the
nature of these unconscious processes from the nature of the contents
of consciousness and its temporal relationship. Psychology must itself
be a theory of these processes. But such a psychology will soon find
that there exist quite a number of characteristics of these processes
which are unrepresented in the corresponding contents of
consciousness.”
Footnote 55:
Heymans (_Zeitschrift für Psychol._, XI) has taken up the viewpoint of
the nascent state in a somewhat different connection.
Footnote 56:
Through an example of displacement-wit I desire to discuss another
interesting character of the technique of wit. The genial actress
Gallmeyer when once asked how old she was is said to have answered
this unwelcome question with abashed and downcast eyes, by saying, “In
Brünn.” This is a very good example of displacement. Having been asked
her age, she replied by naming the place of her birth, thus
anticipating the next query, and in this manner she wishes to imply:
“This is a question which I prefer to pass by.” And still we feel that
the character of the witticism does not here come to expression
undimmed. The deviation from the question is too obvious; the
displacement is much too conspicuous. Our attention understands
immediately that it is a matter of an intentional displacement. In
other displacement-witticisms the displacement is disguised and our
attention is riveted by the effort to discover it. In one of the
displacement-witticisms (p. 69) the reply to the recommendation of the
horse—“What in the world should I do in Monticello at 6:30 in the
morning?”—the displacement is also an obtrusive one, but as a
substitute for it it acts upon the attention in a senseless and
confusing manner, whereas in the interrogation of the actress we know
immediately how to dispose of her displacement answer.
The so-called “facetious questions” which may make use of the best
techniques deviate from wit in other ways. An example of the facetious
question with displacement is the following: “What is a cannibal who
devours his father and mother?—Answer: An orphan.—And when he has
devoured all his other relatives?—Sole-heir.—And where can such a
monster ever find sympathy?—In the dictionary under S.” The facetious
questions are not full witticisms because the required witty answers
cannot be guessed like the allusions, omissions, etc., of wit.
Footnote 57:
Cf. _The Interpretation of Dreams_, Chapter VII.
Footnote 58:
Besides the dream-work and the technique of wit I have been able to
demonstrate condensation as a regular and significant process in
another psychic occurrence, in the mechanism of normal (not purposive)
forgetting. Singular impressions put difficulties in the way of
forgetting; impressions in any way analogous are forgotten by becoming
fused at their points of contact. The confusion of analogous
impressions is one of the first steps in forgetting.
Footnote 59:
Many of my patients while under psychoanalytic treatment are wont to
prove regularly by their laughter that I have succeeded in
demonstrating faithfully to their conscious perception the veiled
unconscious; they laugh also when the content of what is disclosed
does not at all justify this laughter. To be sure, it is conditional
that they have approached this unconscious closely enough to grasp it
when the physician has conjectured it and presented it to them.
Footnote 60:
In doing this we must not forget to reckon with the distortion brought
about by the censor which is still active in the psychoses.
Footnote 61:
_The Interpretation of Dreams._
Footnote 62:
The character of the comical which is referred to as its “dryness”
also depends in the broadest sense upon the differentiation of the
things spoken from the antics accompanying it.
Footnote 63:
_The Interpretation of Dreams_, p. 296.
Footnote 64:
This very remarkable and still inadequately understood behavior of
antagonistic relationships is probably not without value for the
understanding of the symptom of negativism in neurotics and in the
insane. Cf. the two latest works on the subject: Bleuler, “Über die
negative Suggestibilität,” _Psych.-Neurol. Wochenschrift_, 1904, and
Otto Groos’s _Zur Differential diagnostik negativistischer Phänomene_,
also my review of the _Gegensinn der Urworte_, in _Jahrb. f.
Psychonalyse_ II, 1910.
Footnote 65:
An expression of G. T. Fechner’s which has acquired significance from
the point of view of my conception.
Footnote 66:
Given by Translator.
Footnote 67:
I have everywhere identified the naïve with the naïve-comic, a
practice which is certainly not permissible in all cases. But it is
sufficient for our purposes to study the characteristics of the naïve
as exhibited by the “naïve joke” and the “naïve obscenity.” It is our
intention to proceed from here with the investigation of the nature of
the comic.
Footnote 68:
Also Bergson (_Laughter_, An essay on the Meaning of the Comic,
translated by Brereton and Rothwell, The Macmillan Co., 1914) rejects
with sound arguments this sort of explanation of comic pleasure, which
has unmistakably been influenced by the effort to create an analogy to
the laughing of a person tickled. The explanation of comic pleasure by
Lipps which might, in connection with his conception of the comic, be
represented as an “unexpected trifle,” is of an entirely different
nature.
Footnote 69:
The recollection of this innervation expenditure will remain the
essential part of the idea of this motion, and there will always be
methods of thought in my psychic life in which the idea will be
represented by nothing else than this expenditure. In other
connections a substitute for this element may possibly be put in the
form of other ideas, for instance the visual idea of the object of the
motion, or it may be put in the form of the word-idea; and in certain
types of abstract thought a sign instead of the full content itself
may suffice.
Footnote 70:
“What one has not in his head,” as the saying goes, “he must have in
his legs.”
Footnote 71:
The problem has been greatly confused by the general conditions
determining the comic, whereby the comic pleasure is seen to have its
source now in a too-muchness and now in a not-enoughness.
Footnote 72:
Degradation: A. Bain (_The Emotions and the Will_, 2nd Ed., 1865)
states: “The occasion of the ludicrous is the degradation of some
person of interest possessing dignity, in circumstances that excite no
other strong emotion” (p. 248).
Footnote 73:
“Thus every conscious and clever evocation of the comic is called wit,
be it the comic of views or situations. Naturally we cannot use this
view of wit here.” Lipps, l. c., p. 78.
Footnote 74:
At the most this is inserted by the dreamer as an explanation.
Footnote 75:
l. c., p. 294.
Footnote 76:
“Trente et quarante” is a gambling game.
Footnote 77:
Bergson, l. c., p. 29.
Footnote 78:
Sixth Ed., Berlin, 1891.
Footnote 79:
“You may well laugh, that no longer concerns you.”
Footnote 80:
That comic pleasure has its source in the “quantitative contrast,” in
the comparison of big and small, which ultimately also expresses the
essential relation of the child to the grown-up, would indeed be a
peculiar coincidence if the comic had nothing else to do with the
infantile.
Footnote 81:
“Our heads have the right to fall covered before thee.”
Footnote 82:
The excellent humoristic effect of a character like that of the fat
knight, Sir John Falstaff, is based on economised contempt and
indignation. To be sure we recognise in him the unworthy glutton and
fashionably dressed swindler, but our condemnation is disarmed through
a whole series of factors. We understand that he knows himself to be
just as we estimate him; he impresses us through his wit; and besides
that, his physical deformity produces a contact-effect in favor of a
comic conception of his personality instead of a serious one; as if
our demands for morality and honor must recoil from such a big
stomach. His activities are altogether harmless and are almost excused
by the comic lowness of those he deceives. We admit that the poor
devil has a right to live and enjoy himself like any one else, and we
almost pity him because in the principal situation we find him a
puppet in the hands of one much his superior. It is for this reason
that we cannot bear him any grudge and turn all we economize in him in
indignation into comic pleasure which he otherwise provides. Sir
John’s own humor really emanates from the superiority of an ego which
neither his physical nor his moral defects can rob of its joviality
and security.
On the other hand the courageous knight Don Quixote de la Mancha is a
figure who possesses no humor, and in his seriousness furnishes us a
pleasure which can be called humoristic although its mechanism shows a
decided deviation from that of humor. Originally Don Quixote is a
purely comic figure, a big child whose fancies from his books on
knighthood have gone to his head. It is known that at first the poet
wanted to show only that phase of his character, and that the creation
gradually outgrew the author’s original intentions. But after the poet
endowed this ludicrous person with the profoundest wisdom and noblest
aims and made him the symbolic representation of an idealism, a man
who believed in the realization of his aims, who took duties seriously
and promises literally, he ceased to be a comic personality. Like
humoristic pleasure which results from a prevention of emotional
feelings it originates here through the disturbance of comic pleasure.
However, in these examples we already depart perceptibly from the
simple cases of humor.
Footnote 83:
A term which is used in quite a different sense in the _Aesthetik_ of
Theo. Vischer.
Footnote 84:
If one does not hesitate to do some violence to the conception of
expectation, one may ascribe—according to the process of Lipps—a very
large sphere of the comic to the comic of expectation; but probably
the most original cases of the comic which result through a comparison
of a strange expenditure with one’s own will fit least into this
conception.
Footnote 85:
The characteristic of the “double face” naturally did not escape the
authors. Melinaud, from whom I borrowed the above expression,
conceives the condition for laughing in the following formula: “Ce qui
fait rire c’est qui est à la fois, d’un coté, absurde et de l’autre,
familier” (“Pourquoi rit-on?” _Revue de deux mondes_, February, 1895).
This formula fits in better with wit than with the comic, but it
really does not altogether cover the former. Bergson (l. c., p. 96)
defines the comic situation by the “reciprocal interference of
series,” and states: “A situation is invariably comic when it belongs
simultaneously to two altogether independent series of events and is
capable of being interpreted in two entirely different meanings at the
same time.” According to Lipps the comic is “the greatness and
smallness of the same.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last
chapter.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
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