As I read and reread James Cary’s essay and the responses it has elicited, I find two points worth expounding, however impressionistically.
First, James’s case (with which I mostly agree) relies on an equivocation between biblical stories, written to be read, and televised contemporary comedy, which, for its audiences, exists only in acted-out, recorded, produced form—created to be viewed. If McLuhan and Postman are to be believed, medium and message are, at least, deeply intertwined. The Bible is a book, not a TV show.
Second, I believe that, just as there’s a difference between British and American humor (see Mark Twain’s “How to Tell a Story”), there is an even greater difference between British and American sitcoms. I’m talking Fawlty Towers versus Friends. Or, more currently, Derry Girls versus Modern Family. Yes, in British comedy there is often a villain or fool who gets his due, while in American comedy, the fool often gets away. This key element of American comedy is why the Seinfeld grand finale did NOT land. It is also why, for many Americans, shows like Veep (created by a Scot, written mostly by Englishmen) come as such a relief. Americans sometimes find witty, moralizing satire refreshing. (Sometimes.)
In fact, from Chaucer to Shakespeare and onward, British storytelling as a whole is more oriented toward custom, manners, juxtaposing high and low forms, calling attention to folly, and ensuring that, however ironically, some semblance of social balance is restored. I don’t see the same elements in American storytelling, which is often blunt, existential, romantic, descriptive, self-contradictory, symbolic, and more obsessed with the manner of telling than what is being told.
In American sitcoms, such as Friends, immoral behavior is both constant and taken for granted. No fool gets his due. There are merely fools who whine about their jobs, sleep with each other, and get caught up in minor misunderstandings. In the end, they are all adorable. And we watch and we titter and, ultimately, see them more as subtle role models rather than examples of what to avoid. That Friends gives way to shows like Sex and the City and Real Housewives should come as no surprise. These are soapy comedy-dramas about urbanites swapping partners indefinitely and ending up exactly nowhere, though the shows themselves never make such a stark moral point. American sitcoms are literally inconsequential.
King David and Uriah, now that’s another story altogether. First, it isn’t funny. It glorifies nobody. And we definitely don’t watch David making the smooth moves on Bathsheba—though, to be honest, I’ve often thought, wow, she must have been very sexy. I’ve also wondered, was it normal to bathe on a rooftop in full view of the King’s house, and presumably of other houses, too? Was she bored because Uriah was (again) out of town? What part did she play in the awful double-cross?
And the other biblical characters James lists, were any of them funny? Do they make us laugh? Perhaps Zacchaeus, wee as he was. But Rahab? Job’s friends? Peter? Pathetic, yes, and in our mortal eyes not worthy of honor—but none of these are funny characters, nor are they involved in hilarious situations. I take James’s point that their narratives are ironic, and their outcomes are powerfully counterintuitive, all of which reveals the divine imperative to heal the sick, raise up the foolish, celebrate the prodigal, and shame the proud and self-righteous. But, other than the Apostle Paul’s coarse manner, which Steve is right to note and often does move me to laughter (that spiraling logic!), none of this material is funny. It’s awful, sad, shocking, violent, and it is the mess in which God creates and recreates his beloved people. It’s the garbage world in which God’s own son becomes the butt of the least funny joke of all time: a case of mistaken identity. They put out the hit on the wrong guy, which turned out to be exactly the right move. Honestly the story of scripture is more akin to Goodfellas or There Will Be Blood than to any sitcom.
I believe that, though the Bible isn’t hilarious (even when read in a Brooklyn dialect), it is profoundly ironic. Much of its story structure matches our sense of comedy, because much of it is upside-down and confronts our natural assumptions. In this deep irony—in which a humble, all-powerful God uses death to defeat death (hoist on its own petard!)—we find hope for change, as numerous writers in this conversation have already pointed out.
That the Bible isn’t laugh-out-loud funny—just as creation itself isn’t, though it contains deeply comic elements such as platypuses—suggests that humor is just one facet of the brilliant diamond of divine irony. Since sitcoms are for the most part based on simple dramatic irony, laced with slippery verbal fun, their effect doesn’t come close to God’s. I am loath to compare biblical characters to those of well-known sitcoms. I compare them instead to characters from The Wire. Stringer Bell. Avon Barksdale. Bunk Moreland. Snoop, Kima, Omar. These are the Rahabs and Davids of modern television. They’re the sick, and they’re ready for healing.
I have a third point to make, though I didn’t mention it at the outset. I love Steve’s discussion of the value of comedy and humor in the Body of Christ. In fact, all the writers in this discussion have touched, in one way or another, on the importance of restoring humor to church life, and I fully agree. People who cannot laugh at themselves, or don’t perceive their own folly, are in grave danger. The Bible points again and again to our desperate need to take ourselves lightly. We are here as vapors or flowers of the field; we are briefly dressed and fed by our maker; we soon depart. Hence, we take ourselves, our families, our loves, our life dramas less seriously which, ironically, frees us to act honorably and openly. Being mist, we should have no trouble being transparent. Being little children, we should have no mortal fear. Our Father is in the house.
In fact, think of people who don’t laugh readily at themselves—Nazis, KKK dudes, certain breeds of social or political justice advocate, certain pastors and church leaders. Ambitious entrepreneurs, perhaps. People who take their work, their moral virtue, their wealth, their power, or indeed their own suffering very, very seriously don’t generally take time to step back, look at their accomplishments, remember Isaiah 64:6 and muse, “Anything good I do is as a filthy rag before God.”
But! And this is a big “but.” When people laugh amongst themselves, they are just as likely to alienate as they are to invite newcomers. Laughter in groups can be sinister to those not “in” on the joke. In fact, any kind of laughter can be annoying or even hurtful to people who are suffering. Laughter is a powerful social bond but also functions as a gatekeeper. How many of us have laughed at things we didn’t quite “get” in order to be accepted?
Let me just say, since my essay so far feels largely reactionary to claims made in this discussion, that I dobelieve God has loaded creation and his Word with comic power. He has given us a world full of mystery, of surprise, and of stark and surprising contrast. We know that a sudden change in tone can bring about laughter. The shock of someone slipping on a banana peel brings laughter. A monkey wearing a diaper brings laughter. Sex is funny and can result in laughter. A Zen koan recited gravely (or repeatedly) might well result in laughter. So, in a sense, the whole spectrum of human experience might be described as comic or humorous.
But I believe just as firmly that these kinds of comedy, of surprise, sudden juxtaposition, fools being foolish, or deep irony, are necessarily funny. They shouldn’t make us laugh unless we are prone to giggling. And as Christians—indeed, even as wise people—we mustn’t allow what one of my poetry friends calls “the antic mode” to dominate our experience or our interpretation of the world around us. We mustn’t, as my grandma used to warn, become “little giggle bunnies.” We don’t want to be mistaken for common potheads. There’s nothing less amusing than someone else’s high.
Loaded with comic power as this created universe is, we do well to keep cool heads and remain watchful. For the Bible also says to be sober—stay alert, for the end is near. What could that mean? The end of the sitcom? There must be an end that’s more like the end of the world. The edge of the ocean. When we get to it, we will know. Until then, we’re called upon to watch for signs and be wary of false teachers. After all, it takes more than a good sense of humor to love our neighbors as ourselves; sometimes it takes a strong stomach. Often it takes profound humility and an intentional suppression of laughter to truly love another person. In the same way, it takes profound humility and intentional suppression of laughter to properly tell a joke.
Finally, I recommend Simon Critchley’s On Humour (Routledge, 2002) as a helpful concise overview of how laughter works and what people have thought of it through the ages. For an original philosophy of comedy, Henri Bergson’s Le Rire (first published in 1900, now available in English translation via Project Gutenberg) is my favorite. And for my perspective on what Christians should and shouldn’t “consider,” see “Theater, Truth, and Community,” which I wrote many years ago. I just reread it and still agree with it.
Thank you, Peter, for asking me to weigh in on this important subject.
Aaron Belz holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from NYU and a Ph.D. in American Literature from Saint Louis University, where he researched the influence of popular comedy on modernist poetics. He has published four books of his own poetry, which John Ashbery extolled as “bright, friendly, surprising, and totally committed to everything but itself.” He lives in Savannah, Georgia.
As I read and reread James Cary’s essay and the responses it has elicited, I find two points worth expounding, however impressionistically.
First, James’s case (with which I mostly agree) relies on an equivocation between biblical stories, written to be read, and televised contemporary comedy, which, for its audiences, exists only in acted-out, recorded, produced form—created to be viewed. If McLuhan and Postman are to be believed, medium and message are, at least, deeply intertwined. The Bible is a book, not a TV show.
Second, I believe that, just as there’s a difference between British and American humor (see Mark Twain’s “How to Tell a Story”), there is an even greater difference between British and American sitcoms. I’m talking Fawlty Towers versus Friends. Or, more currently, Derry Girls versus Modern Family. Yes, in British comedy there is often a villain or fool who gets his due, while in American comedy, the fool often gets away. This key element of American comedy is why the Seinfeld grand finale did NOT land. It is also why, for many Americans, shows like Veep (created by a Scot, written mostly by Englishmen) come as such a relief. Americans sometimes find witty, moralizing satire refreshing. (Sometimes.)
In fact, from Chaucer to Shakespeare and onward, British storytelling as a whole is more oriented toward custom, manners, juxtaposing high and low forms, calling attention to folly, and ensuring that, however ironically, some semblance of social balance is restored. I don’t see the same elements in American storytelling, which is often blunt, existential, romantic, descriptive, self-contradictory, symbolic, and more obsessed with the manner of telling than what is being told.
In American sitcoms, such as Friends, immoral behavior is both constant and taken for granted. No fool gets his due. There are merely fools who whine about their jobs, sleep with each other, and get caught up in minor misunderstandings. In the end, they are all adorable. And we watch and we titter and, ultimately, see them more as subtle role models rather than examples of what to avoid. That Friends gives way to shows like Sex and the City and Real Housewives should come as no surprise. These are soapy comedy-dramas about urbanites swapping partners indefinitely and ending up exactly nowhere, though the shows themselves never make such a stark moral point. American sitcoms are literally inconsequential.
King David and Uriah, now that’s another story altogether. First, it isn’t funny. It glorifies nobody. And we definitely don’t watch David making the smooth moves on Bathsheba—though, to be honest, I’ve often thought, wow, she must have been very sexy. I’ve also wondered, was it normal to bathe on a rooftop in full view of the King’s house, and presumably of other houses, too? Was she bored because Uriah was (again) out of town? What part did she play in the awful double-cross?
And the other biblical characters James lists, were any of them funny? Do they make us laugh? Perhaps Zacchaeus, wee as he was. But Rahab? Job’s friends? Peter? Pathetic, yes, and in our mortal eyes not worthy of honor—but none of these are funny characters, nor are they involved in hilarious situations. I take James’s point that their narratives are ironic, and their outcomes are powerfully counterintuitive, all of which reveals the divine imperative to heal the sick, raise up the foolish, celebrate the prodigal, and shame the proud and self-righteous. But, other than the Apostle Paul’s coarse manner, which Steve is right to note and often does move me to laughter (that spiraling logic!), none of this material is funny. It’s awful, sad, shocking, violent, and it is the mess in which God creates and recreates his beloved people. It’s the garbage world in which God’s own son becomes the butt of the least funny joke of all time: a case of mistaken identity. They put out the hit on the wrong guy, which turned out to be exactly the right move. Honestly the story of scripture is more akin to Goodfellas or There Will Be Blood than to any sitcom.
I believe that, though the Bible isn’t hilarious (even when read in a Brooklyn dialect), it is profoundly ironic. Much of its story structure matches our sense of comedy, because much of it is upside-down and confronts our natural assumptions. In this deep irony—in which a humble, all-powerful God uses death to defeat death (hoist on its own petard!)—we find hope for change, as numerous writers in this conversation have already pointed out.
That the Bible isn’t laugh-out-loud funny—just as creation itself isn’t, though it contains deeply comic elements such as platypuses—suggests that humor is just one facet of the brilliant diamond of divine irony. Since sitcoms are for the most part based on simple dramatic irony, laced with slippery verbal fun, their effect doesn’t come close to God’s. I am loath to compare biblical characters to those of well-known sitcoms. I compare them instead to characters from The Wire. Stringer Bell. Avon Barksdale. Bunk Moreland. Snoop, Kima, Omar. These are the Rahabs and Davids of modern television. They’re the sick, and they’re ready for healing.
I have a third point to make, though I didn’t mention it at the outset. I love Steve’s discussion of the value of comedy and humor in the Body of Christ. In fact, all the writers in this discussion have touched, in one way or another, on the importance of restoring humor to church life, and I fully agree. People who cannot laugh at themselves, or don’t perceive their own folly, are in grave danger. The Bible points again and again to our desperate need to take ourselves lightly. We are here as vapors or flowers of the field; we are briefly dressed and fed by our maker; we soon depart. Hence, we take ourselves, our families, our loves, our life dramas less seriously which, ironically, frees us to act honorably and openly. Being mist, we should have no trouble being transparent. Being little children, we should have no mortal fear. Our Father is in the house.
In fact, think of people who don’t laugh readily at themselves—Nazis, KKK dudes, certain breeds of social or political justice advocate, certain pastors and church leaders. Ambitious entrepreneurs, perhaps. People who take their work, their moral virtue, their wealth, their power, or indeed their own suffering very, very seriously don’t generally take time to step back, look at their accomplishments, remember Isaiah 64:6 and muse, “Anything good I do is as a filthy rag before God.”
But! And this is a big “but.” When people laugh amongst themselves, they are just as likely to alienate as they are to invite newcomers. Laughter in groups can be sinister to those not “in” on the joke. In fact, any kind of laughter can be annoying or even hurtful to people who are suffering. Laughter is a powerful social bond but also functions as a gatekeeper. How many of us have laughed at things we didn’t quite “get” in order to be accepted?
Let me just say, since my essay so far feels largely reactionary to claims made in this discussion, that I dobelieve God has loaded creation and his Word with comic power. He has given us a world full of mystery, of surprise, and of stark and surprising contrast. We know that a sudden change in tone can bring about laughter. The shock of someone slipping on a banana peel brings laughter. A monkey wearing a diaper brings laughter. Sex is funny and can result in laughter. A Zen koan recited gravely (or repeatedly) might well result in laughter. So, in a sense, the whole spectrum of human experience might be described as comic or humorous.
But I believe just as firmly that these kinds of comedy, of surprise, sudden juxtaposition, fools being foolish, or deep irony, are necessarily funny. They shouldn’t make us laugh unless we are prone to giggling. And as Christians—indeed, even as wise people—we mustn’t allow what one of my poetry friends calls “the antic mode” to dominate our experience or our interpretation of the world around us. We mustn’t, as my grandma used to warn, become “little giggle bunnies.” We don’t want to be mistaken for common potheads. There’s nothing less amusing than someone else’s high.
Loaded with comic power as this created universe is, we do well to keep cool heads and remain watchful. For the Bible also says to be sober—stay alert, for the end is near. What could that mean? The end of the sitcom? There must be an end that’s more like the end of the world. The edge of the ocean. When we get to it, we will know. Until then, we’re called upon to watch for signs and be wary of false teachers. After all, it takes more than a good sense of humor to love our neighbors as ourselves; sometimes it takes a strong stomach. Often it takes profound humility and an intentional suppression of laughter to truly love another person. In the same way, it takes profound humility and intentional suppression of laughter to properly tell a joke.
Finally, I recommend Simon Critchley’s On Humour (Routledge, 2002) as a helpful concise overview of how laughter works and what people have thought of it through the ages. For an original philosophy of comedy, Henri Bergson’s Le Rire (first published in 1900, now available in English translation via Project Gutenberg) is my favorite. And for my perspective on what Christians should and shouldn’t “consider,” see “Theater, Truth, and Community,” which I wrote many years ago. I just reread it and still agree with it.
Thank you, Peter, for asking me to weigh in on this important subject.
Aaron Belz holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from NYU and a Ph.D. in American Literature from Saint Louis University, where he researched the influence of popular comedy on modernist poetics. He has published four books of his own poetry, which John Ashbery extolled as "bright, friendly, surprising, and totally committed to everything but itself." He lives in Savannah, Georgia.
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