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.