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_.”