There's a really old story – so old that it's collected in the Book of Genesis. Stories that old were passed around for centuries before they got written down. They went from gossip to hearsay to legend to myth to classic. And then somebody wrote them down, and the people who worshipped the Truth of Things in Print decided they were holy writ and couldn't be doubted. The important thing about this story is not whether it was factual. How would you know? Why would you care? The important thing is what the story tells you about laughter.

You can look this story up in the Book of Genesis, as I said, but I'll retail my version here. A man named Abraham and his wife Sarah lived with their small nomadic community in tents on the plains of Mamre. The one thing they were sad about was that Sarah was postmenopausal, and they had never had a child.

One day, three men showed up to visit. Now, the story says these men were God in some way. Some people think the ancients meant this story to call them angels. Maybe. Maybe they were ETs, or elves, or something. Maybe in this version, they were just people who were channeling a message from God. Anyway, Abraham and Sarah were hospitable: they welcomed the visitors and fed them. As was always the custom in those parts, Sarah served the dinner and got out of the way, leaving her husband to talk to the strangers. She kept an ear open, though – they might want dessert, and anyway, she hadn't heard any news for a long time.

What Sarah heard made her laugh. The visitors announced that she was going to be pregnant. Why did Sarah laugh? Think about it: perfect strangers discussing her personal gynecological condition. The nerve. Presuming that something was possible which, frankly, wasn't. And etc. Now before you say 'change of life baby', let me stop you. Sure. Not outside the realm of possibility, and we won't argue about allegations that this lady was 90. That's not the good part.

The good part was when the mysterious strangers said, 'We heard that. You laughed. Name the baby Isaac.'

Isaac means 'laughter'. She named her son Laughter. A whole nation of people claimed their ancestor was named Laughter. No wonder they tell so many jokes.

Sing, ye angels, raise the rafter

Of the cosmic roof above,

Sing of man's incredulous laughter,

And God's incredible love.

Maybe that's why they told the story. They knew their great-great-grandfather was named Laughter, but they didn't know why. So they told this story to explain it. It's a great story.

Ins and Outs in Laughter

Henry David Thoreau once said you couldn't kill time without injuring eternity. I don't think you can misuse laughter without making the angels cry. If you use laughter as a weapon – to make your neighbor feel small – you're doing something Jesus said would put you in danger of hell fire. Don't believe in hell fire? Good for you. Put it another way: it makes you a cheap so-and-so. Don't do it. You'll regret it one of these days.

A lot of what passes for humour in social groups is merely a way of identifying the 'ins' from the 'outs'. Don't believe me? Go to a place where teenagers hang out and act like a fly on the wall. All those incomprehensible jokes? They serve the same purpose as the 'riddles' of ancient mystery religions: to weed out the muggles from the cognoscenti.

Here's an excellent exercise: turn on your TV. Watch a programme labelled as funny. A lot of times, if they didn't have that canned laugh-track, you wouldn't be sure. Every time you laugh, ask yourself, 'Would I understand that if I were from a different country? If I were back in my grandfather's day? How would I explain this to someone from another time or place? If I did, would it still be funny?' If not, it might just be an in-joke. You had to be there. Oh, yeah, and you had to be one of the in-group. Outsiders need not apply.

This also explains why other people are offended by jokes that are aimed at them. Then somebody says, 'Oh, come on. Can't you take a joke?'

Example

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.   – Sigmund Freud, trying to be funny.

Hardy-har-har. Now, imagine that joke with different players: the wealthy stalker is a middle-aged woman, a 'cougar'. The object of her affections is the pool boy.

Bet I made you laugh.

Heavenly Laughter

What is bad about exclusionary humour? It excludes. What is good about inclusive humour? It draws people in. Have you seen the half-hour comedy series from blessed Canada (oh, brave new world, that has such comics in it) called Little Mosque on the Prairie? In some places, it's available free online. The young imam in the small Canadian town gets his advice from the older Anglican priest, who tells him 'it's all spiritual, Amaar, even the everyday stuff.'

The local would-be 'shock jock' from the small-market radio station feuds with Fatima, the head-scarf-wearing Nigerian diner owner. When she falls, though, he comes running to help her – and gets a bloody nose for his pains, because 'men are not allowed to touch me'. Fatima is not above playing practical jokes on Fred, though. We suspect there's a friendship in the offing.

The women need a female lifeguard at the pool so they don’t' have to wear Islamic bathing suits. They need this even though the present lifeguard is gay and assures them he's really not looking. And then there's the question of Halloween. . . when the conservative, bearded immigrant, who reminds you of everybody's nutty uncle, worries that it will make his son want to 'stop being Muslim and become a witch.' Then he finds out they're handing out candy and tell him his 'Taliban costume' is cute, and he stops yelling and has a good time. He makes friends with a local redneck, and they bond over their mutual desire to picket the gay wedding. . .

Oh, yeah. The hip young imam from Toronto keeps telling Babar to 'stop using the word infidel'. So he switches to 'heathen'.

That, my friends, is why laughter is sacred. It belongs to the angels. Use it wisely. We might all learn something.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

06.05.13 Front Page

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