Judicious Jocularity

It appears I’m back in the editorial column for the summer. I’ve also gotten an upgrade in the form of an official title: Rambling Raconteur. The word raconteur is French and refers to a skilled storyteller. I don’t mean to be presumptuous in titling my column such, but I like to think of it as more aspirational to the heights I wish to achieve. Perhaps I should include some more long-winded anecdotes in my pieces. Regardless, I leave it to my audience to determine if and when I achieve the label of a raconteur.

Trivialities aside, I thought it might be interesting today to propose the philosophy of the jester. One of our culture’s most pervasive commodities is humor. Everyone wants to be the jester in the room, resorting to goofiness, crude joking, or whatever silliness wins titters or guffaws. This is just one outpouring of the idea that we must always remain in a state of levity. Our entertainment culture, through our phones, trains us to constantly crave content that strikes us as humorous. Laughter is a great gift and very enjoyable, but much like candy, too much of it greatly cheapens the experience.

When everyone is seeking to be the jester, humor abounds, but it often comes at the expense of weightier matters. Not every conversation needs to analyze the fundamental realities of our universe, but some should. Many people I have encountered haven’t even taken the time to consciously shape and engage with their own worldviews. Life is merely about feeling good in the moment. This is what I would call a negative version of “living in the moment.” The moment becomes all there is.

Jesting with friends is often enjoyable and valuable. But divorced from deeper connection, those friendships will always be shallow. For many friendships, that is fine. Aristotle provided an interesting analysis on the categories of friendship that pertains to this topic. But for close friends, significant matters must permeate certain conversations. How can iron sharpen iron if the iron always wants to be a cushion?

In conversation, it is easy to identify people of depth. Sure, they could split the sides of everyone in a group, but they also have a seriousness beneath the surface: a hope in something beyond themselves, a light that cannot be extinguished, a zeal that invigorates the soul. The story written for this world will always have moments of jocularity, but there will always be times for serious and joyful reflection on the giver of life and light.