May One Joke About Religion?

A number of relatives and friends have followed my first forays into the strange country of Blogostan. One of them criticized the fact that my tone occasionally becomes flippant, implying that this is inappropriate when one is dealing with a serious topic like religion. I’ll accept the charge of flippancy, if by that is meant recurring incursions of humor. I disagree that this is inappropriate if the topic is religion.

There is first of all the assumption that joking about something or someone is a sign of disrespect. Humor is a multifaceted phenomenon, and there are indeed cases where it is used to attack or disparage. But that is not generally so. In ordinary human relations one often jokes about people one cares about, indeed feels safer in doing this as against doing it with strangers, because bonds of affection take the sting out of the jokes. Family members can make jokes about each other that would be resented if made by an outsider.

But there is a more important issue here. Just what is “serious” and what is “unserious”? It is generally believed that tragedy is more serious than comedy. I have argued that this is in itself an irreligious view (I have actually written a book about this, Redeeming Laughter, 1997). Tragedy portrays the human condition in the bonds of finitude and failure. The tragic hero always dies. Comedy suggests that the bonds can be broken and that the failure can be reversed. The clown always gets up again, no matter how often he has been knocked down. Tragedy occurs in the context of an unredeemed, perhaps unredeemable world. The clown is a figure of redemption.

Looking at the world as it is given in our experience, tragedy would seem to provide the more accurate portrayal. We know that we ourselves and everyone we care about are headed for extinction. So is our planet, the solar system and, unless the astronomers change their mind, so is the entire physical universe. The ultimate fate of all that exists is nothingness, without meaning and without hope. Looked at empirically, tragedy is indeed more “serious”, more in tune with reality.

Religion is, almost by definition, a rejection of that reality. It is the most audacious idea that human beings have ever conceived—namely, that there is a reality beyond the empirical world, and that this reality is benign. Put differently, religion is based on the proposition that the universe is meaningful in human terms. If that should turn out to be true, comedy is much more “serious” than tragedy, because it foreshadows an ultimate reality in which, however often we are knocked down, we shall eventually get up again. Put differently again, we are ultimately entitled to laugh.

To say this is by no means to offer some kind of proof that religion is true. Contrary to what religious spokesmen like to say, there are excellent reasons to think that the religious proposition is an illusion. It is reasonable to be skeptical about all religious claims, to be an agnostic. (Atheism is another matter. It is rather childish. I would define an atheist as an individual who has been assured by a voice from heaven that heaven does not exist.) The religious alternative is not unreasonable, but it transcends reason. It is the outrageous bet on the final legitimacy of joy. It allows us to laugh, as it were, sub specie aeternitatis.

This is heavy stuff, not to be pursued within this particular Blogostani exercise. But let me practice what I have just preached, and tell some explicitly religious jokes. For this occasion, I’ll stay within the broad Protestant community. (A Chinese sage said: If you are going to laugh at people, it is prudent to begin with your own.)

Episcopalians (who in the United States are usually assigned the top level of the status system): In an affluent community in Connecticut the children of the Sunday school are putting on a Christmas play. The little boy, who is supposed to play the innkeeper in Bethlehem who turned away the holy family, is terribly nervous, terribly afraid of forgetting his lines. He opens the door, looks at the children playing Mary and Joseph. He says, “There is no room at the inn…” then stops, doesn’t know how to go on, then adds, “But come in anyway and have a drink.”

Lutherans (whose theology says that we are saved by faith alone, not by good works): Two Lutheran pastors have died at the same time. They arrive together in hell. The registrar devil takes down their particulars, then says, “Alright, gentlemen. I’ll now conduct you to the Lutheran section of hell…” – “What, there is a Lutheran section of hell?!” – “Yes, of course,” says the devil, “in a moment you will meet Dr. Martin Luther himself.” One pastor turns to the other, “Damn – so it is works after all!”

Unitarians (who are proud of having no binding doctrine, call themselves a “community of seekers”): What is the opening line of the Unitarian version of the Lord’s Prayer? – “To whom it may concern.” And: What happens when you cross a Unitarian with a Jehovah’s Witness? You get someone who goes from house to house, and doesn’t know why.

Methodists (who, at least in theory, are supposed to abstain from alcoholic beverages): In a crowded restaurant the headwaiter comes out and asks for a moment of silence – “Is there a Catholic priest in the house?”. No response. “An Episcopal priest?” No response. “Perhaps a Lutheran pastor?” Still no response. A man in the back raises his hand – “If it is a matter of spiritual counseling, I happen to be a Methodist minister.” The headwaiter shakes his head – “Forget spiritual counseling, I can’t find my corkscrew.”

Southern Baptists (known, rightly or wrongly, for their conservative morals): Why are Southern Baptists against extramarital sex? – Because it might lead to dancing.

Pentecostals (who pray with their hands raised): How do you ask a meeting of Pentecostals who wants coffee during the break. You say, “Will all those who want coffee during the break please lower their hands.”

My origins are in Vienna, a place with a long tradition of joke telling. Once I start, I feel like a serial killer who leaves notes saying “Stop me! Stop me!” I’ll stop.