"Vladamir (Putin) had invited (President) Medvedev to visit with us in Sochi, Russia's equivalent of Camp David. The mood was festive. Putin hosted a nice dinner, followed by folk dancing. At one point, members of my delegation, including me, were plucked from our seats to take the stage. The dance felt like a combination of square dancing and the jitterbug. I'm sure I would have been more fluid if I'd had a little vodka in my system. Curiously enough, I rarely saw vodka on my trips to Russia, unlike in the old days of communism."
-George W. Bush, Decision Points
I had originally wanted to report these comments about vodka on Facebook, because it struck me as funny. There was irony in the use of vodka by the Spartan leaders of the old regime, and the lack of it by those we perceive as moving towards democracy and freedom. Humor: nothing more. But knowing my Facebook family, I was afraid that in some cases the humor would be lost, and the name "Bush" and the fact that I am reading his memoirs, would bring some hits from the right and left that would go beyond my desire to merely entertain. So I decided to be preemptive and contemplate politics and humor in a blog.
Let me say in defense of fair balance that I read Obama's The Audacity of Hope just prior to the 2008 elections. (Both books, by the way, were gifts from my daughter.) I found Audacity to be powerful, warm, compassionate, and above all, proactive. It was stirring. But I can't remember laughing one time during my read.
On the other hand, I laughed all the way through Decision Points, and kept interrupting Anne and the Australian Open to read anecdotes and funny personal experiences. It made me think about the nature of humor and politics. So I make the following sweeping generalization: though the right wing in American politics is plenty capable of anger, it still seems to have the capacity to laugh, and even laugh at itself. The left, on the other hand, looks like its caricature of the right--deadly serious about everything, puritanical, smileless, capable of humor only as mockery and sarcasm, and (to paraphrase Don Knotts) grimly spreading liberation around the world like a plague.
Why is this? I think it has something to do with God. Conservatives are, well, conservative. In a culture that has been moving to the left for a couple of generations, they are the foot-draggers and the looking-backers. A conservative today is about where a liberal of 20 or 30 years ago was. And because they are holding on to the past, perhaps as far back as Eisenhower, conservatives still have a memory of the Judeo-Christian tradition. (It also means in another 20 to 30 years we’ll all be a super-serious smileless lot, sourly defeating oppression and championing freedom of choice without a grin.) And while there are Christians on the left (Obama counts himself as one), I believe liberals in general are more comfortable with the Humanist Manifesto than the Bible, and breathe a sigh of relief that we are finally rid of God.
I’ve made a lot of assumptions here, and probably dug myself a deep hole, but my point is not really about politics. It is about the relationship of God and humor. I’ve always been fascinated with why things strike us funny, and I’m no further along than when I first began. That makes me think that humor cannot be understood within the realm of human endeavor alone. There is something transcendent about it--some standard of measurement outside ourselves that makes us think of ourselves as odd or out of step, or connected to some entity that sees us differently. CS Lewis said somewhere that the two greatest proofs of the existence of God are that men don’t like to walk by cemeteries at night, and they like to tell dirty jokes. There’s something about our bodies and the juxtaposition of spirit and flesh in one being that is funny to us. Something is wonderfully delightful about being us, something of heaven and earth are entwined within us, and something is also horribly wrong and unadjusted.
Consider the emotional fruits of confession. Con-fessio: to “say with.” In Greek, homo-logeo: to “say the same thing.” Simply put, confession is telling God what He already knows about us. While confession may bring tears and remorse, it’s final manifestation is laughter--a response to finally getting in step with the rest of the universe. Conversion, repentance, confession, redemption, reconciliation, are all words of laughter. Who cannot be moved with the Psalmist’s observation that “weeping may endure for a season, but joy comes in the morning.”
That leads to an even higher transcendence in laughter. God Himself is joyous. In His barely known essence as Three in One there is constant laughter as the Three enjoy one another. God laughs when He beholds His creation. And in some cosmic sense He laughs at us--not the laughter of mockery, but the laughter that comes from seeing His own beauty and joy reflected back to Him in small, fragile creatures that are capable of reason and feeling. It is Satan who is grim with self-determined purpose and discontent.
So here is a test. If you find the following dull and slightly offensive, or don’t get it, welcome to the left. If it makes you laugh, you are still a foot-dragging remnant of the right:
“Putin and I both loved physical fitness. Vladimir worked out hard, swam regularly, and practiced judo. We were both competitive people. On his visit to Camp David, I introduced Putin to our Scottish terrier, Barney. He wasn’t very impressed. On my next trip to Russia, Vladimir asked if I wanted to meet his dog, Koni. Sure, I said. As we walked the birch-lined grounds of his dacha, a big black Labrador came charging across the lawn. With a twinkle in his eye, Vladimir said, ‘Bigger, stronger, and faster than Barney.’ I later told the story to my friend, Prime Minister Stephen Harper of Canada. ‘You’re lucky he only showed you his dog,’ he replied.”
