INSIGHTS

WHEN H.L. Mencken defined puritan-ism as the fear that someone somewhere might be happy, he was displaying one of America’s most unforgiving wits. Freud, who, as nearly as I can tell, was devoid of wit, said that wit masks hostility, and in Mencken’s case it probably did. But let’s not get too heavy or too picky. Wit represents one of the braver ways of coping with some of life’s absurdities. Wit, too, is a tonic that helps us avoid getting too comfortable with our dogmas. Wit at its best lodges in your mind in a way that humor never does.

Unlike humor, which has a gentle nature, wit has a serrated edge and is irreverent and unrelenting. While humor helps us laugh things off, wit induces discomfort in its targets and makes us wince as we laugh. Humor can heal, but wit lays things bare. And wit certainly does not subscribe to the notion that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

Once, at a cocktail party that writer Dorothy Parker was attending, a stunning blonde entered, and all heads turned in her direction. Her leg had been broken, probably at Gstaad. She was radiant, nevertheless. Someone whispered, “What happened to her leg?” Parker, who was rather plain-looking, murmured, “She broke it sliding down a barrister.”

Wit has always relished organized religion for the same reason an excellent batter likes a medium-fast ball waist-high across the heart of home plate. This Sunday, don’t look for any churchmen to quote G.K. Chesterton, who said that the only trouble with Christianity is that it’s never been tried. And get ready for one of history’s longest penances if you dare bring up Oscar Wilde’s observation, “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” If that thought ever catches on, we’ll see our churches transformed into Gothic condos overnight.

For politicians, wit can be as useful as inherited wealth. With its power to penetrate, wit can deliver the votes as unfailingly as Chicago’s late mayor, Richard Daley. But few political figures have ever used wit as adroitly as Winston Churchill, who said of his opponent, Clement Attlee: “A modest man, and I know no one with more to be modest about.” Or his remark about the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Stafford Cripps: “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

Wit, I think, has a hard time in Texas, partly because of the natural courtesy and respect for authority you find in so many Texans. It also has to do with the chauvinism of Texas men who prefer sweetness over wit in their womenfolk. Tallulah Bankhead is just not what these men have in mind -not a woman who would say, “I’m as pure as driven slush.”

Wit is iconoclastic and flourishes best in cities. We may have urban centers in Texas, but it’s an overstatement to call them cities when no one lives in our downtowns. Wit does not seem to be a product of malls.

When skillfully used, wit has a great ability to defuse tense situations. Consider the story about Maxwell Perkins, the great Scribner’s editor who worked with some of the century’s most important authors – F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Wolfe. Perkins was Hemingway’s editor and was enormously taken with the young writer’s style. Hemingway was a distinct break from the past; he was particularly determined to have his dialogue reflect language as people spoke it. Perkins knew, however, the formal sensibilities that Scribner’s Publishing Co. stood for and upheld. On this particular day, Perkins was nervous and scared; the editors were supposed to discuss The Sun Also Rises, and he was afraid Charles Scribner would demand that the dialogue be cleaned up and rinsed out. If it was, Perkins was certain Scribner’s would lose Hemingway to another publisher, something he desperately wanted to avoid. Perkins had scribbled on a piece of paper the three words used in the book that he knew would be most offensive. (They are among the Moral Majority’s least favorite four-letter words.) On his way to the meeting, Scribner stopped by Perkins’ desk and happened to see the piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment, then said to Perkins that it was a sorry state of affairs when a man had to write a note reminding himself to do such elemental things. Scribner’s wit helped give Perkins the confidence to fight successfully for the inclusion of those words.

Wit, in the right hands, has surprising power and impact. It can deflate a pretension or even a country. S.J. Perelman said of Egypt, “It’s not the heat – it’s the cupidity.” Wit’s only problem seems to be that the demand for it outruns the supply.