The Fine Line of Humor: Navigating Wit and Wisdom in Comedy

Punching down gets laughs. It’s no shocker: being mean and hurtful can be incredibly funny. There’s almost nothing funnier than a perfectly crafted savage takedown. Ask any queer kid ’round these parts– they’ll tell you that read (is what?!) fundamental. Reading is the perfectly crafted take-down. It doesn’t always have to be mean, but when its done well, it can make you howl so hard your sides hurt. This raw humor, though, often teeters on the edge of Ahimsa, the yogic principle of non-harming. Choosing humor that doesn’t harm, even when it’s more instinctive to do so, is a reflection of kindness in thoughts, words, and actions.

In the comedy club where I worked in my 20s, I saw the allure of such humor. I admired the likes of Joan Rivers. But then, there was also a lot of interest in Jeff Dunham’s puppets, which many find hilarious. I think they often cross into the territory of racism. George Lopez, mined these kinds of tropes of divisiveness with a humor that was very “white people be like” and “brown people be like.” if not for examples like Gabrielle Iglesias, who cleverly turns stereotypes on their head, I wouldn’t know that these talents could even offer more thoughtful humor that is also outrageously funny.

I think that finding the outrageously funny without punching down should be the natural evolution of a comedian’s craft. This shift towards a non-harming approach in comedy aligns with the discipline of Tapas, requiring self-control to refine one’s comedic style for a more positive impact.

My journey in comedy, inspired by the go-for-the-jugular style of Kathy Griffin and Joan Rivers, was initially about going for that immediate BIG laugh. Yet, embracing the principle of Satya, or truthfulness, I’ve grown to understand the importance of authenticity in humor, especially in reflecting societal issues and personal experiences. I want to make like good improv and have my humor be very “yes, and” instead of antagonistic towards the already undermined.

Dave Chappelle’s work, particularly his commentary on trans rights, presents an interesting case of Satya intersecting with Ahimsa. His style, while often truthful, sometimes overshadows the principle of non-harming when he dehumanizes trans people in his work. It highlights the importance of being conscious consumers of media and art, understanding the profound impact these voices have on society.

The true art in comedy, akin to the essence of yogic practice, lies in making a lasting, positive impression. The comedic greats, like Joan Rivers, show that humor can be impactful without being overtly nice. She moved the needle for the girls and the gays, and wasn’t exactly nice about it. It’s about striking a balance, fostering growth and understanding, much as Svadhyaya, or self-study, teaches us to reflect on the impact of our actions.

As I reflect on my journey, I recognize the significance of Ishvara Pranidhana – surrendering to a higher purpose. In comedy, like in yoga, it’s not just about fame claiming or status jockeying; it’s about using our craft to inspire change, to elevate the conversation, and to contribute to the greater good.

To be an advocate through humor or yoga isn’t always a choice, but it’s a powerful path when chosen. It’s not about advocating bigotry but about using our platforms to foster a kinder, more conscious world. This is the essence of yoga in comedy – balancing humor with compassion, insight, and the intention to transform, both ourselves and our audience.