"The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes fun of himself, but in so doing, he identifies himself with people - that is, people everywhere, not for the purpose of taking them apart, but simply revealing their true nature"
About this Quote
Thurber draws a neat taxonomy with a trapdoor in it: the moment humor turns outward, it risks becoming a weapon; the moment it turns inward, it becomes a handshake. He’s not just sorting comic styles, he’s arguing for an ethic. “Wit” is social intelligence used competitively, a way to win a room by making someone else smaller. “Satire” scales that up: the target is “the world,” which sounds grand but can also become a posture of superiority, the performer hovering above the mess, pointing.
Then Thurber pivots to the humorist, and the language softens into something almost democratic. “Makes fun of himself” isn’t self-pity; it’s a deliberate surrender of status. By volunteering as the butt of the joke, the humorist earns permission to speak about everyone else without turning people into specimens. The key phrase is “identifies himself with people everywhere,” a claim about solidarity disguised as a craft tip.
Context matters: Thurber wrote in a midcentury America where magazine humor (The New Yorker, especially) could easily harden into urbane cruelty or smug sophistication. His own comic world is full of anxious men, domestic stalemates, and private fantasies collapsing in public. Self-mockery becomes a way to confess the shared delusions beneath “normal” life.
The subtext is a warning to comedians and audiences alike: laughter can be extraction (taking people apart) or revelation (showing “true nature”). Thurber insists the better joke doesn’t prosecute; it recognizes. In an age that still rewards dunking, he’s making a case for humor as intimacy rather than dominance.
Then Thurber pivots to the humorist, and the language softens into something almost democratic. “Makes fun of himself” isn’t self-pity; it’s a deliberate surrender of status. By volunteering as the butt of the joke, the humorist earns permission to speak about everyone else without turning people into specimens. The key phrase is “identifies himself with people everywhere,” a claim about solidarity disguised as a craft tip.
Context matters: Thurber wrote in a midcentury America where magazine humor (The New Yorker, especially) could easily harden into urbane cruelty or smug sophistication. His own comic world is full of anxious men, domestic stalemates, and private fantasies collapsing in public. Self-mockery becomes a way to confess the shared delusions beneath “normal” life.
The subtext is a warning to comedians and audiences alike: laughter can be extraction (taking people apart) or revelation (showing “true nature”). Thurber insists the better joke doesn’t prosecute; it recognizes. In an age that still rewards dunking, he’s making a case for humor as intimacy rather than dominance.
Quote Details
| Topic | Funny |
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