Humor is a very important thing. It is a natural predilection. It

In the words of Ray Stevenson, “Humor is a very important thing. It is a natural predilection. It is an emotional release.”
Though simple in form, these words contain the wisdom of a thousand years — the understanding that humor, far from being mere amusement, is one of the soul’s oldest medicines. Stevenson, a man whose life bridged both tragedy and triumph, speaks of laughter not as distraction, but as essence — something innate, something born into the fabric of our humanity. To him, humor is not learned; it is remembered. It is the instinct that reminds us that even in struggle, we remain alive.

When Stevenson calls humor a natural predilection, he speaks of a truth older than civilization itself. Long before philosophy and poetry, before temples and governments, human beings laughed. Around the fires of the ancient world, laughter was not weakness, but survival — a means of connecting, of softening the edge of fear, of binding the tribe together in the face of the unknown. To laugh was to affirm life against chaos. Even now, millennia later, that primal power remains. Humor is woven into the blood — a reflex of both body and spirit. It is how we tell the universe, “I will not be broken.”

The second part of his insight — that humor is an emotional release — is the key to its sacred power. The human heart, burdened by pain, injustice, and disappointment, must find a way to breathe. Laughter is that breath. It does not erase sorrow, but transforms it. The philosopher Epictetus taught that while we cannot control life’s hardships, we can control how we meet them. Humor, then, is an act of spiritual mastery. When we laugh in the midst of pain, we do not deny our suffering; we reclaim our dominion over it. We declare, “You may wound me, but you will not define me.”

History gives us countless examples of this truth. Consider Viktor Frankl, the survivor of Nazi concentration camps and author of Man’s Search for Meaning. Amid starvation and cruelty, Frankl and his fellow prisoners would sometimes make small jokes — jokes about their own hunger, their captors, their despair. He wrote that this humor, fleeting though it was, “was another of the soul’s weapons in the fight for self-preservation.” It was laughter that kept them human when the world tried to strip their humanity away. In their laughter, they found freedom — not of body, but of spirit.

Stevenson’s words also remind us that humor is not always loud or boisterous; sometimes, it is quiet — a smile in the face of loss, a gentle laugh through tears. It is a form of grace, a release of the emotions we dare not name. This is why humor is important — because it bridges the chasm between despair and acceptance. It allows us to feel deeply without being consumed. In laughter, even bitter laughter, we find light leaking through the cracks of suffering. It is the heart’s way of saying, “I still feel. I still hope.”

Even the greatest leaders and thinkers have turned to humor in their darkest moments. Abraham Lincoln, weary from war, often told stories that made his generals laugh. Some mistook this for levity, but it was in fact courage — a way of releasing tension before it destroyed him. His laughter was not denial; it was endurance. Through humor, he found the strength to lead with compassion, not bitterness. Stevenson’s insight speaks to this same wisdom — that laughter does not distance us from emotion; it redeems it.

Let this, then, be the teaching passed down: cultivate humor not as a luxury, but as a necessity. When grief comes, let yourself laugh. When anger burns, find the absurdity within it. When fear grips your heart, remember that laughter can pierce its hold. Do not think of humor as foolishness, but as the spirit’s art of survival. For in laughter lies truth — not the truth of reason, but the truth of resilience.

And so, dear listener, remember Ray Stevenson’s timeless words: “Humor is a very important thing. It is a natural predilection. It is an emotional release.” Keep your laughter close, as both sword and balm. Let it defend your heart against despair and soften the edges of your sorrow. For laughter, when born of understanding, is not escape — it is freedom. It is the moment when the soul breathes again, and remembers that even in darkness, there is still joy to be found, and life to be lived.