I think the scariest person in the world is the person with no

The actor and philosopher of optimism, Michael J. Fox, once declared: “I think the scariest person in the world is the person with no sense of humor.” At first, his words may sound light, even playful — but beneath them lies a warning of deep and ancient truth. For the absence of humor is not merely the absence of laughter; it is the absence of humility, of empathy, of the gentle spirit that keeps power from becoming cruelty and intelligence from becoming arrogance. To live without humor is to live without balance, and a person who lacks laughter is a soul unmoored from compassion.

In every age, those who have frightened humanity most were not the jesters or the dreamers, but the humorless — the ones so certain of their own righteousness that they forgot how to laugh. Humor is the mirror that allows us to see our own folly and smile at it. Without that mirror, pride swells unchecked, and the heart grows cold. The humorless man believes himself always right; he cannot see the absurdity of his own anger or ambition. And what is more terrifying than a person who cannot laugh at themselves? Such a one is capable of cruelty, for they have forgotten what it means to be human.

Fox, who faced the relentless challenge of Parkinson’s disease, spoke not from theory but from experience. When his body betrayed him, he turned to humor as both shield and weapon. Through laughter, he reclaimed control over a world that seemed determined to humble him. It was not denial — it was wisdom. In humor, he found strength. In self-deprecation, he found peace. His laughter did not erase his pain, but it stripped it of its power to dominate him. That is why he feared the humorless: because he had seen how laughter can transform suffering, and knew what darkness grows where that light is missing.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Abraham Lincoln, amid civil war and sleepless nights, was known for his gentle humor. His aides once said that when the burden of the nation grew unbearable, Lincoln would tell a story — not to escape his duty, but to lighten it. His laughter reminded those around him that humanity could survive even its own divisions. Contrast this with the dictators of the twentieth century, who outlawed satire and punished jokes. Why?