It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you

“It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.” Thus spoke Max Eastman, the philosopher and essayist who understood the subtleties of laughter and the pride of the human heart. In these few words, he revealed a truth that stretches beyond jest — a lesson about humility, grace, and the quiet strength of the self-assured soul. For to make a joke is easy; it requires wit and timing. But to take a joke, to receive laughter directed at oneself without anger or vanity, demands wisdom, patience, and a spirit unafraid of imperfection.

In the ancient way, let us begin with the heart of the saying. Humor, when pure, is a bridge between people — a joining of souls in shared laughter. Yet too often, that bridge collapses beneath pride. Many can laugh when they are the jesters; few can laugh when they are the subject. The one who can bear laughter at his own expense shows that he has conquered the most difficult of enemies: his ego. Such a man or woman stands serene amid mockery, for they know that their worth is not diminished by the smile of another. Thus, Eastman’s teaching is not about jokes, but about mastery of the self.

The ancients praised this virtue in their own language. The Stoics taught that a person’s peace should never depend upon the opinions of others. Epictetus would have nodded at Eastman’s wisdom, for he too believed that laughter, insult, and praise are but passing winds. To be moved by them is to give one’s power away. But to smile when others laugh at you — that is to show that you no longer live in the fragile house of pride, but in the fortress of self-knowledge. Indeed, it is in the taking of a joke that the human spirit proves its maturity.

Consider, if you will, the example of Abraham Lincoln. Few men were mocked as often as he — for his homely face, his awkward gait, his plain speech. Yet he bore every jest with kindness. Once, when accused by a rival of being two-faced, Lincoln replied with a smile, “If I were two-faced, do you think I’d be wearing this one?” In that moment, the laughter turned from mockery to admiration. Lincoln had not only taken the joke, he had transformed it — proving his sense of humor and his strength. He showed what Eastman meant: that to receive laughter gracefully is to hold dominion over one’s pride.

To make a joke is to exercise wit; to take a joke is to exercise character. The first entertains the world, the second uplifts it. For when one accepts laughter without bitterness, they teach others to be at ease, to take life less gravely. In this way, humor becomes not a weapon, but a healing art. The one who cannot take a joke lives imprisoned by self-importance; but the one who can laugh at themselves walks free. Eastman’s insight, though cloaked in simplicity, is the key to that freedom.

This truth is not only for jesters or philosophers, but for all who walk among others. In family, in friendship, in love, the ability to laugh at oneself is the balm that heals conflict. Pride builds walls; laughter breaks them. The one who responds to teasing with warmth, not wrath, transforms potential strife into joy. It is as the sages said: “He who conquers himself is greater than he who conquers a city.” For to conquer pride is to win the quietest, yet greatest, of victories.

So, my children, learn from Max Eastman’s wisdom. When others jest at your expense, do not harden your heart. Smile. Laugh if you can. Ask yourself not, “Why are they laughing at me?” but “Why should I not join them?” For laughter shared, even at your own cost, becomes a sign of strength. Let humility be your armor, and humor your sword. Those who can take a joke prove not their weakness, but their courage — the courage to be human, imperfect, and free.

In the end, remember this: it is not the quickness of your wit, but the largeness of your heart, that measures your sense of humor. The world is full of those who can mock, but it needs more who can forgive, more who can laugh without cruelty, and be laughed at without shame. For such laughter is divine — the laughter of those who know themselves and have made peace with the truth. And in that laughter, my children, dwells the highest form of wisdom.