Thankfully, we didn't stop at Malta. I think Malta was thankful

Hear now the words of Spike Milligan, the comic sage whose wit cloaked wisdom in laughter: “Thankfully, we didn’t stop at Malta. I think Malta was thankful, too.” At first, the saying strikes the ear as jest, light as air. Yet beneath the humor lies a deeper current, a truth that mingles humility, self-awareness, and gratitude with the timeless art of irony. For the ancients also knew that laughter, when shaped by wisdom, carries truth more swiftly to the heart than solemn speeches.

The first jewel in this phrase is the spirit of thankfulness. Milligan begins by saying “Thankfully,” as though to anchor even his jest in gratitude. This small word reveals that he recognizes fortune and deliverance even in the quirks of travel and circumstance. Gratitude, in this case, is not only for what one gains but for what one avoids. To be thankful for what did not happen is as profound as being thankful for what did. Often the greatest blessings are those unseen disasters that passed us by.

The second flame is humility wrapped in humor. Milligan jokes that Malta itself was thankful they did not stop there, suggesting with self-deprecation that their presence would have been an inconvenience or burden. This humor is a shield against pride, for instead of boasting about his travels, he turns the story inward, making himself the jest. The ancients taught that true wisdom often hides in the mouths of fools, and that those who laugh at themselves carry lighter burdens than those who exalt themselves in every tale.

The third truth in this quote is the recognition of perspective. What seems small—whether a stop on a journey, an event avoided, or a minor decision—can be seen from two sides. For Milligan, the travelers were relieved, and he imagines the islanders relieved as well. In this, he reminds us that our actions affect others, whether we perceive it or not. Even in jest, he draws attention to the way lives intersect, and how gratitude flows not only from the self but also from those around us.

History gives us a mirror in the story of Diogenes of Sinope, the philosopher who wielded mockery to unveil truth. He would jest at kings and commoners alike, showing in laughter the frailty of pride and the folly of excess. Like Diogenes, Milligan uses humor to teach without preaching: that humility, gratitude, and perspective are best carried not with heavy solemnity, but with a light spirit and a smile.

The lesson for us is this: do not despise the lightness of humor, for within it are seeds of wisdom. Be thankful not only for what you receive, but for what you are spared. Learn to laugh at yourself, for humility protects the soul from arrogance. And remember that your actions ripple outward into the lives of others—sometimes with weight, sometimes with comedy, but always with consequence.

Practically, practice thankfulness in all directions. At the end of each day, name not only what you gained but also what you avoided. When speaking of your life, weave in humility, allowing laughter to soften pride. And when you think of others, remember that gratitude flows both ways—sometimes they are thankful for you, and sometimes, in truth, they are thankful to be spared your presence. Such reflection, carried lightly, cultivates both wisdom and joy.

Thus, Spike Milligan’s playful words endure as an ancient teaching disguised in jest: be thankful always, embrace humility, and never forget the power of laughter to reveal truth. For even the lightest joke can carry the heaviest wisdom, and in humor, the human soul finds both relief and understanding.