Most of the following blog is devoted to Beatrice Otto’s excellent book on jesters and the explanatory issues it raises. But before turning to that, I should mention three things: First, it may be of some interest to readers of the Literary Universals Project that Ashmita Mukherjee and Suvendu Ghatak interviewed me, primarily on literary universals, for their valuable “Antilibrary Podcast” (see here). Second, I wish to thank Ashmita for introducing me to Otto’s book through her (Ashmita’s) dissertation on anti-colonial Indian humor. I should also apologize for this blog being a month late. My schedule of medical and physical therapy appointments finally—like the omnivorous canine of undergraduate legend–ate my homework.

I do not know how I managed to remain ignorant of Beatrice Otto’s outstanding book for so long. There are relatively few of us, in contemporary academic fields, who unabashedly advocate universalism in any area. You would think then we would all be known to one another. One mitigating factor in my ignorance is the fact that this is not a book about literary universals but about universals in real-life politics. (Otto does devote a chapter to the literary character type and its universality. We will turn to that chapter briefly at the end of the blog.) However, that only slightly limits the book’s relevance to the Literary Universals Project.

The book, as I mentioned, is about jesters. What could be more culturally embedded, you might ask. At first blush, the jester appears to be specific to European monarchial traditions. However, Otto demonstrates that this is not so. Drawing on examples from every region of the world–from not only almost every nation of Europe, but also from China, India, the Middle East, Japan, Sub-Saharan Africa, and pre-colonial America—Otto presents a compelling case that “the court jester . . . is very much a universal character, more or less interchangeable regardless of the time or culture in which he happens to cavort–the same techniques, the same functions, the same license” (xvi). Toward the end of the book, she makes an observation that is directly relevant to everyone interested in universals during this time which is dominated by what we might call “difference bullying,” the tendency for those culturalists and others who see group differences everywhere to bafflingly accuse universalists of racism and sexism, or at least eurocentrism. Specifically, Otto comments that “in observing differences of culture and era, whether to delight in or condemn, there is the risk of underestimating the similarities, which deserve as much celebration as the spice and color of the exotic” (261; her implicit criticism of culturalists as exoticizing other societies, reducing them to “spice and color,” is aptly jester-like in its apparent innocence of critical intent).

I briefly considered devoting this entire blog post to overviewing Otto’s book. However, I realized that I could not capture the richness in her analyses, based as they are on her command of the histories and literatures treated in the book. Her encyclopedic knowledge and insights—as well as humor—would be lost in summary. In the end, I decided that I would merely urge my readers to pick up her book and read it on their own. I will focus instead on what might be added to Otto’s book. There is little if anything that I could add at descriptive level.  Therefore, I will confine myself to a few suggestions for explanations of the phenomena she describes. As Otto explains, “The evidence points to [the jester] having existed across the globe and across history, in most of the major civilizations of the world and many of the minor ones. And while there was certainly cross-fertilization within, let us say, the European tradition, by and large he seems to have arisen spontaneously and independently within societies without their necessarily being aware of his existence elsewhere, suggesting that he fulfills a deep and widespread social need” (xviii). I will focus on that social need. I hope thereby not only to contribute to our understanding of jesters and the needs they fill, but also to expand the ways in which we are inclined to think about the sources of universality. However, before going on to any of that, I need to summarize a few key points from Otto’s book.

The first point that needs clarification is just what defines a jester. Toward the end of the book, Otto discusses a contemporary jester—Paul Birch, a man whose job designation was “corporate jester for British Airways.” Birch acknowledged the obvious importance of humor in his profession, but he pointed out that “the main role of the jester is to challenge. The humor is just the tool” (268). In other words, the jester functions as a sort of devil’s advocate, articulating observations and arguments that weigh against the policies advocated by the monarch or other authority. Thus, the existence of the jester is contingent on his or her criticism of authority fulfilling some need—a need whose function appears decreasingly idiosyncratic as that need turns up again and again in genetically and areally unrelated traditions (Europe, China, India, and so forth).

Whatever social need might be at issue here, the obvious way of fulfilling that need is through explicit remonstrance. Why, then, would the means be repeatedly humorous? As Otto explains, “The preconditions for the emergence of jesters are minimal–some courtlike institution in the form of a head honcho with a partly dependent entourage” (xvii). Surely, a courtlike institution could, in principle, sustain logical analysis or empirically based argument as readily as puns, spontaneous songs in doggerel, and scatological misbehavior (such as eating feces—see Otto [38-40]), with the “jester” proffering the analysis or argument. This is particularly the case when one considers that the jester was typically more or less immune to punishment from the monarch or other “head honcho”—which gives us another cross-culturally recurring feature calling for explanation.

So, to this point, we have three universal properties of jesters that need to be explained. First, there is the social need for the jester to arise as a critic of the powerful. Second, there is the social need for the jester to be granted relative immunity. Third, there is the social need for the jester to use humor as his primary means of conveying criticism. In addition, it may be worthwhile to consider some ancillary or incidental features, such as the frequency with which dwarves are preferred candidates for jesterhood, the fondness that is a recurrent characteristic of relations between ruler and jester, and the ruler awarding the jester a significant role in diplomacy or other aspects of governance (all points observed and documented by Otto).

In many ways, the social need most fundamental to the institution of jesterhood—along with its associated immunity–is obvious. Since China has the longest tradition of jesters, we might focus on that tradition for the moment. Otto stresses that, despite China’s long history of jesters, the Chinese appear to have largely forgotten about jesters. In keeping with this, they provide some exemplary instances of what happens when there is no jester. Consider Mao and the “Great Leap Forward.” The power wielded by Mao at this time was comparable to that wielded by Chinese Emperors. One result was that his subordinates did not tell him the truth about the deep and consequential failure of his policies. Instead, they told him what he wished to hear and what would give him a good impression of the tellers—of their commitment to the cause and of their personal loyalty to Mao. The result was millions of ordinary Chinese dead and a division in the Chinese Communist Party that left Mao himself marginalized, albeit temporarily. (On the Great Leap Forward and its results, see for example Roberts [256-274] and Hyun.) In short, strict social hierarchization encourages sycophancy, and sycophancy fosters the promulgation of harebrained policies, with often disastrous consequences—most tragically for ordinary people, but even for the leader himself or herself. The best response is something along the lines of a Millian free exchange of ideas. But in an authoritarian structure, this poses an obvious risk of undermining the authority of the leader; indeed, it presupposes that such authority has been undermined—a good thing, but one unlikely to be favored by an authoritarian leader himself or herself.

Another option is to allow criticism in a way that is circumscribed. Indeed, criticism circumscribed in source (who can criticize) and manner (how the criticism can be delivered) is a viable option, representing a solution to the problem, but only if a number of conditions are satisfied. First, those who are privileged to criticize the ruler must be trusted by the ruler and trustworthy in his or her regard. To say they are trustworthy in the ruler’s regard is to say that they are benevolent toward him or her and that they are competent to evaluate the matters on which they are advising. (On the twofold criteria for trustworthiness—benevolence and competence–see Hardin.) In connection with this, the “designated critic” should not fear reprisal from the group leader or anyone else. These desiderata are fulfilled by or lead to a number of cross-cultural characteristics of the jester as isolated by Otto. Most obviously, they tell us the need that is satisfied by the jester, who has the primary function of challenging the leader. Specifically, this desideratum (i.e., of challenging the leader) provides the minimal conditions that allow some degree of rational or empirical evaluation to influence royal decisions regarding both “private” acts and public policies. (I place the word, private, in scare quotes to indicate that most of a monarch’s putatively private acts have public consequences.) This also explains the need for the jester to have a reasonable degree of immunity (if he or she is not to become another sycophant). Moreover, the trustworthiness of the jester serves to explain the frequency with which he or she is given authority in diplomacy and related areas of political significance. Finally, the existence of trust begins to suggest why the leader and his or her jester would develop bonds of such intimacy.

But why is all this associated with humor? Why couldn’t the jester simply and straightforwardly articulate his or her challenges? Here, I would like to remain focused on China for the moment, in order to consider another solution to the problem of the isolated leader, as we might call it. I am referring to the practice of fushi, the allusive use of the Classic of Poetry (Shijing). As Cai explains, “Fushi (literally ‘presenting a poem’) refers to the practice whereby high officials of different states would use Shijing poems to convey their states’ political views and positions at a diplomatic encounter. Specifically, fushi practitioners attempted to steer the course of politics by translating one or more Shijing poems into an imaginative analogy for a political situation or position” (“The Cultural Role” 1). In Cai’s words, “Thanks to the subtle and indirect expressive style” of fushi and other techniques, critics could “air . . . grievances with impunity while rulers [could] discern and correct their own errors without losing face” (“Poetry and Ideology” 67). Humor had this face-saving function. Put differently, humor allowed plausible deniability by which criticism could be laughed off as “just a joke.” As Stephen Levinson writes of teasing (an apt characterization of some aspects of jester-ruler interactions—think, for example, of Lear and his fool), “It is an attack on the other’s face, but in being flagged (by smiles, laughter, and intonation) as non-serious, it is partially disarmed” (128). Note that this face-saving function makes the character of the jester an instance of the sort of politeness universals so compellingly argued for by Brown and Levinson. It may also be supplemented by the connection between mirth and childhood, which I have argued for in several publications (see, for example, chapter five of What Literature Teaches Us About Emotion) and which is an obvious parallel for the indulgence shown to jesters and the non-serious treatment of their challenges. This, in turn, suggests a possible explanation for some otherwise surprising cross-cultural patterns, such as the preference for dwarves, which Otto stresses. Indeed, Otto quotes one Chinese text comparing the companionship of dwarves—as rulers often maintained with jesters–to “keeping company with mischievous children” (23). More significantly, the sort of license given to jesters is not entirely dissimilar to the sort of license given to children. It seems at least possible that dwarfism and other factors associated jesters with children; though it was probably unselfconscious for most observers, this association made it more plausible that jesters should be treated as children along axes other than height (e.g., assuming innocence at the root of what, if uttered by adults, would certainly be taken as criticism).

It is also worth noting that the type of argument I have been advancing to explain this universal is not common in literary study; indeed, it hardly occurs at all. Specifically, it is not an argument that we have been biologically (or, sometimes, “bio-socially” or “bio-culturally”) programmed to favor jesters, usually for some reason having to do with the profundity of sexual difference (here the bowerbird may be mentioned). One suggestion of the preceding argument is that, however specialized our genetically determined capacities and inclinations may be in certain respects, there are ways of thinking and feeling that have a broader scope. These ways of thinking and feeling do not need to be explained in extremely particularistic terms. Rather, they recur across parallel situations, which are themselves likely to recur frequently, perhaps for group dynamical reasons. (Sadly, we see a case of this sort in the US today, where a significant number of citizens appear to be favorable toward return to monarchy—without the foresight to advocate its partial mitigation by the presence of a jester.) In short, the appearance of jesters may readily constitute an implicational universal. This is because the conditions of the implication (having a court, etc.) are likely to recur and the reasoning that leads to the consequences of those conditions (the existence of jesters) are widely available. In short, there is no need for positing something along the lines of a jester gene. (This is an implicational universal because the jester appears only when a society has developed a court, etc., as already noted [see Otto xvii]. On implicational and other types of universals, see “What are Literary Universals?” [available here].)

The one drawback to Otto’s analysis and argument is not in any way her fault. It is, rather, the fact that, as she writes, “The court jester is not as universal a figure on stage as he is in court life” (187). She goes on to give examples of literary jesters, especially in India. The relatively greater prominence of a jester character in India is unsurprising, for India developed an indigenous dramatic theory that included a character typology, which itself included the “vidūṣaka” character, whom Otto, quite reasonably takes to be a form of the jester. However, Otto ends up talking to a great extent about characters—such as clowns–who share some qualities with jesters. But the qualities they share are largely those they share by virtue of being amusing. Put differently, all such characters have a place in regional—and, therefore, global—literature simply because the elicitation of mirth is a cross-cultural goal of some literary works in every or nearly every literary tradition. However, once that is said, it becomes obvious why jesters in literature are less common than they are in life. Jesters appear when there is a specific social problem that calls out for resolution—an isolated ruler needs realistic evaluations of his or her practices and policies from a trustworthy source, but those evaluations must be delivered in a face-saving way. In literary situations where this occurs—as it does in King Lear—the jester may be a character. But when the literary situation is simply one in which, say, the author wishes to provoke mirth in his or her audience, there is no need for a jester, rather than a clown, or a braggart soldier, or a hypocritical cleric, or any of the figures who are likely to be the butt of the jester’s jests.

In sum, Beatrice Otto’s book is a genuine scholarly achievement (though, a quarter-century after its publication, this is rather old news), and it is directly relevant to the study of universals, including literary universals. I have merely tried to add some explanatory points about jesters in life and in literature. In addition, I have tried to do so in a way that illustrates how accounts of universals in the humanities generally, and in literary studies in particular, are commonly far too narrow—often assuming that universal = innate and non-innate = vastly different, both of which are false equations.

WORKS CITED

Brown, Penelope, and Stephen Levinson. Politeness: Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987.

Cai, Zong-qi. “The Cultural Role of Chinese Poetry.” In How to Read Chinese Poetry in Context: Poetic Culture from Antiquity through the Tang. Ed. Zong-qi Cai. New York: Columbia UP,1-10.

Cai, Zong-qi. “Poetry and Ideology: The Canonization of the Book of Poetry (Shijing) During the Han.” In How to Read Chinese Poetry in Context: Poetic Culture from Antiquity through the Tang. Ed. Zong-qi Cai. New York: Columbia UP, 65-77.

Hardin, Russell. Trust. Cambridge: Polity, 2006.

Hogan, Patrick Colm. What Literature Teaches Us About Emotion. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011.

Hyun, Chang-Dae (2019) “The Great Leap Famine and Amartya Sen.” Grand Valley Journal of History 7.1 (2019). Available at: https://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/gvjh/vol7/iss1/2 (accessed 4 November 2025).

Levinson, Stephen. The Interaction Engine: Language in Social Life and Human Evolution. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2025.

Otto, Beatrice. Fools are Everywhere: The Court Jester Around the World. Chicago, IL: U of Chicago P, 2001.