Whimsy

Without the safety to let one's mind play, without the freedom to think any thought just for the fun of imagining, we might find that childhood rhyme terrifying. Yet most of us hearing it are amused, not frightened. Although the poem threatens both the dependability of what one sees with one's own eyes and the logic of what one thinks with one's own mind, the little doggerel delights by being whimsical. Indeed, it is a pleasure not because it denies logic and senses, but because it toys with them as if they were mere playthings.

Many years ago, I tried to think through some of the development of a sense of humor, both the nature of humor itself and the gift of laughter (Poland 1996). Yet each time I tried to grasp whimsy, I was stopped, unable to hold it in my hands.

In the many years since then, I have continued to think about the subject. When I saw something whimsical, I was amused; but whenever I tried to reason out the nature of whimsy, I felt bemused. How could it be that something could give me so very much pleasure yet I could never grasp it? I tried. I failed. I tried again and I failed again. Over and over and over.