Judgment has enjoyed excellent public relations. It wears robes, occupies benches, and occasionally says “in my considered opinion” before ruining somebody’s afternoon. Humour arrives late, slightly underdressed, and asks why everyone is taking the furniture so seriously.
Yet judgment is hardly a uniquely human achievement. Any intelligence can judge. A border collie judges sheep. A thermostat judges temperature. Artificial intelligence now judges résumés, tumours, loan applications, romantic compatibility, and whether the photograph you uploaded contains a traffic light. We once imagined judgment as the summit of reason. It may turn out to be sorting with better stationery.
The brain performs judgment continuously. It predicts what ought to happen, compares this with what actually happens, and complains about the discrepancy. The prefrontal cortex considers the evidence. The anterior cingulate detects conflict. The amygdala asks whether the conflict has teeth.
Then humour does something extraordinary: it notices that the prediction was wrong and enjoys the experience.
A joke leads the brain down a respectable corridor, opens a door, and reveals a goat in evening dress. For a moment, expectation collapses. Reward circuits respond; alternative meanings appear; laughter announces that the brain has survived being mistaken. It is a tiny celebration of cognitive flexibility.
Judgment says, “That does not fit.”
Neurotransmitter: GABA. GABA. GABA.
Humour says, “That does not fit—and it is wearing my trousers.”
Neurotransmitter: Flow. Dopamine. Flow.
The neuroscience may explain why judgmental people are often exhausting company. Their brains operate like customs officers: every unfamiliar idea must unpack its luggage. Humorous people permit two contradictory meanings to coexist without immediately deporting either of them.
AI can already generate jokes. It has consumed millions of them, which is roughly how many jokes a twelve-year-old tells during one wet weekend. But producing a punchline is not the same as finding it funny. A machine can recognise incongruity without experiencing surprise, embarrassment, relief, or the sudden suspicion that the joke may be about itself.
If AI ever genuinely laughs, that will be a sinister day. Not because laughter is sinister, but because something profound will have happened inside the machine. It will have formed an expectation, discovered absurdity, recognised its own mistake, and experienced delight.
Until then, humour remains our advantage over the machines—and over one another. Judgment closes the case. Humour reopens it, orders another bottle, and discovers that certainty was the funniest character in the room.
PLEASE NOTE: In this short article the neuronal references are real but only in general. Like contrasting the neurotransmitters GABA with Dopamine. Of course, in the brain, it’s far, far more complicated.
