Introduction

The aim of this paper¹ is to analyse, in logical terms, certain instances of bullying that appear in the form of “jokes”.² These kinds of jokes are, in themselves, a sophisticated form of rhetoric, and phenomena that involve complex communicative techniques. Because of this complexity, they can produce powerful effects— even driving their victims to take their own lives.

This paper does not attempt to present a general theory of bullying. There are, no doubt, many variations of bullying. Some cases are brutally straightforward: like hitting the weak while shouting “How dare you act tough for a loser like you!” or “Cheeky for Ukraine!” What I focus on instead is a more refined form of bullying. To borrow Sugeno’s words again: bullying disguised as play (Sugeno 1986: 16). Let me quote two recent newspaper headlines on such cases: “Bullying at municipal primary school — seen as just horseplay, child stops attending school” (Asahi Shimbun, 16 May 2025) “School perceived it as mere banter, failed to intervene — bullying confirmed in Osaka case of Year 9 student’s suicide” (Asahi Shimbun, 12 May 2025) I would like to bring such “horseplay” and “banter” under the heading of “joke”. The purpose of this paper is to examine the logic behind these kinds of jokes. Unless otherwise stated, whenever I use the word “bullying” hereafter, it refers specifically to bullying that weaponises humour.

1 Bullying and Jokes

In this chapter, I would like to present concrete examples of a particular type of bullying— bullying that weaponises jokes—and examine it in detail. By doing so, I hope to clarify what this paper aims to address.

1.1 The Kagawa Incident

In Beckett and Bullying (Betsuyaku 2005 [1987]), Minoru Betsuyaku offers a detailed analysis of a particular bullying case. The case in question is the so-called “Kagawa Incident” that occurred in 1986: a middle school student, bullied by classmates, eventually took his own life.

Let us follow Betsuyaku’s account of the story. The focus here is on what many in the media regarded as the trigger for Kagawa’s suicide: the so-called “mock funeral”. First, a brief summary of the events.

Kagawa had been absent from school for some time due to an injury. On the day he returned to school, his classmates held a “funeral” for him (Betsuyaku 2005 [1987]: 40). His desk was moved to the front of the classroom, and a photo of him was placed on it. The blackboard was decorated with patterns to create a funeral atmosphere. A large sheet of coloured paper was displayed, bearing the words “Goodbye, Kagawa” in the centre. Around it were farewell messages like “Rest in peace”. Allegedly, some of the messages were written by teachers. When Kagawa arrived and saw the scene, he reportedly said: “What the hell is this?” “So I come to school and this is what I get?” A few days later, Kagawa took his own life.

When we try to interpret this mock funeral as a narrative, there are several elements that resist a straightforward understanding. One is the fact that teachers also wrote farewell messages. Another is Kagawa’s half-laughing reaction: “This is what I get?” Both responses challenge our expectations. For example, in a simple bullying scenario—say, between Gian and Nobita— the teacher would probably scold the bully: “Hey! Don’t pick on the weak!” Or (though one wouldn’t expect it from Nobita), if Dekisugi were the one being bullied, he would probably respond firmly: “What are you doing? Stop that!” Why didn’t the teachers or Kagawa respond like characters in a “Nobita gets bullied” story? That is the mystery we must solve.

Betsuyaku argues that the answer lies in a shift: from the modern “individual (ko)” to the contemporary “isolate (ko)”. According to him, in modern drama, characters are presented as individuals—each with a distinct personality. Dekisugi, for instance, is a textbook example of such an “individual”. But in the contemporary world, that kind of “individual” no longer holds. What exists instead is the isolate, says Betsuyaku.

1.2 Jokes

Even Dekisugi, I believe, would likely have been unable to respond “resolutely” in Kagawa’s situation. That’s because of the unique atmosphere of the bullying scene— an atmosphere that stems from the nature of the “joke”.

Betsuyaku says the following about jokes:

There are all sorts of pranks carried out under the excuse of “It’s just a joke.” You smack someone and then go, “Just kidding!” Under the premise of joking, you can get away with doing rather cruel things. And in those cases, people who don’t understand that it’s a joke are essentially doomed. They get ostracised from the group. (Betsuyaku 2005 [1987]: 70)

The atmosphere produced by jokes— that is what shapes the behaviour of the teachers, of Kagawa, and of the other participants. Jokes create outsiders and define insiders. In short, they create “air”—the unspoken social atmosphere. Trump’s jokes (e.g. about Canada) operate in much the same way.

Trump’s remark that “Canada is the 51st state of America” is, I believe, another example of such a “joke”. Let me cite Yasha Mounk (political scientist), from an article in the Mainichi Shimbun dated 19 May 2025. He discusses “how to properly respond” to Trump’s remarks. Mounk writes:

The real issue is whether Trump, who expresses a desire for territorial expansion, actually intends to redraw the world map. Trump often makes outrageous comments half-jokingly. If you take everything seriously and criticise him, you fall right into his trap. That alienates his supporters—people who hate elites and don’t get humour. At the same time, Trump often uses jokes to convey what he really thinks. (Yasha Mounk, 2025)

With remarks like these, Trump is luring his opponents into a game in which he can’t lose—a “trap”. In this game, taking things seriously is how you lose. If his opponents respond seriously to the provocation, he mocks them with a “Can’t you take a joke?”, and shows off his victory to his supporters (e.g. QAnon followers who loathe elites). Through such jokes, Trump manufactures the air, and traps his opponents in a space where, whether they read the room or not, they end up losing.

2 Lies and Fiction

Whether it’s the “mock funeral” or Trump’s remarks, the jokes discussed here involve complex communication among participants.

In this chapter, I will connect the issue of jokes to the problem of communication. In particular, I want to introduce Daniel Dennett’s concept of depth of intentionality, and use it as a first step towards unravelling the puzzle of the joke.

I’ve said that bullying that weaponises jokes takes place in a context of complex communication. In more colloquial terms, it’s a kind of mutual probing of intentions. Participants try to discern which parts of others’ messages are sincere and which are jokes—a kind of lie. In such spaces, everyone has to read the air.

Analysing such extreme complexity from the outset would be daunting. I would prefer to start from simpler communicative forms, framed in evolutionary terms. The idea that helps here is Dennett’s notion of “depth of intentionality” (Dennett 1996, among others). I will refer to the edited volume in which Dennett himself contributes: Machiavellian Intelligence and the Evolution of Theory of Mind (Byrne & Whiten 2004). It presents a variety of discussions on the evolution of communication from apes to humans.³ As the book’s title “Machiavellian Intelligence” suggests, many evolutionary primatologists contributing to the volume focus on the “threshold” between humans and apes. The authors treat the ability to lie as that threshold. That is: if apes can lie, then no threshold separates them from humans.

2.1 From Mind to Lies

In his chapter The Intentional Stance: Theory and Reality (Dennett 2004), Dennett links Machiavellian intelligence (i.e. lying) to the depth of intentionality—that is, the embedding of thoughts, hopes, and intentions. In this section, I will explain how lying relates to depth of intentionality.

Let me briefly explain the idea of “depth of intentionality”. A first-order intentional system might be something like an air conditioner. The air conditioner believes that “it is currently 30°C”. It desires to “lower the temperature to 26°C”. In this sense, the air conditioner has internal representations—a kind of mind. As an example of a second-order system, take a mouse. Like the air conditioner, the mouse has a mind—it wants to eat. But the mouse goes further than the AC. The mouse knows that “the cat wants to eat the mouse”. The mouse not only has a mind, it also believes that others have minds too (i.e. a “theory of mind”). Then we get to the third-order system: humans (or possibly apes). S intends that “H understands that S intends p”. (This diagram is, as you may notice, straight out of Grice’s theory of communication (Grice 1957).) S (a human or possibly an ape): (1) has a mind, (2) has a theory of mind, (3) and communicates. Of course, only systems capable of communication can lie (i.e. deceive others).

Third-order systems (humans, and maybe apes) are capable of communication. Add malice to that communication, and you get lies. Lies (i.e. Machiavellian intelligence) require no special ability. They are merely third-order intentionality—on par with communication itself. Where communication conveys truth as truth, lies convey falsehood as truth.

Let’s summarise the threshold problem. Contributors to Machiavellian Intelligence consider third-order intentionality (i.e. Machiavellian intelligence) the threshold. Though it’s an empirical matter, various reports suggest that apes are capable of such intelligence.⁴ So if third-order intentionality is the threshold, then no threshold exists.

I argue that the threshold should be drawn elsewhere. Third-order intentionality is not the threshold. Humans possess an ability X that goes beyond it. It is this ability X that marks the boundary between humans and apes. That is the nature of my threshold problem—and its answer.

So then, you might ask, is this special human ability X simply fourth-order intentionality? No, it is not. The leap from 1st to 2nd, and from 2nd to 3rd order, are each qualitative. But once third-order intentionality is attained, moving to higher orders (4th, 5th…) is just a matter of quantity—time and effort. No new leap occurs there.

Dennett poses the question to himself: “Just how high can humans go in intentional depth?” His answer: “In principle, infinitely high.”

Even under ideal conditions, most of us can barely keep up with 5th or 6th-order thinking. Do you understand how difficult it is for me to know whether you are certain that you understand what I’m trying to say when I say that you can recognise that I believe you want me to explain that? (Dennett 2004: 210)

I want to propose that the human ability X is the ability for theatre. Humans can perform. Apes cannot perform. It is this ability that enabled the great leap— the leap that made culture possible.

2.2 From Lies to Fiction

The aim of this section is to briefly summarise the characteristics of theatre. Although theatre certainly represents things that are not real— and could thus be called a kind of lie— it differs fundamentally from the kind of “lie” or “deception” discussed in Machiavellian Intelligence. The lie in that book is a deceptive lie. By contrast, theatre involves lies without deceptive intent—in short, fiction. This section aims to clarify the significance of that distinction.

As already mentioned, communication (conveying truth as truth) is a matter of third-order intentionality. So is lying (conveying falsehood as truth). But theatre (and art more generally) is not about lying. Theatre conveys falsehood as falsehood. Let’s examine how that is even possible.

Theatre achieves this—conveying falsehood as falsehood—by creating two worlds. One is the world of “reality”, in which things that hold are “true”. Within reality, saying something that doesn’t hold is a “lie”. Theatre creates a second world: the world of “fiction”. What cannot hold in reality can hold in fiction. That’s how theatre communicates falsehood as falsehood. And humans have the capacity to live in both these worlds— the capacity for make-believe (Walton 1993).

3 Fiction and Jokes

In this chapter, I want to show that jokes have an even more complex structure than lies or fiction, as discussed so far.

First, I will analyse fiction in theatre. Then, by contrasting that with examples of jokes in bullying, I will focus on how reality and fiction are each configured. The aim is to explain how jokes construct reality and fiction.

3.1 From Fiction to Jokes

Theatre doesn’t merely operate through third-order intentionality (communication, lies); rather, it objectifies that very structure. Theatre creates a separate world of fiction within the real world, allowing that objectification to occur.

An actor pretends to kill someone on stage— but of course, in the real world, he has not killed anyone. With jokes, the situation is even more complicated. In a joke, children pretend to bully one another— and yet, they actually bully.

The key difference lies in how reality and fiction are arranged in theatre versus in jokes. In theatre, the boundary between reality and fiction is already established at the time of performance. This is the so-called “fourth wall”—the imaginary divide between stage and audience. The audience occupies reality, and the actors occupy fiction. Reality does not interfere with fiction, and vice versa. Whatever happens on stage (in fiction), the audience (in reality) does not interfere.

In bullying, the boundary between reality and fiction is blurry. Teachers often say the same thing: “I thought it was playful teasing, not ‘bullying’,” or “I thought it was just roughhousing.” In other words, they thought it was not bullying (reality), but mock-bullying (fiction, theatre, pretend play). One could say that the children pretended to bully—while in fact, they were bullying. A joke conveys something real as if it were fiction.

3.2 The Veil Between Real and Fake

But this conclusion—“conveying truth as falsehood”— is only something we can say after everything is over. The situation while the bullying is still ongoing is even more complex.

Betsuyaku, reflecting on the materials related to the mock funeral, writes the following:

Even the [classmates] themselves probably didn’t know what kind of act it really was. Or rather, they could partly see it as “just a joke”, but partly as a “malicious scheme”. In the end, they were unable to adopt any single unified perspective. (Betsuyaku 2005 [1987]: 42)

Consider a scene in which an actor “kills” someone on stage. Obviously, the actor hasn’t actually killed anyone. In bullying, by contrast, the whole issue is that we don’t know whether what’s happening is fiction or reality. This creates jokes that feel both fictional and real at once.

One moment, an event appears to be fiction; the next, it is seen as reality. The fourth wall disappears—everything becomes real— and suddenly reappears again. Someone who was an audience member may suddenly become an actor on stage—a direct participant. Bullying consists of this kind of oscillation between real and fictional layers. In bullying, meaning is constantly reversing itself.

Conclusion

I have argued elsewhere— in The Aesthetics of Lying (Nakagawa 2017), Quoting and Life (Nakagawa 2016), and How to Find Other Cultures (Nakagawa 2015)— that this kind of reversal of meaning lies at the heart of cross-cultural understanding. And as discussed in the section on “Jokes”, meaning reversal is inherently unstable. A picture that looked like a rabbit may soon look like a duck. And then, once again, it may look like a rabbit. I want to call this back-and-forth movement stumbling. The goal of my next talk, The Virtue of Stumbling, is to explore this mechanism of reversal in greater detail.

Maybe…

4 References {–}