Over two hundred and fifty years later the cultural relevance of Bickham’s work has diminished. While modern citizens of Great Britain might recognize the portrait of their first Prime Minister, it’s understandable if the typical modern viewer misses the reference to the colossus as a sarcastic metaphor for Walpole’s political control. Likewise, it’s quite possible that in just a decade or so the iPod advertisement referenced in Forkscrew’s poster will have faded from the public consciousness, and the poster’s satiric reading will be lost on future generations of viewers.

The very elements that make for a strong satirical image seem to also guarantee the image’s obsoleteness or potential misinterpretation in the future. But that doesn’t mean that the pursuit of graphic satire is a fruitless occupation: a built-in contextual shelf-life is not unique to satirical works. What it does indicate is that a successful satirist needs to maintain a nimble awareness of her audience’s visual literacy, tastes, and opinions in order to craft a powerful message. Obscure, overly academic, or out-of-date references don’t make for a provocative satire, and neither does the mundane — which is part of the reason why what was considered to be sharp commentary centuries or even decades ago now seems quaint to the average modern viewer.

And it is the provocative nature of satire that makes these images so intriguing, and not — as some have assumed over the centuries — that they have any moral or persuasive value. Satire has an edge to it that puts it in a category apart from both straight comedy and activism, even though it can operate in tandem with them both.

The value of a satiric work is not in whether it was successful in changing minds or procuring belly laughs, but in the exploration of an idea or the communication of a critique. Dustin Griffin delineates this approach to satire as a “…rhetoric of inquiry, a rhetoric of provocation, a rhetoric of display, a rhetoric of play,” and suggests that the satirist creates “…in order to discover, to explore, to survey, to attempt to clarify,” as opposed to attempting to accomplish a “predetermined purpose.” ⁴ The result, then, is a multifaceted exploration of a topic that is gratifying for both the artist and the audience.

Perhaps one of the most impressive recent examples of this theory in action is Stephen Colbert’s performance at the 2006 White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner (fig. 11.) Before the President and assembled members of the press, Colbert delivered a satirically brutal monologue that was received with an icy, uncomfortable silence:

“Here’s how it works: the president makes decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Just put ‘em through a spell check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know, the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration. You know — fiction! ” ⁵

If his intent had been to amuse the assembled audience, then his performance was a failure. Indeed, the bulk of the following day’s coverage of the event barely mentioned his act, and those few who did review it were critical of how un-funny it was. And if Colbert’s performance was intended to berate the either the press or the president into changing their ways, then it failed in that regard as well.

Colbert’s success was made evident later, when a c-span broadcast of the performance became an Internet sensation, accumulating roughly 2.7 million views on YouTube in less than fourty-eight hours. ⁶ It is worth noting that the satirical genius of the performance was derived from the same place as the historical prints discussed earlier — in the difference between what was expected of an entertainer at such an event and the twist that Colbert instead provided with his ironic caricature of a right-wing pundit. His monologue was a failure as persuasive activism, and bombed as a stand-up routine, but the public loved it because it had a resonance that neither of those modes could provide on their own.

Russell Peterson discusses this function of satire in Strange Bedfellows: How Late-Night Comedy Turns Democracy into a Joke:

“Colbert’s real achievement… lies not in policing the standards of another profession, but in asserting those of his own: for if ‘speaking truth to power’ is part of the journalist’s job, it is the satirist’s primary mission — a higher calling, in fact, than merely being funny.” ⁷

In this way, satire is a method that allows an artist to explore truths ignored or suppressed by mainstream media and public opinion. Satire provides an outlet for the artist’s frustrations, and entices the audience to respond, and though the outcome is tongue-in-cheek, the motivation for creating the work is sincere.

If ‘speaking truth to power’ is part of the journalist’s job, it is the satirist’s primary mission — a higher calling, in fact, than merely being funny.”
— Russell Peterson, in Strange Bedfellows: How Late-Night Comedy Turns Democracy into a Joke

While satirists may recognize that war, corruption, and greed have always been a part of the human condition and aren’t going to go away any time soon, they also care enough to want to interject their voice into the public conversation. George Bickham, junior was truly bothered by Walpole’s influence, William Hogarth’s disdain for popular fashion was well-documented, Forkscrew was surely disturbed by Americans’ apathetic acceptance of torture, and Stephen Colbert was honestly peeved at the press corps’ tender treatment of the Bush Administration. Satire is not a pursuit for the nihilistic.

Regardless of whether the audience is clapping enthusiastically or silently boiling in anger, the satirist has done her job. If satire is the inquisitive, provocative, playful investigation of a topic, then the ability to open a dialogue or debate is at the heart of a satire’s nature.