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THE PSYCHOLOGY OF LAUGHTER

Boris Sidis, Ph.D., M.D.

© 1913, 1919, 1923

 

CHAPTER XXII

RIDDLE, DISSOCIATION, AND SURPRISE

        Laughter is the result of tapping new sources of subconscious reserve energy; the element of suddenness, or of surprise must be taken into consideration. The turn in the joke or in the ludicrous must come in a sudden sharp way, thus heightening the contrast effects and setting the hidden energies into activity by liberating the unused, accumulated surplus energy. When the same joke is repeated a few times it becomes stale. When the result of the comic becomes known beforehand the laughter is deadened. Surprise at the unexpected, when of a pleasant character, is generally provocative of a smile or of laughter, but when connected with the elements of inferiority and stupidity of the object or of the given situation the laughable effect is irresistible.

        The audience must have the feeling of expectancy and of surprise at the outcome. The outcome must not be too obvious. A veil must be skillfully thrown over the last results. The inference must be left to the listener or to the looker-on. As Aristotle would put it, the joke and the comic must be of the nature of an enthymeme, the conclusion should be omitted. A veil of a gauzy, transparent character must be thrown over the outcome. The conclusion must not be seen, and still it must be sufficiently indicated indirectly so that the audience should be sure to supply it from its own mental resources.

        This artistic illusion of suggestiveness, of indirect suggestibility, is one that specially delights the audience. In the joke, as in the comedy, the audience is apparently made to participate in the act. The audience is thrown skillfully on its own inner resources and is artfully made to supply the missing links. Such a skillful maneuver, when successfully carried out, sets the audience in an uproar of uncontrollable laughter.

        The joke and the comic are constructed like a riddle, but unlike the usual riddle or charade the solution must be given in the puzzle. The answer must be given in the very substance of the joke or of the comic.   In the riddle and in the conundrum the solution is hidden, and the more hidden the solution is, the better the riddle is appreciated. Not so is it in the joke and the comic―the solution is hidden and still is fully apparent or transparent to the audience. The riddle needs an explanation, and the harder it is to find the explanation, the more difficult the solution is, the better is the riddle. Quite opposite is the case with the joke and the comic. Nothing kills a joke so much as an explanation. The joke and the comic resemble the riddle in the fact that the conclusion or the solution is not given, but while in the riddle all efforts are made to hide the solution, in the joke and the comic the solution lies on the surface; the hiding is only a matter of playful semblance.

        In the different forms of the ludicrous, in the joke and in the comic, the riddle is such that one has to find out at a glance where the defect, the subnormal, the stupid lies. Now the stupid may be in act, in behavior, in manners, in costume, or it may be in a higher sphere, namely, in the moral and in the intellectual―it may be a lapse or permanent defect of moral or of reasoning capacities. In the ultimate analysis all these different varieties can be referred to sheer stupidity.

       When a man runs and slips we may laugh when the person is young. What is expected of him is agility, motor control which indicates an active mind. The slip ping of a young person is an indication of a sluggish mind. Should the person suffer from motor disturbances or be old there would be compassion and not laughter. A young person playing croquet, for instance, and taking his aim and missing is laughed at, because it is an indication of his psychomotor sluggishness. Similarly I once observed great hilarity in onlookers at a person who was sitting on a stout branch and sawing it in front of him, and then coming down, branch and all. The laughter was clearly on account of the person's stupidity.

        When again a man walks in a solemn way, slips, falling into mud, showing signs of ill temper, the tendency to laughter is enhanced in the bystanders. The person reveals by his anger his silliness, which is laughed at. A marionette acting like an intelligent person is laughed at because of the absence of reason which we find in it. Thus Collodi in his "Pinochio" describes "the people in the street, seeing the wooden marionette running as fast as a rabbit, stopped to look at it, and laughed, and laughed." They laughed at the marionette and at the awkwardness of the men chasing a wooden, senseless marionette. A person acting like a thing or like a machine is laughed at. For mechanical action, automatism, indicates lack of reasoning, deficiency of intellect―stupidity.

        A person tossed about like a ball, as Sancho Panza  is ludicrous, because he becomes assimilated to a wooden object or to a rubber ball; in other words, the image of the blockhead hovers before our mind and we regard the man as a fool. Similarly clowns behaving stiffly like wooden sticks and treating their heads like wooden balls are ludicrous, because they clearly, though indirectly, tell the audience by their actions: we are marionettes, we are blockheads. All awkward, clumsy, motor adjustments are ludicrous, because they indicate to people who judge of the mind by the motor reactions that the intelligence is dull, torpid, and inactive.

        Even in the case of moral defects we do not laugh at the clever rogue, but at the knave and the scoundrel who, through stupidity, disclose their dishonesty and knavery. We do not laugh at the crimes and sins of guilty persons, but we laugh at their silliness and stupidity. In the same way worn-out ceremonies, customs, manners, rites, and beliefs are ridiculed, because there is no sense behind them, because they are stupid. It is not moral depravity that is laughed at, but it is torpid, mental inactivity, stupidity. Crime and sin are punished by law and religion, but stupidity is chastened by laughter.

        We must, however, remind the reader of the importance of the surprise element. The foolishness pointed out should not be of a character to which we are accustomed, which we know and with which we are familiar in the ordinary intercourse of life. The novelty of the silly aspect is an important element in the ludicrous. What we are accustomed to no longer arouses our energies, it falls below the threshold of stimulation. A joke by repetition becomes stale. Repetition is fatal to the comic. Ever new displays, ever new insights into man's stupidity and into the depths of human folly are the requirements of the ludicrous.

        It is the first solution of the puzzle that pleases, there is no second solution. In the same way with the ludicrous it is the first realization of the joke and of the comic that electrifies us, the second one leaves us indifferent, and the third or more makes us turn up our nose. We positively dislike a joke that is often repeated, it is an indication of poverty of thought, of stupidity, and as such is apt to excite in us a derisive smile at the person who tells it.

        The novel aspect o f human folly is a requisite of laughter. We do not laugh at what is usual and customary, even if at first we may regard it as silly and foolish. Custom is the tyrant of men and holds them in bonds stronger than steel. Gradually the ludicrous side dwindles away as we get used and accustomed to the stupidity and take it as part and parcel of life. On the one hand, the customary, as it becomes interwoven with our spirit, becomes by it rationalized, and, on the other hand, the unusual, the strange, the uncustomary, even if good and rational, appears to us as irrational and therefore seems to us ludicrous.   A good example is the Asiatic coming into European society. We may also quote Herodotus in the strong contrasts he makes between Egyptian and Hellenic customs, contrasts which must have greatly amused the Greek world. It requires the whole farce of genius to discover stupidity in hallowed custom, or to see the rational in the unusual.

        In his essays Montaigne expresses tersely the great power of custom:

       He seems to have had a right and true apprehension of the power of custom, who first invented the story of a country woman who, having accustomed herself to play with and carry a young calf in her arms, and daily continuing to do so as it grew up, obtained this by custom, that, when grown to be a great ox, she was still able to bear it. For, in truth, custom is a violent and treacherous school mistress. She, by little and little, slily and unperceived, slips in the foot of her authority, but having by this gentle and humble beginning, with the benefit of time, fixed and established it, she then unmasks a furious and tyrannic countenance, against which we have no more the courage or the power so much as to lift up our eyes. . . . I do believe that no so absurd or ridiculous fancy can enter into human imagination, that does not meet with some example of public practice, and that, consequently, our reason does not ground and back up.

        The factor, or, rather to say, the process which is quite frequently taking place in the bringing about of the ludicrous is that of dissociation. The object, the precept, the idea, the situation must be dissociated from its customary associations and then brought again into association with concepts, ideas, images, and situations of an inferior character, physical, mental, and moral. A word, or phrase, is detached from its usual meaning and a different meaning of an inferior character is given to it. The meaning of inferiority is not .directly given, but only implied, being strongly suggested to the listener. This, for instance, may be exemplified in the remark made on an actor: "Jokes aside, he is a fair actor." Now the meaning of fair means nice and good, but it also means a market place. In other words, the critic, while apparently saying that the acting is fair, good, and beautiful, really implies or suggests the idea that the acting is fit for a fair, for a market place. The adjective fair, which is indicative of excellence, is made use of as a noun and thus conveys the idea that the acting is poor and that the actor is but a clown. The word fair is dissociated from its meaning as good and excellent and is associated with the clown of the market place.

        Take again the following example:

        Unfortunate lady, how sad is your lot!
        Your ringlets are red, your poems are not.

        Here the play is on the word red, the lady's hair is red and her poems are not read, they are not good. The looks of the lady and her poems are both brought into a relation of inferiority.

        When Homer Tooke was asked by George III whether he ever played cards, he replied, "I cannot, your Majesty, tell a king from a knave."

        The relation of the king and knave of cards is dissociated from the play of cards and brought into relation with the real king and the knave. It is like saying in so many words that there is no difference between a king and a knave.

        To take another example:

        At a banquet the host presented his wines to the guests by the little speech: "I am not a connoisseur, but I have some wines fit for the gods."
        An Irishman present took the hint. When he gave a banquet he made the following introduction: "I am not O'Connor, but I have some whiskey fit for Christ'!"

        Here the structure of the joke is brought out even more clearly, inasmuch as the meaning is changed through a misconception of words due to ignorance and to similarity of associations in the Irishman's mind. It is a play on resemblance of words connoisseur and O'Connor, as well as a play of association expressed in similar concepts such as wine and whiskey, the gods and Christ. The joke clearly shows an interchange of the inferior for the superior and suggests the ignorance and stupidity of the Irishman.

        Some remarks of Coleridge, rather of a democratic character, were greeted with hisses, at which he exclaimed: "I am not at all surprised that, when the red hot prejudices of aristocrats are suddenly plunged into the cool element of reason, they should go off with a hiss."

        Here the play on similar words is accompanied by a similarity of associations which reveals the irrationality and stupidity of his opponents.

        "I hope I did not weary you by the length of my sermon, Doctor," said a young preacher at dinner.
        "No, nor by its breadth either."

        The play here is on the word length, which is used originally in regard to time; while the interlocutor utilizes the word in a different sense he employs the associated word of breadth, but with reference to thought. In other words, he tells the preacher that the sermon lacked in thought, thus indirectly telling him that the sermon was dull and stupid.

        The misapprehension of a ward showing the ignorance and stupidity of the man who used it is itself often a source of laughter.

        "There are some spectacles," exclaimed an orator, "that a person never forgets."
        "I'd like to know whar dey sells them," remarked an old colored man.

        There is one point we must always have in mind, and that is that the climax or sting of the joke or of the comic, though wrapped and covered up by a sugared capsule, should invariably carry the suggestion of defect, of shortcomings, of moral and mental inferiority, of dullness and stupidity. Perhaps a series of examples will best help a clear understanding of the matter:

        Clergyman: I've lost my portmanteau.
        Traveler: I pity your grief!
        Clergyman: All my sermons are in it.
        Traveler: I pity the thief!

 

        "I cannot understand," says Dick,
        "What it is that makes my legs so thick;"
        "You do not understand," says Harry,
        "How great a calf they have to carry:"

        In the first one the implication is that the sermons are poor and pitiful, and in the second one the ridicule lies in telling Dick that he is a big calf and stupid. Both of them have their climax.

        "So you refuse to buy my car, do you?"
        "I certainly do. When I want a car like yours, I'll go to the five and ten cent store and get a new one."

        We may complete the thought left suggested and reveal the sting of the reply. A car like the one you wish to palm off an me is cheap and worthless even as a new one. You are silly if you think me such a fool as to buy your car.

        "If you were my husband, I would give you poison."
        "Madam, if I were your husband, I would take it."

        The woman tells the man that he is so bad that he deserves to be poisoned, while the man retorts that under such conditions he would willingly take poison, as his life would be so miserable that death is preferable, because she is such a mean shrew. While she tells him that he deserves death, he replies indirectly that she is worse than death.  And now mark another point. The woman in disparaging him makes the slip in regarding the man as a possible husband. This stupid, contradictory slip is taken occasion of, and the woman is made the butt of ridicule. At the same time it may be well to notice here the effect of the principle of dissociation often present in the comic. The original thought, the death of a man, is dissociated and put in the light as death of her husband. This dissociation frees the man from the stigma of being a bad man and puts the woman in a ludicrous light as being both a bad woman, a bad wife, and brings out her stupidity in making the slip by the suggestion that he could possibly be her husband.

        Two men who had not seen one another for a great while meeting by chance, one asked the other how he did. He replied he was very well and had been married since he saw him.

         "That's good news, indeed," said he.
        "Nay, not such good news, neither," replies the other, "for I married a shrew."

            "That was bad," said the friend.
            "Not so bad, neither; for I had two thousand pounds with her."
              "That's well again," said the other.
             "Not so well, neither," said the man, "for I laid it out in sheep, and they all died of the rot"
             "That was hard, indeed," said his friend.
        "Not so hard," said the husband, "for I sold the skins for more than the sheep cost." "That made you amends," said the other.
        "Not so much amends, neither, for I laid out my money in a house, and it was burnt to the ground."
        "That was a great loss, indeed," said the friend.
        "Not so great a loss, neither; for my wife was burnt in it."

        We have here present the baffling sense of surprise so important in wit and the comic, while the story winds up with a climax full of surprise. The whale force of the ridicule is sustained and leads up to the evil in women and the misery of married life.

        Take the passage from Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield":

        Olivia undertook to be our prolocutor, and delivered the whole in a summary way, only saying, "We were thrown from our horses." At which account the ladies were greatly concerned; but being told the family received no hurt, they were exceedingly glad, extremely glad; but being informed that we were almost killed by fright, they were vastly sorry; but hearing that we had a very good night, they were extremely glad.

 

        "Were yez iver shtruck be loightning, Pat?"
        "Oi don't remimber."

             "Don't remimber ?"
        "No. A mon that's bin married tin years don't remimber sich troifles as thot."

 

        Foreman (at the door) : Did yer husband hov a new suit av clo'es on this mor'nin', Mrs. O'Malley?
        Mrs. O'Malley: He did.

             Foreman: They're ruined entirely.
             Mrs. O'Malley: How did ut happen?
             Foreman: He was blown up be a charge of dinnymite.

        Once an Irish advocate was examining a witness, and, failing to get a correct answer, said: "There is no use in asking you questions, for I see the villain in your face."

        "Did you, sir?" said the man; "faix, I never knew before that my face was a looking-glass."

 

        Pat: What be yer charge for a funeral notice in yer paper?
        Editor: Five dollars an inch.
        Pat: Good heavens'! Are me poor brother was six feet high.

 

        Pat was in the museum looking at a copy of the "Winged Victory.”
        "And phat may yez call thot?" he asked an attendant.

             "That is a statue of Victory, sir," was the answer.
        Pat surveyed the headless and armless statue with renewed interest.
        "Victhry, is it?" he said. "Then begarry, Oi'd loike to see the other fellow."

 

        The following remarks by Lichtenberg disclose the suggestive nature of relations of inferiority characteristic of ridicule: "When a head and a book come into collision, and one sounds hollow, is it always the book?" We take another example from the same author, an example which even more clearly expresses the relation of inferiority inherent in ridicule: "Works like this are as a mirror; if an ass looks in, you cannot expect an apostle to look out."

        Sa'di, in "The Gulistan," expresses the same idea more directly when he says: "I grew weary of instructing brutes, and of holding up a mirror to an assembly of the blind."

        A close inspection of all such jokes clearly reveals the fact that the laughter is at some moral, mental, or logical inferiority disclosed unexpectedly to the view of the reader or listener. At the same time we observe the process of dissociation and the element of climax.

        The following verses from Goldsmith illustrate the climax in the comic:

Good people all, with one accord,
    Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word―
    From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,
    And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor―
    Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighborhood to please
    With manners wondrous winning;

And never follow'd wicked ways―
    Unless when she was sinning.

 At church, in silks and satins new,
    With hoop of monstrous size,

She never slumber'd in her pew―
    But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
    By twenty beaux and more;
The King himself has follow'd her―
    When she has walled before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
    Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead―
    Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
    For Kent Street well may say,
That had she lived a twelvemonth more―
    She had not died to-day.

 

        Mental and moral inferiority are well brought out in each climax.

 

 

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