Beyond a joke? Mary de Pleave’s Thought for the week
‘The meaning of laughter is deep.’
‘Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God’, Karl Barth, Swiss theologian.
We are inherently happy, us humans, but strange things happen during our formation. What’s funny isn’t necessarily always kind. We have ‘black’ humour, slapstick, cruel humour, mocking laughter, and so on. It seems that the more pain and misery we suffer, the sharper our wit becomes. I love Jewish humour and think many Liverpudlians are very funny. Both groups might say that it isn’t surprising, considering what they have been through. That’s another thing, it’s fine for one of our own to tell jokes that highlight idiosyncrasies and frailties, but it’s not appreciated when we are the target of others outside our ‘clan’. Jokes and laughter may be used as weapons by people who feel more powerful and superior. Laughter can be dangerous, and we must clarify our relationship with it. It is not acceptable to laugh at ‘the outsider’ or ‘the fool’.
We can control some aspects of what we find funny, but what about the merriment that comes about in spite of ourselves? I have two friends (actually I have a few more, I pay well), kindly folk who will ‘fold’ in waves of convulsive laughter at the soul who has missed the last two steps and fallen. Seeing the ungainly stumble from the upright triggers their funny bone. They’ll still be giggling even as they help them to their feet.
Laughing may indicate unease. I turn into a veritable Bob Hope when I’m nervous. I was prone, awake and on an operating table in France (the geographical setting is relevant) and imminently to have my thyroid removed, yet I found I could entertain the surgeon and his team: ‘Count the swabs’, ‘Don’t leave the scissors in’, ‘You do know that I’m awake, don’t you?’ I kept up the one-liners until everyone had laughed themselves out and thought they should begin. I had been terrified.
It is an exquisite pleasure to laugh when one is not supposed to. I was once at the Barbican in London for a concert given by Paco Peña. A poor woman, who had obviously been confused and anticipated an evening akin to a sing-a-long with Julio Iglesias, discovered wailing and much stamping of feet. It was too much and she howled with laughter. I had managed to keep myself together until the moment when an irate woman said, ‘If you can’t jolly well stop laughing, leave’. The reply, ‘I jolly well will’ led to my dissolving into giggles.
So why do we laugh? We know it’s good for our mental and physical health. It won’t cure flu, but must be a useful aid to the immune system. The meaning of laughter is deep but we, all of us, have a need for the relief and liberation it gives us. At a time like this what could be better.
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