Funny Facts & Figures

A few weeks ago, I had to submit a continuing education workshop on humor in clinical settings for scientific review. Which meant I had to prove to the state licensing board—using peer-reviewed sources—that being funny was medically justifiable.

But when I went digging into the science behind why things are funny, I got skunked.

Not to say there aren’t theories, books, and confident-sounding wonks. I’m just saying that scientifically, there’s no conclusive evidence that any one of these ideas is right. No testable hypothesis has withstood pedantic, skeptical scrutiny, 

The humor nerds in the lab coats are still stuck scratching their clown wigs. Apparently, it can't be boiled down into something as simple as the Higgs-Boson equation.

Those of you who have read my descent into microgreen madness will understand what happens when I roll up my sleeves and visit Google Scholar. And in the case of humor theory, it was an Alice-in-Wonderland-esque ride through the scientific research of Hatter M, Rabbit, W, and Queen R et al. 

For example–just a few months ago an entirely new theory of what makes things funny was proposed in a (modestly important) scientific journal. Admirably (and a bit-naughtily) the paper bucked a recently consolidated scientific understanding of humor (known as “benign violation” theory). It said nah, nah– you have it all wrong! Just look at it my way, and you’ll see that we finally can understand what makes things funny! Look! I have really small p-values!

The overall argument was persuasive, and the p-values were impressive. Yet remarkably–and this might surprise those of you who don't root around in the scientific literature–I didn't laugh once while reading it. 

Despite having an incredibly sophisticated understanding of humor, the author didn’t necessarily tickle my funny bone. That’s fine–this is a scientific paper, not a comedy routine–but I thought maybe I’d come away with some deeper understanding of how to support my struggling cartooning business by reading cutting edge scientific papers.

A professional comedian–someone who makes a lot of money understanding humor–probably could have told me not to bother. There’s an old saying, “Trying to explain humor is like dissecting a frog, nobody learns much and the frog ends up dead”.

And look–I get it, okay? Maybe science, reductionist lover of models, can’t capture an ethereal beast like humor. 

But I know full well you can learn a lot from dissecting frogs! And you can use that knowledge to help frogs! Plus... you know... I had already had this workshop on the schedule. 

In any case, I threw my hat in with the nerdy objectivists on this one and slashed my way into that plastinated amphibian. I dug through dozens of papers on humor, from evolutionary journals to op-ed from scolding physicians. My goal—admittedly bookish and probably futile—was to understand how humor works.

Spoiler alert–I didn’t crack the code.

But! All was not in vain, because I came across all sorts of hilarious and bizarre factoids. And I love factoids (because they provide stimulating conversation at kid’s birthday parties). 

So here, enjoy.

“I’m Gonna Kill You…NOT!”

The first wonderful thing I learned about humor was that other animals do it. Scientists have studied it in all sorts of other species (including rats!)--which for an evolutionary biologist at heart means that it’s rooted somewhere in previously archaic type. Sort of like how the absurdly long recurrent laryngeal nerve of a giraffe is rooted in the slight-less-absurdly-long recurrent laryngeal nerve of a slightly shorter giraffe ancestor. 

So humor (to get to the point) is rooted biologically in play, which basically all social animals do. Biologically speaking, play is a behavior that gives young animals a chance to act out survival strategies in a safe setting. Like a risk-free simulation. Think of the pouncing kitten envisioning herself as a tiger.

But because play-fighting uses real animals, they need a body “language” that signals, “I’m not going to actually crush your windpipe with my jaws”. So nobody gets hurt. Mammals accomplish this by exaggerating their aggressive behaviors–clearly signalling the “attack” isn’t a serious attempt at harm. 

Again, think of that adorable kitten waving it’s paws up in the air before it throws itself at a laser pointer.

And if you really want to smile, imagine that kitten with cerebellar ataxia.

Du… Du-Hast… Du-Hast-Chenne!

The point is that humor came out of this system of exaggerated (but ultimately non-serious) threats, and that once humans brought language into the equation, a symbolic explosion of playful exploration became possible. But as humor became more than just cat’s play, it was actually harder to navigate the extremely complex landscape of potential social threats. So early hominids needed an adaptable system, and they developed a variety of socially-acceptable responses to situations. 

For example, there would be many times when one, more powerful ape in a group, would try telling their version of a dad joke, and expect the whole troop to roll over laughing. But you can’t force anyone to laugh, so if his attempt fell flat, he might react angrily (apes, ya know?) and thrash some poor, subordinate weakling.

We needed a solution to these “I don’t get it” disasters, and evolution (or Zeus) cheerfully provided one: just fake it. 

So we have two different forms of laughter, real and forced. Fake laughter, which in terms of facial expressionology is called “Non-Duchenne Smiling” is a completely dishonest display of appeasement. Seriously, that’s it. It says, “Ah, I see–you’e just playing and I don’t need to defend myself from you.” It’s literally a surrender of the autonomy to truly show what you find humorous (i.e. non-threatening) and not. 

You can tell by the eyes. Non-duchenne smiles fail to engage the orbicularis oculi, meaning the eyes don’t squint as much.  

Pinocchio Syndrome

One of the other bizarre ways that humans interact with humor and laughter is through extreme social anxiety--something I can relate to (oh wait, I am human). But there really are people who are terrified of being laughed at, and it causes a pathological response in their nervous system. When they think people are laughing at them, they freeze up—literally like a wooden puppet.

Gelatophobia is the fear of people laughing at instead of with you. Something that no one likes, but in some individuals it causes a pathological behavior and move in stiff, puppet-like movements. While hilariously ironic, it can also make people avoid social interactions and withdraw into horrible, isolated anxiety.

I guess the takeaway is to always laugh with someone, and never aim your humor at an individual. Unless you think it's fine to invite Carrie White to your Homecoming. 

Inuit to Win It

On the other hand, some societies have incorporated taunting into their social fabric. At least in some Inuit communities, conflicts are resolved through public duels of wit–that are sung. Opponents are supposed to make fun of each other, and whoever gets a bigger laugh wins. It's an Arctic indigenous version of epic rap battles, and it shouldn't be surprising in a people who figured out a way to live off of whale blubber.

Wait a second–this post is outrageously ambitious for weekly content. And it's totally distracting me from more important things (i.e. paid work). So I am gonna skedaddle and get back to it.

I hope you enjoyed, and I'm happy to revisit this topic in the future. Because I'm pretty sure you'll want to know about the great laughing epidemic that occurred in Tanzania in 1963 (a real thing, I swear).