Laughter's a Funny Business; 4; Inhibition

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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . as an excuse for his own vice. Just listen. Father, am I not fallen away by listen's our last action? Do I not be? Do I not dwindle? Oh, God, my skin hangs on me like an old lady's loose gown. I'm with it like an old apple drawn. Oh, I'll repent. And that suddenly while I'm in some liking, Christ will be out of heart shortly. And then I shall have no strength to repent.

And I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of. I'm a peppercorn, I'm a bruise horse, all inside of a church. Villainous company has been the spoil of me. Sir, John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. There it is. Come, sing me a body song. Make me marry. I was as worked-orously given as a gentleman need to be. But, John, enough? Poor little. Dice not above seven times a week. I went to a body house not once in a quarter of an hour. Paid money that I buttered. Three or four times lived well and in good compass. Now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Where you are so fret, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass. All reasonable compass, Sir John. Oh, your men's eye face. Oh, my men's eye face. Oh, what are they? Oh, there's the lantern and the poop. Butses in the nose of thee. Oh, at the night of the burning lamp. Don't think of my fear thee. Nay and do a pray-god, my girl, break. That's Sir John. There is no room for faith, truth nor honesty in this bosom of thyme. It is fulfilled with guts and midriff, by thou impudent and boster asco. If there were anything in thy pocket for tavern, reckonings, memorandums of body houses, and one poor penny worth of sugarcandy to make thee long-winded,

I am a villain. Yes, so here. Oh, thou knowest in the state of innocency, Adam Fowl. And what should poor drag false staff do in the days of villainy? So ceased, I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty. You're very delightfully, he's pulling our legs. And you see, we can vicariously indulge our own repressed tendencies toward gluttony and gambling and indecency in all the rest, under the protection of his wit and his gayity, correct? Exactly. And false staff makes a pocket respectability. Well, we're doing the same thing with you. It's very neat. It's very neat. Well, Doctor, I can't thank you enough. This has been very helpful, and I thank you. There's more to say about Freud in this theory. There are other forms of laughter that can be easily included in it. Yes, and about those, I am going to speak. Oh, well, that's fine.

Call me if you have need of me. Thank you. I must get back to my research. Thank you very much. The release of inhibitions and the tendency for aggression are the two basic ingredients in Freud's theory. Now, obviously, the laughter at comic vice displays both elements. But Freud does equally well with comic innocence. And what he demonstrates is, of course, that it isn't so innocent after all. If you'll note the next example, I think you'll see what I mean. Are you ready, Alan? With the beans you mean? Have you got it all memorized? No way. You have to. Look, I've asked Alan to prepare a recitation for it. Perhaps you're familiar with it. Go right ahead, Alan. On the top of the property tree, but a white white wolf sad. But his face, he could not see on the count of his feet. For his hat was a hundred and two feet wide, with ribbons and ribbons on every side,

and bells and buttons and loops and lights so that nobody could ever see the face of the white wolf queen. Now, the white wolf queen said to himself in the property tree, champ and jelly and thread of the best to prove to me. But the longer I lived in this company tree, with the shorter than ever it seems to me. All right. Alan, thanks. That's very, very few people come this way. Alan, Alan, I think that's all we need, Alan. It's more maybe because it's more. I know there is. I know there is. But we don't need any anymore. Oh, but I didn't even get to the pimple, Alan. Well, the problem was so cold. I know you didn't, Alan. I thought this was supposed to be an educational program. Who could even mention a thermal valve? How? Well, how? Such is nonsense as written by one of its masters, Edward Lear. That particular verse, the quangle-wangle hat, has long been a popular nursery rhyme. But perhaps this example, given by Sigmund Freud himself,

will have more appeal to adults. He says, never to be born would be best for mortal man, that hardly one man in a thousand has the luck. Here, says Freud, the comment exposes the nonsense of the sham aphorism. The ingredients are the same here, as they are, in the quangle-wangle. There may be rhyme, but certainly there is no reason. It's all clean, innocent, fun. However, there is something significant for Freud and the fact that a good deal of nonsense writing becomes bedtime reading for children, or at least can be called childish. As adults, we are committed to being reasonable. We know that words have meaning, and it's common practice to fit words into their proper order, so that our meaning will become clear. Grammar is, after all, but one rule of reason. It's the logical restriction upon self-expression.

The Freud observes that as children, we rebel against the imposition of grammar upon us and delight in making fun of it. Invariably, the parts of speech take the upper hand, and we consent to rational order. But subconsciously, as we're dissatisfied, and long to see the tyranny of words overthrown and reasoned lampolden. And now, a nonsense allows us to do just that. For in nonsense, languages, traps, ideas are set free, and with childlike abandon, we take our revenge on logic. It is a momentary holiday in the routine of reason. And so, once again, inhibition and hostility can be used to explain our laughter. You notice also that the comic element in nonsense, of fantasy, serves the usual double function. The fantasy prevents us from being embarrassed and removes the censor from our libido.

It makes the story innocent and safe, and yet it allows us to vent our hostile inhibition. In short, the fantastical in nonsense protects and releases us just as width protects and releases us in the indecent story or job. Nonetheless, we would agree, of course, that nonsense is a very mild form of the release from restraint. It's an instance of what Freud describes as harmless width. The attack in nonsense is upon a condition of life, and we are being as hostile to our own sense of reason, as we are being to reason in general. Nonsense has no sting, because our malice is too diffuse. There is far more pleasure in attacking specific irritations, such as other people. Assaulting friends is an ancient pastime. It shows no sign of age. It's always fresh, always inviting, and almost always good for a laugh.

Which is the reason, I suppose, why so many playwrights have capitalized upon this form of humor. The catty remark weaves its way into many plays, and in one remarkable instance, it has become the subject of a whole drama. In Richard Brinsley Sheridan's The School for Scandal, Lady Snarewell conducts maternally salads devoted to the assassination of character. Ostensibly, she entertains her lady friends, and certain select gentlemen for afternoons of card play and can be the reality. But the trump, in every case, is the suit of clubs, which hammers away at unsuspecting reputations. Now, here we find Lady Snarewell, at home, awaiting to receive her friend, Sir Benjamin Backbite. Ah, Sir Benjamin. How great you look. Come, you shall sit down to cards with me. I take very little pleasure in cards. But if your leadership wishes...

I am rejoiced you are coming, Sir Benjamin. It is a relief to talk with the gentlemen on these afternoons, instead of having to be treated to nothing but females, it's cold. Oh, you've never believed, Sir, how those ladies do chime in. I'm sorry. Would you be neat that on Tuesday last, none of our little circle would allow our friend, Miss Vermillion, to be held, Sir? Well, surely, she's a pretty woman. I'm very glad to think, Sir. This is a charming fresh colour. Yes, when it was fresh, put on. Oh, come, five. I think her colour is natural. I have seen it come and go. Yes, there you have, Sir. It goes off at night, and comes again in the morning. I hate to get in the season. But you will, you know, her sister is... Well, what? She's very handsome. Who? This is Evergreen? Yes.

Oh, man, why she's six and fifty, but she's an hour. No, no. Fifty-two or fifty-three, at the utmost. I don't think she looks an hour more. Well, there's no judging her looks, and that's one could see her face. But if Mrs. Evergreen does take some pains to repair the ravages of time, I'll allow she affects great ingenuity. And surely, that's better than the callous manner in which the widow Okra cooks her wrinkles. No, ladies, now you are too hard upon the widow. Come, come, it is not that she paints so ill, but that the wind she has finished her face. She joins it so badly to her neck that she looks like a mended statue, where it once the connoisseur can see the face is modern, though the trunk is in. Well, then, Sir. Well, you don't make me laugh. Do I hate you for it, Sir? Ah, well now, what do you think of Mrs. Simper? Well, she has very pretty teeth.

Yes, and on that account, when she is either smiling or laughing, which very seldom happens. She never absolutely shuts her mouth. She lives always a jar. Ever. How can you be so ill-natured? Oh, nay, I allow even that better than pain Ms. Prim takes to wind the alarm losses in front. She draws her mouth. And it possibly resembles the aperture of a poor monk. And all her words appear to slide out headway. Well, ladies and gentlemen, they see you can be a trifle, Sir. Oh, in defense of a friend, it is much justice. But certainly it is not harmless. Rather, this is what Freud called tendency wit, where we intend to inflict harm upon others. The catty remark is venom, with a light waiting of vanilla. But it is the topping which makes the laughter possible. Let us just recall one of Lady Snowwell's remarks. Nay, I allow even that better than the pain Ms. Prim takes to can see her losses in front.

She draws her mouth till it positively resembles the aperture of a poor monk. And all her words appear to slide out headways. Well, that's a fairly direct cut. It's biting and hard. But by no means crude. Lady Snowwell's comparison of Mrs. Prim's mouth to a church's poor box with words cheaply sliding out like narrow coins is the witty exaggeration that causes us to laugh. Once again, you see, we take refuge in the wit for it serves to check our more righteous impulses. We are then free to indulge our desire for revenge to Lady Snowwell's attack upon her friend. So far, you see, wit operates much the same way as in the indecent joke or story. But a third element is present here. The wit serves another function. Now, if we were to reduce Lady Snowwell's remarks to a simple component, it might sound like this. Where she's lost some of her front teeth and so she only opens her mouth a little when she talks.

She talks out of the side of her mouth. You see, now that's a simple statement of fact. It's not very funny. And while it is not particularly flattering to poor Ms. Prim, it's not as vicious as the original remark by Sheridan. You see, the wit of Sheridan accounts for the fun. But what is surprising is that it also accounts for a large part of the venom. Ms. Prim is made to seem ridiculous because the comparison of her mouth to a poor box is a ridiculous comparison. Thus, in this kind of human, the direct cut at other people, wit serves to release our inhibitions in three ways. It protects us from censure. It allows us to vent our hostility. And it is the chief weapon in the attack. So far, then, we've been able to fit in decency, comic vice as in the illustration of fallstaff, nonsense, the crangle wangle, and cutting wit, such as we've seen exemplified in Sheridan,

within Freud's inhibition theory. E-B-B. Can I ask you a question? Now, Alan, if you want to finish that poem, the answer is no. No, no, that isn't what I want to ask you. It isn't, then, what did you want to ask? Well, now, I've been listening to everything you've said on this program. Mm-hmm. Yeah, and I listened to everything you said on the last program, too. No one on superiority? Yeah. Good, good, good. And I don't get it. Could you be a trifle more specific? Well, in the last program, you said, we laugh at people when they slip on banana peels, or have a practical joke pulled on them. And I remember that part of it. Or when people use the wrong words, or when they get beat up in a play. We laugh at them at those times because we feel superior to them. Right. Yeah, but now, this week, all that business about Freud, that we laugh at people in order to release our inhibitions. Well, isn't that really the same thing as wanting to feel superior? I see your point.

Yeah. But, in fact, they do seem rather similar. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's my point. Uh-huh. What's the difference? We'll let some... Let's ask our V&E's expert if he can help us on that one. Oh, really? Well, excellent. I have a very rather complex question to put to your hair, Doctor. Well, aren't they? Or, sir, aren't they? I suppose... Look, that from your point of view, they are. Here is my question. Yes. Um... How can one relate the superiority theory as articulated by Ludovici, let us say, through the inhibition theory of laughter as we have it from Freud? Well, that's a toffee. I thought you tried it, sir. Well, let's start in this way. Both theories come on much the same ground, but they approach the problem from different viewpoints. For example,

we can say that when we see a man being beaten with a stick, we laugh at him because we wish to express our superiority over him, huh? Exactly. Exactly. Or we can say that we enjoy the beating because we would like to beat other people ourselves. Yes, yes, I understand that. Where? Now, both can be true. Both can be true. How is that possible? Well, you see, one theory tells us that we are having a state of superiority when we laugh. And the other theory tells us that we are superior for certain reasons. You mean, for example, why? Exactly. Exactly. Now, once again, doctor, I want to be sure I have it clear. All right. And here it is as simply as I can make it. The basic difference between the two is this. Yes. That in the superiority theory, it's a presumption that we are naturally hostile creatures. Naturally hostile. But in Freud's theory, hostility is merely an expression of the inner drives within our unconscious. Drives within our wanting. Exactly.

Doctor, I can't thank you enough. That was excellently well done. Thank you very much. You are very welcome. It's only part of my job. Quite right. Besides, it was kind of fun anyway. You like this part of the program, huh? Well, you know, I like to act. You even have to be front of characters like this one. It's a way of releasing my inhibition. That's very funny. You're quite a clown. Well, it takes that as a real comfort. And indeed, it is. But to be a great clown is to possess a rare and precious gift and few mortals are so blessed. The clown is the agent of laughter. He is the embodiment of the antique disposition that resides in each one of us. The personification of our shared humor and our perception of the ironic in life. The clown is the invention of our profoundest humanity who takes upon himself the curse of our weakness and returns a transfigure strengthening our souls. Now, so far on these programs, we have isolated the cause of laughter in congruity. We have investigated two of the principal theories that account for the psychology of laughter, superiority and the release from inhibitions. But as I say, it is the clown who is the agent of laughter.

And to him, we must turn if we seek to understand why laughter is so treasured of therapy for the human condition. So next week, the clown, with Alan and all his glory and Jack and I doing the best we can. So until then, happy laughing. This is National Educational Television.