Have you ever asked yourself, “What’s the funniest joke in the world?”
Well, Richard Wiseman, holder of Britain’s only Professorship in the Public Understanding of Psychology at the University of Hertfordshire has for his experiment Laugh Lab, 2002. He created the eponymous website in 2001 where the public could submit and rate jokes, and the winner is:
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, “My friend is dead! What can I do?”. The operator says “Calm down. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is a silence, then a shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says “OK, now what?”
The joke was submitted by a Mancunian psychiatrist named Gurpal Gosall, who stated that he sometimes recounted this joke to his patients to cheer them up in moments of despondency. Regardless of whether you chuckled or not, the joke itself is interesting in many ways when it comes to theories of humour, specifically incongruity resolution.
Laughter is one of my unabashed joys in life. There are various theories as to what makes us emit short, sharp vowel sounds when our funny bones are tickled; incongruity theory, superiority theory and benign violation theory topping the current charts for widespread acceptance.
Incongruity, in its essence, is the state of being not in accordance with what we expect or consider reasonable. It is the juxtaposition of seemingly incompatible ideas, events or interpretations.
In the case of our hunter friends, the expectation might be to check for vital signs or poke our inanimate friend with a toe, at the very least. Perhaps the very last thing we might expect is to definitively ensure that our fallen huntsman is, in fact, beyond all earthly help. By laughing at the absurd or implausible, we psychologically resolve strain through mirth rather than continued dissonance.
This unexpected subversion of norms flips our assumptions on their head and elicits the release of happy endorphins. We laugh hardest at that which violates the expected script in an amusing way. The incongruity of the caller’s actions within context makes us chortle. Cognitive resolution is achieved.
Another example from Laugh Lab’s website works on a similar principle. Winner of the ‘best joke submitted by a well-known scientist’ category, Nobel laureate, and professor of chemistry, Sir Harry Kroto submitted this gem:
A man walking down the street sees another man with a very big dog. The man says: “Does your dog bite?” The other man replies: “No, my dog doesn’t bite”. The first man then pats the dog, has his hand bitten off, and shouts; “I thought you said your dog didn’t bite”. The other man replies: “That’s not my dog”.
Incongruous? Very much so. The superiority theory of humour also works for these highly voted laughter bombs. This theory is pretty self-explanatory; we laugh at our feelings of superiority over those at whom we laugh.
I mean, the world and its mother knows that the first man was inquiring about the very big dog by the second man’s side, right? Or gets the gist of what the first responder was implying when they said “First, let’s make sure he’s dead”. Superiority theory suggests humour is fundamentally directed at another person or group that is seen as inferior, weaker or subjected to misfortune in some way.
But that just seems a bit mean, even if on some deep psychological level, it is true. Incongruity theory seems more palatable.
The final theory is that of benign violation, when discomfort provoked by the set up of the joke, usually in relation to some social taboo, is resolved in an ambiguous way.
Caleb Warren and Peter McGraw proposed this theory as recently as 2010 in their paper “Benign violations: Making immoral behaviour funny”. They consider social distance and psychological distance in their exploration of the “sweet spot” of a joke that may or may not land as intended.
And in fairness, how many of us Glomads have launched a rib-cracker only to be greeted with, at best, some raised eyebrows, and at worst, canapé choking horror? Only me?
If I trace my joke catalogue from my earliest memories; “Why did the chicken cross the road?” through my wily 20’s and erstwhile 30’s, there are not many golden oldies in there than I can, or want to repeat. Now, I like to stick with Dad Jokes; how many dogs can jump higher than a tree?
Humour, although transcultural and universally present in every society on our beautiful planet, is quite an encultured beast. It is also one highlydependent on cultural mores and values.
Here in our host city, incongruity theory seems to land well. Benign violation, not so much. And one of the most popular forms of humour here and elsewhere in Middle Kingdom is one at which I am hopelessly dreadful; wordplay and puns.
In Mandarin, many characters have the same or similar pronunciations. This makes wordplay a particularly playful pastime, and one that is guaranteed a laugh. Puns play on double meanings, again bringing us back to the incongruity theory of mirth incited by the unforeseen.
I asked many Mandarin speaking friends to tell me their favourite joke, and they did, and they laughed, and then I laughed too, because, you know, no one wants to be the one who doesn’t get the joke. Or even worse(!); have the joke explained to them.
But in the end, I had no choice. No matter how I translated it, I just couldn’t understand it. Here’s what my translator helpfully provided:
有一次上楼
One time, going up stairs
我看见一个 老爷爷提着东西
I saw an old Grandpa carrying something
我看他很幸苦
I see him having a hard time
就想着能帮他提一下
I think I can help him to carry it
没想到脱口而出的是
Unexpectedly, a slip of the tongue
老东西爷爷我帮你提
Old thing, Grandpa, I will help you.
But all my Chinese friends laughed when they read it. And they tried to explain it, but only the most fluent and foul mouthed of them managed to make it fly. And then I guffawed. Incongruity resolution; it’s (nearly) always funny.
As we hurtle towards then end of the academic year, may your summer be full of mirth.
