The Science and Spirituality of Humor [SERIES]: Is Humor a HUMAN thing?

Read the 1st post of the humor series here. Screen Shot 2014-09-25 at 10.46.13 AM

Is humor human?

Do animals laugh and why should we care?

One of the first things that comes up when you start to study what people find funny, and why they do, is the issue of purpose.

“What’s it all for?”

And when you start asking those questions invariably you need to see if humor is a uniquely human quality or if other creatures have some of it too and why might they.

Some animals experience emotions in ways humans do. Anger, pleasure, fear, and sorrow are a few commonalities.

For instance, pachyderms express grief at the death of a member of their parade. House cats don’t give a crap about the death of anyone (usually), but they are certainly spiteful on par with the cunning and potency of humans.

So why not the emotion of humor…?

It turns out that science has tried to measure that. The results, in my opinion, are mixed and even a bit unsavory. But, I’ll get to that in a minute.

Noises of Play

Plebeian anecdotes of laughing dogs or snickering nonhuman primates circulate and seem to indicate that something akin to genuine laughter or maybe some sort of sense of humor could be at work. Yes?

For a number of years scientists have discerned what seems to be jolly noises coming from chimps at play. These sounds mimic the intonations of young children at play and keg parties.

And then there’s the business of rodents.

Rats, actually.

I told you it would get unsavory.

Laughter in the Lab

Apparently, scientists can get grant money to tickle rats.

You heard me right.

See, if they just use the phrase “heterospecific hand play” on their proposal, a grant check comes in the mail.

The phrase sounds sophisticated and science-y, and no one in the grant issuing department considers it perverted.

With grant money in hand, scientists use their other hand and go about tickling rats of different ages, in different settings, at different times, and sometimes (I’m guessing) on the couch near a cozy fire in the fireplace and atmospheric candlelight as Barry White music plays softly in the background. It’s all very clinical.

The Results
Older (married?) rats don’t seem to respond, but juvenile rats, foolish to the wiles of scientists, make high frequency chirping sounds as they encounter “heterospecific hand play”.

The sounds are somewhat comparable to staccato laughing of human children at play. Human children playing but also gnawing at garbage in a dumpster, perhaps. Or, perhaps the panicked sounds of high anxiety.

The strange result is that the young rats then seek out the human that tickled him or her for plenty more of the same. (This convinces the scientists that the impressionable rats are enjoying the interaction and not developing strange and unhealthy co-dependency issues sourced in dubious psychologically damaging tickle abuse.)

In fact, the rats grow closer to their ticklers socially, and perhaps hope for an engagement ring one day.

I’d also like to note that so far I’m finding no such experiments are conducted where rats are allowed to tickle scientists and whether the rats or the scientists laugh because of it. This seems like a gross oversight. It would also be interesting to know if the scientists found the rats attractive in different outfits and vice versa. Or, maybe not.

I don’t know whether to be proud of the these discoveries or terribly embarrassed for the scientists.

The Purpose of Humor

What laughter–or its nonhuman equivalent–appears to do in the animal world is to build social bridges through appropriate positive interactions.

Positive, mutual, social responses build bonds, trust, and cooperation. Everyone wins.

Rats, dogs, and chimps are all highly social creatures, and maybe this is needed for things to go well.

The exception is the occasional instance where rats eat their young.

 

• This seems to indicate that some tickling just isn’t funny, or that kids can be a real pain sometimes.

Humor and Spirituality

I’m proposing that humor remains invaluable to human flourishing, not just for healthy social bonding, but ultimately for the vital element of identity, and this is the territory of spirituality. We’ll get into the reasons of why more deeply as we continue.


 

Like those laughing animals, humans are social too. When they are not socially healthy, bad things happen: murder, sexual assault, arson, random violence, and strange behavior on Facebook.

But, unlike animals, scientific experiments show that humans have three main reasons for laughing besides a tickling episode, according to work by psychologist Diana Szameitat. Here are the other three:

1. Laughing in joy.

2. Taunting laughter. Laughing at someone in contempt.

3. Schadenfreude laughter. Laughing at another person who encounters something unfortunate, like falling down. The Germans have just the precise word for it too, which is not surprising.

I think there are several more, but that’s for future posts.

 

Funny Things are Seriously Complex

Humor and laughter comprise a whole system of complex emotions for humans, compared to animals.

And as anyone who’s been tickled for too long knows, sometimes humor includes mixed emotions like discomfort, fear, apprehension, or wanting to slap a scientist for creepy “heterospecific hand play”.

We’ll learn much more about the complexity of humor as we go. In future posts I’ll also cover the dubious reputation of humor among early philosophers, the fascinating aspect of humorous sarcasm and mockery, plus the latest compelling humor research theory that explains both the good and bad reasons why we find things funny.

Anything for a laugh.


 

To sum up, humor is both uniquely human and shared among certain other creatures in a lesser way.

Read the next one in the series here.

 Are you enjoying this series? I’d love to know.

Thanks for reading!

-Lisa

Evangelized by a Rat Terrier: Communicating Faith with a Bared Belly

Today is Halloween and this book is a murder, thriller, in the religious dramatic fiction….hum.

Spook-tacular!

erin

Today’s post is part of  a blog tour Erin McCole-Cupp!

Erin is a talent writer and a helpful friend of mine. I got a copy of her new book that has done amazingly well on Amazon!
I was thrown back to the 80s—like in a totally awesome way.
(ya catch that!)
She’s stopping by today on her interweb book tour with a great story about her doggie superstar Sigma and a bit about her new book.
Now–Enter, Erin…

Thanks for hosting me, Lisa!  See, dear reader, Lisa and I go way back—way back to the 1990s, when the internet was something viewed on a black screen in tiny pinpoints of green light.  Lisa knew me through my first conversion, the one where I became a Christian, but I’m not sure she knows about my second, far more recent conversion:  that from cat person to dog person—and more specifically to a small dog person.

In Lisa’s latest (and wonderful) book Dog in the Gap, she wrote a chapter called “Taming,” in which she discusses how we humans are tamed by dogs. She writes that the mutual process of caring and being cared for by a dog, “…can, if we let it, carry over into our other relationships–this sacred act of taming each other.  Instead of tolerating each other, we go further in.”

 

I experienced this, more specifically what Lisa identifies in that same chapter as “mutuality,” starting this past Spring.  We were thinking about getting a second cat…

nastycat

…because this one doesn’t like us.

 

When we arrived at the local shelter, we were shocked to find their cat residence virtually empty.  Apparently we’d arrived before the bumper crop of abandoned kittens was due.

 

“Well, let’s go say ‘hi’ to the dogs,” my husband said.  We went through the kennel and one of the residents made our youngest stop in her tracks.  She pointed and shrieked with delight.

 

“Tiny dog!  Tiny dog!”

 

Ugh.  I’d always called small dogs “hors d’oeuvres” or “light snacks,” good for nothing but barking at all hours.  And who on earth would want a tiny ball of noise called a rat terrier?  No. Thank.  You.  Still, for the sake of the kids, I gave in to a “visit” with the little guy, assuming he’d annoy them so much that they’d see some sense and we’d come back in a few weeks for our kitten.

 

When the shelter volunteer brought him in to us she warned, “Now don’t expect too much, because he’s pretty shy and takes a long time to warm up to–“

 

The little blur dashed in, threw himself down in front of us all, belly up for scratching.  His tongue lolled out.  He was smiling.

 

“—new people,” the worker finished.  “Wow!  Look at that!”

 

We did not choose Sigma.  Sigma chose us.

sigma

 

What did he do next that won me over?  Funny enough, it was the barking.  He barks less than I expected a little dog to bark, but when he does bark, it’s because he is trying to protect our pack.  Stranger at the door?  Get away!    Stranger approaching while the kids walk him?  Stay back!   Is a friend yelling near me, his Mommy?  Yowwowwowwowwow! You’re not allowed to bark at her! Rat terriers are known for being wary of strangers and protective of their territory.  We belong to him.

 

The most precious example of this I can give is the time a relative stranger accidentally tripped over my middle child’s feet.  Before he could apologize, Sigma jumped up, tapped the guy’s shins with both front paws, and gave a low warning bark.  Do not hurt her!  She is under my protection! 

 

As I apologized, the perceived “offender” said, “Don’t apologize.  That’s the kind of dog you want taking care of your kids.”

 

I’ve had a dog before.  I’ve never before had a dog who would clearly give his life for mine and my family’s.  I’ve read about heroic dogs before, but part of me always thought those were melodramatic stories made up to fill dead air on morning radio shows.  Now that I’ve seen the active loyalty of a dog, I can believe that those stories are real.  Siggie believes that we are worth heroic effort.

 

Sigma chose us.  We belong to him.  He believes we are worth heroic effort.  If “evangelization” means at its root “to bring a message,” Sigma has done just that.  He won me over specifically, not because of anything he demanded of me but because of my value to him, just as I am.  He was the first pet with which (with whom?  hm) I’ve experienced the “mutuality” that Lisa talks about in Dog in the Gap.  Yes, we feed him, walk him, rub his belly, anoint him with flea and tick preventative, and throw tennis balls around for him.  But he does for us, too.

 

I don’t know about you, but when I think of “evangelist,” someone on a stage comes to mind.  Someone with a podium and a microphone, slathering at the mouth with the Fire of the Spirit, hair gone wild with all the thrashing about he’s done, all in the name of igniting in his listeners the furious love of Christ.  Cerebrally, I know that’s not the only way to share the faith, but my tiny human brain didn’t have room for any more concrete image… until a “Tiny dog!  Tiny dog!” came into my family and made us a pack.  Our “Siggie Baby” is not powerful or smart or eloquent.  His evangelization of me was never about him; it was about showing me what I was worth to him.

 

That’s such a small way of reaching out, but it’s a genuine way that you don’t need a degree or an agent or a microphone to share.  We can—no, we must show others that someone on earth thinks they are worth choosing, worth claiming in love, and worth heroic effort.  Wouldn’t that be a wonderful, charming way to entice others into seeing that the Body of Christ is a pack worth joining?  After all, don’t we Christians occasionally find ourselves perceived as slobbery, barking hors d’oeuvres?

 

So how do you dash out of your shelter and show others the vulnerable, bared-belly love of Christ?  Lisa and I tend to bare the bellies of our imaginations:  we write, thus inviting you into the very brains and hearts where we (try, at least) to make a home for Him.  I took particular delight in writing the character Cate Whelihan in Don’t You Forget About Me specifically because she espouses so many things that I think are, well, not so good for us.

dyfam

 

I love Cate because she’s part of my pack, and, just like so many real humans I love just because they’re loveable, not because they agree with me.

 

I know I need to do that more in my real life, outside of my head.  I need to show, not tell, the people I love that I choose them, that they are part of my pack, and that they are worth heroic effort.  If the Son of God can do that for me—for every single one of us—and I’m supposed to be following Him, then I kinda don’t have an excuse to keep it in all my head anymore.

 

Do you?

# # #

Thanks, Erin!
If you are interested in the book, and gosh, you should be! Purchasing info is here.  The Kindle edition is available now.  The paperback will be available on November 1st (2013).
 
There’s also a Goodreads giveaway running now through November 15, so you can enter to win a paperback of Don’t You Forget About Me at this link.  

Adventures in Chew Toys

mean dog

The following is a true story:

About five years ago, we had neighbors living on our south side. The mister of the family was a truck driver, and one day he found a strange dog at the rest stop and brought him home.

They told me, “Don’t let your children go near our dog, he bites.” The dog was red, fierce, and usually bristling or barking. They kept him in a pen in the back yard.

One day, I saw him playing in his pen. He was pouncing with his front paws on a squeaky toy about the size of a man’s shoe, and having the time of his life. He’d bite the toy, and it would squeak, then he would toss it in the air, and continue playing. I stared at him for a while.

Then, he threw the squeaky toy high in the air, it hit the ground…and ran. It ran squeaking. He pounced again, and started biting. It was a rat. A half-dead rat. Very shocking!

So, you tell, me, what would be a good moral of this story?

What is the strangest thing you’ve seen a pet play with?

toy rat