What's So Funny?

How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?  The answer is "one, but the lightbulb has to really want to change."  Assuming that this joke is even marginally funny, it derives its humor from a little noticed software glitch in the human psyche.  Or to put it bluntly, humor, for us humans, does not involve random acts of cheerfulness, but instead is a way of dissapating our uncomfortable struggle with pain.  The shrink joke doesn't adequately illustrate this, so here's a historical joke: "But...other than that, how was the play Mrs. Lincoln?"  That one is about the pain of death, which is pretty much a universal pain that all humans have to confront.  So all humor at some level is about dealing with pain.  But we don't usually laugh at pain, so how do we decide what's funny and what's tragic?  Well, Mel Brooks put it best when he said: "If I get a paper cut that's a tragedy, but if you fall in a open manhole cover and die that's funny."  Humor is pain that someone else experiences.

Humor has been around for a long time in the chronicle of human experience.  Pretty much as long as tragedy, which we know has been around for quite awhile.  Despite having been around for so long, it has taken us a long time to figure out the real connection between tragedy and comedy.  Let's assume that Freud first discovered the connection, which is probably not really true (he's probably just the first one to get famous while discussing it).  That's only about a hundred years ago.

So if the connection between comedy and tragedy is now documented why don't more people know about the connection?  Or, more importantly, why don't more people know more about their "inner selves" now that Dr. Freud and countless others have unlocked many of the mysteries of the human unconscious?

The answer is, of course, complex.  It's complex mostly because human beings are complex creatures.  Biologically, and psychologically.  When it comes to the psychological arena, it's complex because (a) it's human behavior is complex, and (b) because the person studying the complexity is complex.  And probably neurotic, too.

Being neurotic is not a bad thing.  That's what psychiatrists will tell you.  But of course, they have a vested interest in telling you that.  They want you to understand that you have some minor flaws, but that it's okay and you shouldn't feel stigmatized.  You should feel comfortable working with the psychiatrist (in a closed setting of course) to discuss the many strange thoughts that you have.  Only in that way can you learn about yourself.  Or, I should say, your "Self."  Your "Self "is the whole part of you.  The you that you are aware of is the conscious part.  But there is this other part of you that has wishes and thoughts that are unknown to you.  Your "Self" includes both parts. 

Fine, but is there any danger in not being aware of your unconscious? Yes.  Haven't you heard about Oedipus?

The Greek Myth of Oedipus is about a guy who went to the Oracle and learned that it was his fate to kill his father and sleep with his mother.  He ran away from his homeland to avoid this terrible fate, but in the end he did just as the Oracle predicted.  Freud says the myth of Oedipus reveals a common unconscious wish that men have, which is that they want to find a way to "lose" daddy so that they can have mom all to themselves.  Most non-psychiatrists think this is ludicrous.  Even to the point of simply laughing it off.   Hmmmm.

Anyway, we certainly don't have a major problem in our society with men killing their fathers and sleeping with their mothers so maybe the Oedipus thing is overblown.  But what we do have a problem with is violence and misplaced aggression and a lot of really inconsiderate behavior.  We can all agree on that.  Even people who are sitting on death row will tell you that we have to do something about the violence in this world.  But go ask anyone  --and start with the people on death row-- who is responsible for all of this violence and general anti-social behavior.  How many of the people on this green and blue planet will admit that they themselves are even partially responsible for the problem?  Not many.

So there is some sort of disconnect here.  Of that we can be certain.  But why?

Well, as we discussed earlier, humans are compex and it's hard for them to study their own complexity.  Which is why they have to go to a psychiatrist for help.  And the psychiatrist reassures them that, while some of their complexity is classified as "neurosis," it is normal and they shouldn't worry about it.  But they should try to introspect and discover, if possible, the inner wishes and conflicts that cause them to behave erratically.  "Fine," says the patient.  "I'm ready to figure it out."  And so begins the long journey with the ever-probing psychiatrist, very gently asking questions that are designed to make the patient examine his or her own soul.

For some people the psychiatrist's questions seem very intrusive, even if gently put.  Their mind immediately reacts with "do you mean to suggest...?"  They don't like probing and they don't like self-examination because it has an aura of criticism.  So they don't do it.  Frankly, it's painful.  Or maybe they sort of do it, but they really don't make any progress that is meaningful.  If they go to the psychiatrist for five years they conclude that they have made significant progress simply because they have "put in the time."  Psychiatrists have a lot of patients like this (of course they also have many who succeed in becoming self-aware and in changing their behavior).  And having patients who appear to try but don't really get there is tough on everyone.  Including the psychiatrists.

So one day the psychiatrist is in the midst of a cocktail discussion and someone mentions a study that shows that only twenty percent of the people who go into psychotherapy actually make a meaninful change in their behavior, and the psychiatrist feels an uncomfortable pang in the stomach area.  It feels like a small physical pain, but it's really a much deeper and much more painful psychological pain.  That makes the psychiatrist, who is normally very glib, feel dejected and awkward.   But then after a couple of seconds, the shrink regains composure and offers some off-the-cuff humor:  "say, do you know how many psychiatrists it takes to change a lightbulb?"  The punchline is then delivered, and everyone laughs heartily.

Last update: 6/5/2003; 10:08:28 PM.