31 August

Gelotology: Laughter 2.0. Could Laughter And The Rise Of The Humorless Explain Our Country’s Mess?

by Jon Katz

We take laughter for granted; I never think much about it. I love to laugh, and I love to make people laugh, and I’m pretty good at it.

But the people in control of our government never make anyone laugh, not deliberately, and certainly not when they are breaking up and abusing families or arresting them. 

Rather than merely reacting to jokes, research shows that laughter is primarily a primitive mechanism for survival, social bonding, and stress regulation.

Laughter is extensively studied across evolutionary biology, neuroscience, psychology, and medicine. The formal study of laughter and its physiological effects is known as gelotology.

It’s also no joke:

It’s important; I’ve spent some time this week researching it, and it seems to me that it says a great deal about Donald Trump and the people around him, and the impact they are having on our country and culture.

(I now believe laughter will determine the outcomes of the coming election.)

Laughter, the brainacs say, is essential for health and for humanity. Laughter allows humans to bond with multiple individuals simultaneously, enabling larger, more cooperative societies. (Like politics used to be.)

It seems that without laughter, there are no cooperative cultures and societies. Once upon a time, politicians in Washington roomed together, ate together, laughed together. Then the haters took over. Laughter disappeared. 

Hmmm. I never looked at it that way, but when I thought about it, I realized that among other things, Trump has managed to do is to remove laughter from our civic life, political system, and much of our society, from the vicious assault on political opponents, peaceful and hardworking immigrants to the journalists, women, and others in our culture that he attacks in the cruelest ways possible.

He never smiles, and he never laughs, and the people around him rarely smile and never laugh and seem unable to laugh about themselves or be laughed at. They are not allowed to laugh.

And his war on TV comedians who poke fun at him is, after all, nothing but a crusade against laughing, one of the last places in American media to permit it.

The truth is, aside from their politics, I can’t bear to be around people I can’t laugh with or who can’t laugh about themselves.

And yes, the people I love – Maria, my daughter, my friends – laugh at me all the time and poke fast holes if my ego balloons. Laughter keeps me humble.

When I stumble, laughter picks me up.

______

______

Donald Trump not only can’t laugh at himself, but he can’t bear being laughed at. That makes for an unhappy country. He does seem able to hate people he thinks don’t love him.

There are lots of them by now.

Since laughing is both an essential and almost universal human experience, it throws cooperative cultures like politics and human relations into chaos. Many of the politicians I see on TV or the Internet are humorless now, as if they dare not laugh in public.

Good friends laugh with one another. It’s built into our DNA.

My sense of the increasingly extremist republican Party is that they stopped laughing about 15 years ago and began to become a humorless and judgmental culture. They got greedy.

Day by day, they’ve labeled all kinds of cultures and people who differ (or laugh) as evil and dangerous. They are now hating and persecuting almost every kind of people who laugh or even smile.

As laughter fades, so does the mood; peace of mind fades with it. It seems Mr. Trump and his MAGA Army never run out of people to hate, harass, frighten, and kick out of the country. There is less and less to laugh about.

Marjorie Taylor Greene illustrates what I’m talking about. I have little in common with her politics, but I like her sense of humor and her ability to laugh at others and herself. I knew she would get into trouble with the humorless legions who see Mr. Trump as a God.

(Taylor laughed plenty of times in Congress. She laughed on camera fairly regularly, including at her own jokes during floor speeches and interviews, and there’s footage of her cracking up during committee hearings and press events.)

I also think of  Thomas Massie, the Kentucky Rep, the very bright and often humorous congressman. He had a rich and biting sense of humor, and I realized that no one with a sense of humor is ever seen around Mr. Trump or survives him for long. Hating requires a lot of discipline.

President Trump’s Cabinet meetings are almost as funny as a funeral wake. Journalists are never allowed to smile or laugh around him; they must look grim and walk softly. And know how to be reverent.

What is so important about laughing is that it is most important and healthiest when we can laugh at ourselves. Laughing at myself has been good for me. It softens failure or disappointment, diffuses argument, and heals misunderstandings. When I’m low, laughter always lifts me.

Among his many other failings, Mr. Trump has turned our world into a trembling, humorless place; if you watch any of his endless press conferences and announcements, you will notice that none of the people around him ever laugh, except when ordered to or to please their King.

That should not be a surprise. I can’t imagine working around him or the people around him. They are beyond grim, the fear of offending their leader all over their faces.

One thing I like about the new young socialists terrifying the old farts of the nation is that they laugh all the time, even at the hatred surrounding them.

Mayor Zohran Kwame Mamdani, the mayor of New York, laughs at himself constantly grinning all the way, and so does the other politician everyone is talking about – Abdul El-Sayed.

El- Sayed is the anti-Trump; he is laughing and funny almost all of the time, even when he is being attacked, which is almost always. He is the Humorless Trump Administration’s Worst Nightmare; he laughs way too much. Thus would never function in Congress.

In our new grim society, the obstacles to laughter pass as virtues in the people who possess them. I call it Negative Spirituality, a grim, even hateful approach to life in the name of righteousness.

These are the dangerous ones, the ones who have taken over our country, bit by bit. They pass judgment on all of us, good or bad, black or white or brown or Trans or “woke.” I think that about covers all of them.

They are humorless leaders who believe they have been chosen as harbingers of God’s wrath. Jesus would hate everything about them, but that seems to be beside the point.

Their legacy is to make holiness a plague rather than a passion.

It’s no accident that those idealistic young people are winning elections all over the country. They all smile and laugh, and their laughter will bring laughter back, helping restore our connections to one another.

That’s nothing to laugh about.

______

(P.S. Ethologists note that human laughter likely evolved from the “play panting” of ancestral apes during mock fighting. In social settings, laughter signals to the group that a potential threat or unexpected event is harmless—effectively broadcasting, “We are safe, you can drop your guard.”

It seems our humorless leadership believes every potential threat is real, and that our country is never safe. They insist that the more we hate, the safer the country will be. Think of the hated “woke.”

“We don’t laugh because we’re happy — we’re happy because we laugh.” — William James.

James, the psychologist and philosopher, was making a broader point about emotion and action (his theory that physical expression can precede and shape feeling, not just follow it). Still, the line holds up as a nice case for laughter as something worth doing on purpose, not just waiting for.)

 

30 August

Sunday Wisdom: There Is A Life To Be Lived In The Last Years….”

by Jon Katz

There is a life to be lived in the last years that ought not to be infected by what went before. We have an obligation now to live well with the people around us who are making this new life possible. We owe them the best we have. And the best that is in us is what is undefiled by the past.” -Joan Chittister, The Gift of Years.

21 August

Pastoral Morning In Bedlam, Friday, August 21 2026. Mist And Sun, Once More. I Got Up Early

by Jon Katz

Morning photos, thanks for the good words about my Photo Paintings, they are much appreciated, I might try again this afternoon. I need sunlight. Nothing makes me happier than experiments.

______

 

 

Zinnia gaving a kiss to a sheep.

 

 

Our neighbors farm in the morning mist.

 

 

 

Fate may not know what she is doing, but she does it with great intensity and courage.

 

 

Lulu loves to sit outside the barn and watch the mist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s great to love a donkey.

16 August

Aging Gracefully: Searching For Mystery And Calm. I Found It

by Jon Katz

When all is said and done, I think I moved up to the country to escape the life of the city – the noise, the tension,  the smell, the cost, the anger, the violence, the politics, the technology, the endless nibble of unchecked technology of machines, not humans, in our very souls.

I worked for Wired Magazine just after the dawn of the Internet, and we pompously and foolishly celebrated what we thought would free information for all time.

It was obvious right off that new technologies would alter life; we didn’t grasp that it would destroy civil discourse, hypnotize us, endanger our children, poison our politics, destroy privacy, and obliterate civil discourse.

It was also obvious these new machines would pour into our lives before we grasped their impact. Have computers really made life better for all of us? I’m not so sure any longer.

If I think about it, I try to minimize the creepy technological intrusion into my life, soul, and peace of mind under the ridiculous name of what we used to call news.

There is a lot of freedom of thought and democracy online; there is a lot of lying,  bigotry, and hatred. Technology launched the age of the Billionnaires and the flood of technologies that few people and no government thought about or regulated. Big money and exploding civic and commercial corruption have gotten out of control and are threatening our very democracy.

There were no billionnaires when I started work as a young reporter in the late 1970s; I could name the country’s millionaires – J. Paul Getty or Howard Hughes (they each made lots of millions) – and we never heard of billionnaires. Jobs were often good for life, along with money for retirement and health.

Today, almost all tech CEOs are billionnaires, making staggering amounts of money that damage or even ruin the peace in our lives. They never have enough money to stop and share.

Corporate America is devouring the country and its culture, taking its treasured political structure with it; government regulation has vanished, and our politics are now all about bowing to big money, controlling it, or keeping it off our lawns.

But I’m not writing this piece except to talk about how it relates to my aging. Moving to the country saved my life in many ways. I’m only realizing this recently.

It is not perfect here, of course, but it was just what I needed to get out of the tension and intrusions of city life, including the sudden tsunami of new technologies. There is no escaping them.

Up here, I can see the sky. I see the flowers, I see animals, and I hear crows and coyotes and run into bears. In here, the night is quiet, and the stars are bright. It’s not a perfect life, but it is a good life. Maria even relishes clearing the barns of manure.

My neighbors often differ from me in their politics, but they are happy to be my friends and come running if there is trouble.

The sad thing about urban living for me was how easy it was to become cemented and overwhelmed by my personal worlds – my work, transportation, taking the same trains, walking on the same streets, following the same schedules, eating the same foods, and hurriedly locking doors, obsessing with nice lawns, walking dogs on leashes.

I was too tired from long hours and expensive living to talk much with friends or meet new ones.

My urban life made me feel like an urban robot, cut off from nature and too busy to think much about what I was doing. First, my book career was blown up because of my age; then I was surprised to learn I was where I wanted to be.

There are no billionnaires up here. Neighbors help each other. Up here, I see that all the money out there is going up, not down, and the people here are struggling to live.

The city is not a place for me any longer. There are too many rich people there, and too few here.

It took a long time before I came to feel liberated from that life or understand why I was here, and why I felt the need to wreck my family and heal from my breakdown.

I have to be honest. Old age liberated me. I use and deed computers and spend too much time on my cell phone; I’m working on that.

 

_______

I’ve turned to Pastoral art as a way of reconnecting with nature. I get up early to see the rising sun. I spend an hour every morning meditating, and most Sundays for Contemplation and silent thought, something I never did or had time to do in my city life – I loved and worked in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Dallas, and Atlantic City.

But the artist in me needed to come out, and it could here.

Age and the country have allowed me to break out of the prisons forming around me when I was too mum and distracted to think.

Old age has given me the time and opportunity to experience nature and actually feel its beauty and power, and also to stop, soak up the quiet and beauty, and figure out just how I want too design my own life and to know who I am rather than work in slavery for people who care only about money.

I wish I had more money, but I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I’ve taken the time to look around and see all the life, beauty, and quiet I was missing. I have the time.

Being old has given me the chance to wander, experiment, and stray a bit from the rhythms and patterns of life. I see the importance of being able to think about things, rather than scrambling for money.

I can wake up any time I want, go to the bookstore anytime I want a book, meditate for an hour in the woods and outside by the pasture when I am upset.

I work hard in the work I do – I  write a blog, raise money for a food Pantry, take lots of photos and share them on my blog, and write essays like this anytime I wish about anything I want.

But it’s work I wish to do, not work I am told to do.

Up here, I even gave love a chance and found it in the unlikeliest place.

I am happily astonished that my old age is shaking me into consciousness of the present, and so of the past. Hate is rare here, so is crime. We need each other. We see each other.

It took getting older to free me from myself. I like the man I found on there, waiting to come out, using the chance to think to good advantage.

In a sense I am disconnecting myself from the part of life that is hateful and cruel. I know it’s there, and I am committed to doing good. That’s my response.

But I see no part of this new AI and enraged world to belong to. I have to make life work for me.

These things are the essence of the mystery of my life, and of life itself. It was waiting for me, and is greeting me with open arms.

I’m old, but I’m also learning about the holiness of time.

It’s never too late to learn that.

 

 

 

10 August

Pastoral Morning, Bedlam Farm, Monday, August 10, 2026. Over The Horizons. Change Is On The Way.

by Jon Katz

A curious prediction. The campaign of Dr. Abdul El-Sayed in Michigan has triggered a disturbing and brightening wave of ignorance and bigotry, even the old Communist terrors. I want to make a prediction. He will overcome the bigotry and win the November election, not because I love or even know him well but because the heart of America beats – I see it every day in the people who rush to save the Cambridge Food Pantry, a symbol of good and compassion for the country. It will be interesting to see whether I have a good feeling about his campaign. As a Jew, I have a good nose for anti-semites. El-Sayed is not one of them.

Or whether hate will win, as it has before. I don’t think it will. I can spot an anti-semite. They’ve all had lunch at Mar-a-Lago.

________

 

_______

I love the softness of this morning sun. Those are the Green Mountains of Vermont, just a few miles away from the farm.

Email SignupFree Email Signup