Sweet Laughter

I've been thinking about Aristotle lately. 

He was born in the 4th century in Greece, but the perspectives and philosophical beliefs he proffered resonate in today's world as much as ever. He was one of the world's most impressive lateral thinkers, finding inspiration in all that he did and thought, and seeking to better understand his world--the world--at every step, turn, and conversation. His life was ripe with OPPORTUNITY (as all of our lives are), and he plucked chances as though they were exotic fruits to be tasted and devoured, seeds and all.

Whether it was epistemology, geology, physics, psychology, biology, ethics, or any other variation of conceptual consideration, Aristotle wanted to feel everything and to understand more. He was insatiably curious in the ways we hope our students become. He valued thinking (and questioning) in ways we need our world's leaders (and "followers") to be. He operated in a world devoid of silos and safety, dwelling instead in conversations with those who disagreed with him and pushed him to better understand truth.

I've discussed Aristotle's theories of human nature with my 8th graders this week as we continue to navigate William Golding's Lord of the Flies. Aristotle believed that humans were naturally-inclined to be conjugal, political, and mimetic. He felt this was our human destiny and that it separated us from most other species in the animal kingdom. 

Still, he recognized that there were animals that partnered for life and developed clan-like relationships, gathering in flocks, or herds, or packs. There are also animals that form elaborate hierarchies and systems of self-governing organization. There are even animals that can be creative and innovative in moments of necessity. While survival tends to limit opportunities for creativity and imaginative thinking, it still happens.

But here's the thing: After all of his work, observation, research, conversation, meditation, and pontificating, Aristotle ended up ascribing human's unique nature to their propensity to laugh.

A baby, Aristotle claimed, does not have a soul, until the moment it laughs for the first time.

This week, in the midst of floundering alongside my students in a punchbowl of emotions, my students reminded me to laugh. They produced videos and presentations about the Five Pillars of Islam that were highly informative; that showcased both their creativity and their intellectual depth, and that pushed their understandings deeper toward the realm of being culturally competent.

Yet they also relished in the bloopers. They highlighted the moments where they'd cut each other off, where they'd dabbed, tripped, spilled, squealed, shrieked, heard their voices crack, seen their wardrobes malfunction. They'd had their computer stepped on by an excited fifth grader, their filming had ben interrupted, their lines had been forgotten. And it was the best. It was the moment their souls were revealed, and it brought lightness to the room.

We talked about how good it felt to laugh--to lose control of our ability to look cool. But it was so much better when we did it together. Of course, we talked about memes and gifs and YouTube, about the danger of resorting to humor when real action is required....but we also recognized that laughter might, in fact, be the best medicine.

Yes, we laugh when we're nervous.
Yes, we laugh at people when we're insecure.
And yes, we laugh when we've contrived a sinister masterplan.

But those are different types of laughter. I know, because we laugh the sweetest laughter when we forget--for just an instant--about who we are and how we're supposed to act, and we return to the gleeful moment when, as Aristotle remarked, we first squealed in delight at the nonsensical folly of a world filled with joy.

Here's to laughing that sweet brand of laughter, and finding those people with whom we can do it well.