June 1815, Waterloo. Lord Uxbridge’s day begins with him watching much of his heavy cavalry perish in a costly charge. In successive attacks, eight of his horses are killed or badly wounded — while he is riding them. At last, a lone French cannon finds its mark. “By God, sir, I’ve lost my leg!” Uxbridge reportedly exclaims. “By God, sir, so you have!” the Duke of Wellington replies. Later, Uxbridge would comment that the amputation knife “appears somewhat blunt”.

October 2009, ITV. Rikki Loney, a Glaswegian with a hat, has just been told by a 26-year-old singer of moderate talent that he has a one in 12 chance of winning an annual talent competition. Victory would ensure six months of saccharine success, followed — in all probability — by a humiliating and desperate decline. Elated, he rushes to the singer, sobbing uncontrollably on to her perfectly-styled shoulder.

Britain is blubbing; its stiff upper lip unstiffening. From Gazza to Kate Winslet and The X Factor, passing Diana, Princess of Wales on the way, we have not just lost the quiet stoicism that was once the foundation of our national pride — we have also lost our shame. The question among those of us left to mourn — in suitably restrained fashion — the passing of British reserve is: is too much crying cause for concern? And what, in any case, is the point of it?

From a biological perspective, crying is profoundly mysterious. The young of many animals cry, as a way of attracting their absent mothers. In humans, the trait continues into adulthood. A 1980s survey concluded that women cry five times a month and men about once a month. Since a 30-year-old man rarely cries because he wants his mother to breast feed him, this is confusing.

Professor Raymond Tallis, who last year published a book about the workings of the head, says he finds it “deeply puzzling”. “Some people have suggested that crying may be a preserved response from childhood,” he says. “Humans have a considerably longer period of immaturity than most animals and may retain some childish traits.” But even that fails to explain the idiosyncrasies of crying. “We cry because we are in pain — which sort of makes sense — but we also cry in response to emotions.”

This dichotomy is not semantics. Emotional tears, he says, have a higher manganese content than pain tears — and no one knows why. They are also an extremely sophisticated response. That someone will cry at the Cenotaph, for soldiers they never knew who would now be dead even if they had survived, is odd; that they will also sometimes cry through joy is incredible. And biology does not take us very far.

“Speaking without my lab coat on, having a good cry is probably a good thing,” Professor Tallis ventures. “But a lot of the tears shed for Diana, for instance, were utterly meaningless.”

The Princess’s death is a paradigm for many of those working to explain the difference between a healthy cry and an unhealthy indulgence. Phillip Hodson, Fellow of the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy, shares Professor Tallis’ concern about such displays — but goes farther. He believes that ostentatious emoting can actually be damaging. “Public outpourings of grief do not reflect actual emotional pain,” he says. “What is irritating is lachrymosity — shedding tears, but not crying. If you cry not because of the effect of something but because you deem yourself affected, you do a disservice to yourself and mislead others. It is never a good idea for your mental stability if you are acting somehow ‘other’ than you naturally are.” The problem, he says, is that this affects how you respond to real disaster. “If you spend all your time wobbling your lip, you will be stunned when something truly awful comes along.”

This, for many psychologists, is the crux. Crying is generally a good thing — when it involves being in touch with your emotions. But, when the crying is in public, sometimes it becomes about the viewer as much as oneself. Dacher Keltner is a professor of psychology and author of Born to be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life. “When it comes to emotion, Aristotle had it right. Happiness and the good life are found in moderation — in this specific instance, crying to the right degree and about the right things,” he says. He believes crying evolved as a way of bringing people closer at times of distress. “The question is — is all this new crying bringing people closer? In some instances it may be — a family welling up over a moving reality show, for instance. In general, I suspect not.”

Another of the more intriguing evolutionary interpretations of crying posits it being developed as a sign of submission — when you cry, your eyes blur and you are less able to defend yourself. In this context, X Factor emoting should be welcomed by Simon Cowell — if his victims are crying, he is unlikely to be lamped. Except that even he — who encouraged every contestant’s tear-jerking back story — has had enough. There is “far too much crying”, he said last year. “This is supposed to be a talent show, not Jeremy Kyle.” Could we be at the start of a fightback?

Last week the BBC held auditions for its new talent contest, So You Think You Can Dance. A succession of implausibly lithe wannabes took turns to be insulted by Nigel Lythgoe. After another superficially flawless audition, Lythgoe interrogated the female dancer. “It says here,” he said looking at his notes, “that you are dancing to make your blind albino mother proud?” “Yes,” she replied — deadpan. “Well, your technique’s not good enough, try again next year.” And so she thanked him politely, turned to the wings and walked off the stage. Maybe there’s life in the stiff upper lip yet.

Additional reporting by Ruth Lewy

The science of crying

Despite recent research suggesting that crying may influence stress hormone levels, it’s unclear whether this actually translates into any tangible health benefit.

Although most people feel better after a good cry, the bulk of the scientific evidence suggests that it is unlikely to result in any significant improvement in emotional or physical wellbeing (other than that which may result from the sympathetic response it often elicits in others).

Conversely, and reassuringly for old-school Brits, maintaining a stiff upper lip and refusing to shed a tear doesn’t seem to do any harm either.

Dr Mark Porter

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