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This book is dedicated to Mildred Reed Hall

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VIU THE DANCE OF LIFE

Notes iQj Glossary 2oq Bibliography 21$ Index 225

FOREWORD

No book is ever completed without the active help and participation of a

great many people, some of whom are known and readily identified because
they are present, actively involved, and their contributions are so patently
obvious that recognition is unavoidable. There is another group, however,
which remains forever hidden. I refer to those on whose shoulders the
author stands while formulating his thinking—his intellectual forebears and
those pioneers and groundbreakers who laboriously advanced our
understanding of human behavior for hundreds of years before. My first
acknowledgment is, therefore, to those scholars, known and unknown,
recognized and unrecognized, living and dead, who have contributed so
much to my thinking, made many of my insights possible, and without
whom my own formulations would be nothing.

There are of course specific individuals whom one can identify as well as
the tasks they have performed. Yet, even here, the contribution is somehow
minimized because, having selected several, one automatically thereby
excludes others. A good editor does almost as much in helping to mold a
book as the author. A chance remark from a friend or reader frequently

provides a sought-after link between disparate trains of thought that the

author has been trying to connect. I, for one, feel quite humble and deeply
grateful for the help I have received from those around me who have made
this book possible.

William Whitehead edited the original manuscript and was, in addition, the
source of much needed advice and counsel when it was in the crucial
formative stages. I am especially grateful to my Doubleday editor, Sally
Arteseros, for her enthusiastic support, her patience, and her professional
experience. My agent, Carl Brandt, has always played two roles, both of
which are important to any author. For me, he has represented the public
and in that capacity he provides an unbiased mind which responds
creatively to what I have written. In addition, he has provided
encouragement during diflBcult times—and there are always difficult times.
My partner and wife, Mildred Reed Hall, to whom I have dedicated this
book, has performed functions too numerous to mention, in conceptual,
editorial, critical, supportive, and backstopping capacities. Susan
Rundstrom typed several versions of the manuscript. Susan has been so
helpful and useful that I do not know what I would have done without her.
Pat D'Andrea read and criticized the manuscript as well as prepared the
index—a task on which much of the future usefulness of any volume
depends. My colleagues Lawrence Wylie and William Condon both
provided counsel, encouragement, and intellectual stimulation. My
colleague Barbara Tedlock was kind enough not only to lend me a
prepublication version of her book Time and the Highland Maya but also to
discuss this material in some depth, allowing me to take full advantage of
her rather unusual perspective on Quiche culture. To these people and
unnamed others I must express my deep appreciation and everlasting
gratitude.

May 4, 1Q82

Santa Fe, New Mexico

The subject of this book is time as culture, how time is consciously as well
as unconsciously formulated, used, and patterned in diflferent cultures.
Because time is a core system of aU cultures, and because culture plays
such a prominent role in the understanding of time as a cultural system, it is
virtually impossible to separate time from culture at some levels. This is
particularly true of primary level culture, about which I wiU be saying
more.

The Dance of Life is one of several books about human beings, culture, and
behavior. It deals with the most personal of all experiences: how people are
tied together and yet isolated from each other by invisible threads of rhythm
and hidden walls of time. Time is treated as a language, as a primary
organizer for all activities, a synthesizer and integrator, a way of handling
priorities and categorizing experience, a feedback mechanism for how
things are going, a measuring rod against which competence, e£Fort, and
achievement are judged as well as a special message system revealing how
people really feel about each other and whether or not they can get along.

Time is a core system of cultural, social, and personal life. In

fact, nothing occurs except in some kind of time frame. A complicating

factor in intercultural relations is that each culture has its own time frames
in which the patterns are unique. This means that to function effectively
abroad it is just as necessary to learn the language of time as it is to learn
the spoken language. Several chapters in this book deal with the Americans
and the Japanese as mirror images of each other, in which the determining
threads of time set the stage for everything else. Other chapters are devoted
to relations between Western European countries, as well as among Latin
American, Anglo American, and Native American peoples.

One of the themes of this book is that human beings live in a single world
of communication but they divide that world into two parts: words and
behavior (verbal and nonverbal). Words, representing perhaps lo percent of
the total, emphasize the unidirectional aspects of communication—
advocacy, law, and adversarial relationships—while behavior, the other 90
percent, stresses feedback on how people are feeling, ways of avoiding
confrontation, and the inherent logic that is the birthright of all people.
Words are the medium of business, politicians, and our world leaders, all of
whom in the final analysis deal in power, so that words become the
instruments of power. The nonverbal, behavioral part of communication is
the provenance of the common man and the core culture that guides his life.
This complex of feedback, local wisdom, and feelings is generally ignored
or disparaged by our leaders. The question is: How is it possible to maintain
a stable world in the absence of the feedback from the other 90 percent of
communication?

In the above concept it is necessary to say something about culture, about

which there has been considerable misinformation and not a little folklore.
There are those who think of culture as something promulgated by
anthropologists. Culture is not just a concept invented by anthropologists,
any more than stratigraphy is a concept invented by geologists or evolution
by Darwin. Culture is no more a concept than earth, air, or water. All of
these things—including evolution—exist completely independent of what
people believe. There are, of course, conceptual aspects of culture—i.e., our
belief systems concerning the nature of culture which are analogous to the
belief systems concerning the

universe. Simply believing in something, however, doesn't make it so, and

indeed, if what is believed is quite wrong, any action based on these beliefs
can lead to dissonance and worse.

In taking the position that time and culture are inseparable in certain
circumstances, I find myself on the opposite side of a high fence from many
Western social scientists who, like pre-Copernican philosophers, hold that
Western philosophical scientific models and, by association, Newtonian
models are applicable to all cultures. They see time as a constant in the
analysis of culture, and they also see Western science and Western thought
as more advanced than other systems of thought. This position is
epitomized by Yale University's Leonard Doob,^ who has written
extensively on time in the cross-cultural context. Doob views time as an
absolute, rejecting the seminal anthropological studies of Africanists E. E.
Evans-Pritchard on the Nuer and Paul Bohannan on the Tiv with regards to
time. Doob's contention is that the time system is unrelated "to other
cultural developments." I hold the opposite opinion: that time has
everything to do not only with how a culture develops, but also with how
the people of that culture experience the world. The English anthropologist
E. R. Leach,^ holding still another view of time in relation to culture, says:
". . . we create time by creating intervals in life. Until we have done this,
there is no time to be measured." Implicit in this approach is the old
Newtonian view of time as an absolute. As we shall see in the course of this
book, making time contingent on measurement only accounts for one or at
the most two of the many kinds of time and eliminates from examination
people like the Hopi and the Sioux, neither of whom even has a word for
time in their vocabulary. Each has time, however. The Hopi sun priests
make accurate observations of the solstices and maintain a calendar of
religious ceremonies. It is not necessary to belabor this point, but to deal
with time according to Leach's view not only results in an
oversimplification but also eliminates some of the more interesting, as well
as basic, considerations of time.
My goal in this book is to use time as a means of gaining insight into
culture, but not the reverse. In fact, I am not sure that the latter is possible;
or if it is possible, then it is so only in a narrow sense. This has rather deep
implications for our view

of culture, as well as for mankind in general. There is a basic point that

must be introduced here, because most of what follows subsumes it;
namely, there is an underlying, hidden level of culture that is highly
patterned—a set of unspoken, implicit rules of behavior and thought that
controls everything we do. This hidden cultural grammar defines the way in
which people view the world, determines their values, and establishes the
basic tempo and rhythms of life. Most of us are either totally unaware or
else only peripherally aware of this. I call these hidden paradigms primary
level culture. Primary level culture (PLC), core culture, or basic level
culture (I have used all these terms) is somewhat analogous to the hardware
of a computer. Conscious, explicit, manifest culture, the part that people
talk about and can describe, is analogous to the software—the computer
programs. The computer analogy is oversimplified, but it will suflBce for
the moment. Carrying the analogy a step further: most intercultural relations
are conducted as though there are only slight diflFerences in the software
and none in the hardware, as though the only difiFerences are those which
are representative of explicit, manifest culture, while all of the underlying
PLC are identical (i.e., "people are all the same underneath"). The results of
treating members of other cultures as though we are all programmed in the
same way can range from the humorous through the painful to the tragic
and even destructive.

Primary level culture has core components which pattern our thinking and
which give us sets of underlying assumptions for arriving at the "truth."
This was brought home to me recently while discussing the Japanese with a
friend, a brilliant man with an unusually fine mind. I realized that not only
was I not getting through to him, but nothing of a substantive nature that I
had said made sense to hirn. He was operating on one set of assumptions—
which we shared but which he also had never questioned—and I was
describing a culture based on an altogether difi^erent set of assumptions.
For him to have understood me would have meant reorganizing his
thinking. It was as though I had suddenly imposed a new language with an
entirely different grammar. It would have meant, for the moment at least,
his giving up his intellectual ballast, and few people are willing to risk such
a radical move.

One of the principal characteristics of PL culture is that it is particularly

resistant to manipulative attempts to change it from the outside. The rules
may be violated or bent, but people are fully aware that something wrong
has occurred. In the meantime, the rules remain intact and change according
to an internal dynamic all their own. Unlike the law or religious or political
dogma, these rules cannot be changed by fiat, nor can they be imposed on
others against their will, because they are already internalized.

There are at least three diflFerent levels at which culture can be seen to
function: (i) the conscious, technical level in which words and specific
symbols play a prominent part; (2) the screened-oflF, private level, which is
revealed to only a select few and denied to outsiders; and (3) the
underlying, out-of-awareness, implicit level of primary culture (PL).
Language plays a prominent part in the first two but is secondary in the
third. This does not mean that PL culture is entirely nonverbal, only that the
rules have not yet been formulated in words. As a consequence, many
cultures that appear quite similar on the surface, frequently prove to be
extraordinarily different on closer examination.

These underlying differences are what I set out to examine when I returned
to the study of time after almost two decades devoted to proxemics (the
study of people's use of space as a cultural artifact, organizing system, and
as a communication system).

There have been many times in my life when luck and good fortune have
been on my side, and the study of proxemics was one. If it hadn't been for
years spent with my feet more or less firmly rooted in the unconventional
but solid soil of the primary culture of space, I doubt I could have survived
v^dth my intellect intact while trying to make sense of the massive
literature on time. Unlike the study of territoriality, where the British
ornithologist N. E. Howard^ opened up new vistas and avenues of
approach, I found the world of time closing in on me. Of course, there was
a vast and important body of data on biological clocks, but somehow it was
different from the biological data on crowding. It didn't yield the same
results that the ethologists* study of territoriality did. There were no mass
deaths from

people being pressured by time (or were there?). In addition, the biologists
and ethologists who have done such an extraordinary job recording the
spatial and territorial behavior of other life forms haven't come up with
comparable material on time. If there ever was a body of work governed by
words which epitomizes Western thinking, it is time. In fact, if one reviews
the field not for insights into the nature of time, but as a giant case study of
Western thought, then things begin to make sense.

Behind these highly articulate endeavors to define the nature of time there
lies a firm but virtually unexamined foundation of assumptions accepted as
reality that have been neither questioned nor tested. Many of these are
simply artifacts of our own implicit, primary level culture.

Human beings have reached the point where they can ill afford the luxury
of ignoring the reality of the many different cultural worlds in which
humans live. Paradoxically, for the Westerner, the study of contrasting
cultures can be an exercise in consciousness raising, which is one of the
purposes of this book. As long as human beings and the societies they form
continue to recognize only surface culture and avoid the underlying primary
culture, nothing but unpredictable explosions and violence can result. My
thesis is that one of the many paths to enlightenment is the discovery of
ourselves, and this can be achieved whenever one truly knows others who
are different.

Today's world is dominated by two great but completely different traditions

and, if Robert Omstein* and Tadanobu Tsunoda^ are correct, each
emphasizes different areas of the brain. I am not referring to Capitalism and
Marxism, or to great political doctrines such as totalitarianism and
democracy. I mean the linear, externalized logic that began with the Greek
philosophers in the fifth century B.C. and culminated in Western
philosophies and today's Western science, and, on the other hand, the
inward-looking, highly disciplined Buddhist philosophies in which Zen
plays a prominent part. Each has entered into a powerful transaction,
molding man and, through man, nature. But each works in radically
different ways. Nevertheless, the two traditions have much to gain and learn
from each other.

Fritjof Capra's book The Too of Physics is a courageous attempt to deal

with this issue on the level of physics, philosophy.

and mathematics, and it can be helpful to those who look to physical

science for inspiration. However, my approach is somewhat difiFerent,*and
while I have great respect for the powerful theories of physical science and
what they have taught mankind about the physical world, and for the many
advances that science and technology have made, I am constrained to
remind myself that life itself, and particularly life for the human species, is
the ultimate value against which all else should be measured. Without
people, technology means nothing. If the world's problems are to be solved,
it will be by human beings, not by machines; the machines are only here to
help us. Technology is an inevitable result of mankind's propensity to
evolve outside his body. The record on this score is impressive, but it is
now time for the human race to begin again to direct attention to human
beings and the social institutions that make this technology possible. By
focusing our attention outward, we have been diverted from the real task of
life: the understanding and mastery of life itself. This is where our two great
but very different philosophical traditions become increasingly relevant.
Our purpose should be to facilitate human interaction, to begin to turn
ourselves around, and to loosen the unconscious grip of culture so that
instead of being controlled by the past, human beings can face the future in
quite a new and more adaptive way. In setting these objectives, I do not
mean to give the impression that our task will be easy. On the contrary, it is
probably more difficult than anything the human species has thus far
attempted. Paradoxically, the individual steps to cultural and personal
comprehension are not inevitably diflBcult. It is the changing of behavior,
and the integration of new patterns that lead to greater self-knowledge, that
tax us most. In this sense, the 2Den masters are right.

Zime as Culture

I How Many Kinds of Time?

Some things are not easily bent to simple linear description. Time is one of
them. There are serious misconceptions about time, the first of which is that
time is singular. Time is not just an immutable constant, as Newton
supposed, but a cluster of concepts, events, and rhythms covering an
extremely wide range of phenomena. It is for this reason that classifying
time, in the words of the English Africanist E. E. Evans-Pritchard,*
"bristles with diflBculties." At the microlevel of analysis one might say that
there are as many different kinds of time as human beings on this earth, but
we in the Western world view time as a single entity. This is incorrect, but it
is the way we see it.

It is possible to philosophize endlessly on the "nature" of time. While such

an exercise can be engaging and even at times enlightening, I have found it
more productive to use a different approach. In my approach, behavior
comes first and words follow. Looking at what people actually do (in
contrast to what they write and say when theorizing) one quickly discovers
a wide discrepancy between time as it is lived and time as it is considered.
As people do quite different things (write books, play, schedule activities,
travel, get hungry, sleep, dream, medi-

tate, and perform ceremonies), they unconsciously and sometimes

consciously express and participate in different categories of time. For
example, there is sacred and profane time as well as physical and
metaphysical time. It is also quite clear that time as Einstein defined it in
the technical sense—the time of the physicists—is not the same as
engineering or technological time. Engineers must be as precise as possible,
but they do not under ordinary circumstances have to take into account the
fact that Einstein's time is relative and depends upon the speed with which
the clock is moving in relationship to the speed of light. Then there are also
the biological clocks which one hears so much about, which get out of
phase when people travel by jet. Anyone who has experienced jet lag has
firsthand knowledge of the conflict between two different time systems:
biological clock time and the time of the clock on the wall in a distant time
zone. If one is from the Mountain States or the West Coast, one discovers
with dismay that during the middle of the day in a European capital, at the
very moment when one is supposed to be alert for a meeting or conference,
one is overwhelmed by fatigue. According to its built-in rhythms, the body
has been up all night, and it is now six or seven in the morning! Regardless
of the activity or the clock on the wall in the new time zone, the body is
screaming, "It's time to go to bed and rest."

In other words, it can be demonstrated that, on the level of core culture as

well as surface manifest culture, most of us who live in the industrialized
world are using and distinguishing between six to eight (of the nine) kinds
of time that it is possible to identify. What we have here is the basis of a
folk taxonomy. Folk taxonomies sometimes have more to recommend them
than one might suppose and are certainly more in tune with the way people
think and behave at the implicit (primary) level than the classification
systems promulgated by philosophers and social scientists. There are
sacred, profane, metaphysical, physical, biological, and clock times, but we
have very little idea of how they all fit together or how each affects our
lives. In addition, there are also at least two categories of time of which AE
people (that is, American and European people) are only marginally aware.
All of us, for example, are tied together in an endless web of rhythms—
rhythms that influence how parents relate to

their children as well as how people relate to each other on the job and in
the home. In addition to rhythms, there are larger cultural patterns, some of
which are even antithetical to each other and which, hke oil and water,
simply do not mix.

How does one proceed to classify these different kinds of time and do it in a
rational way so that the interrelationships can be seen as a coherent system?
To assist in the task of symbolically integrating the different time systems, I
considered a mandala. A mandala is one of mankind's oldest classification
devices; it is usually in the shape of a circle or a square and is comparable
to a matrix in mathematics. The basic purpose is to show the relationship of
various ideas to each other in a comprehensive, nonlinear fashion.

Mandalas are particularly useful when one is dealing with paradoxical

relationships, dissimilar pairs or clusters of activities which one's intuition
indicates are related but which have not been previously associated, Hnked,
or combined into a comprehensive system. After I tried various
combinations it became clear that the mandala was the most promising
approach. It is important to arrive at the right combinations because the
mandala should conform as closely as possible to the actual relationships
encountered in life. My mandala gradually evolved and now comprises the
four complementary pairs as shown in the diagram on page 16.

Before we proceed, however, a few comments should be made about

symbolic representation in general, and this mandala in particular. Symbols
should always be viewed as tools and consciously distinguished from the
events which they symbolize. Words and mathematical symbols are classic
examples of how such tools can be manipulated in ways real events cannot.

In Albert Einstein's terms, time is simply what a clock says and the clock
can be anything—the drift of a continent, one's stomach at noon, a
chronometer, a calendar of religious ceremonies, or a schedule of
instruction or production. The clock one is using focuses on different
relationships in our personal lives. Each division in the mandala represents
a radically different kind of clock. Viewed in this light and taking into
consideration the different classes of time, it is important to note that the
rules for understanding one category (one kind of clock) are not

THE DANCE OF LIFE

applicable to another category. It is hopeless to try to make sense of

physical (scientific) time in terms of its opposite, metaphysical time, and
vice versa, or to apply the rules of sacred time to profane time. These
classes of time are like dijfferent universes with different laws. The
mandala expresses their diflFerent natures and the relationships among
them.

In discussing the different types of time, I will try to provide enough

description so that the average reader can grasp what is included under each
heading and get a general idea of the

A MAP OF TIME

Philosophical & Conscious Time

<u a>
•is

<D —

I CO

Unconscious Emergent Time

Note: To discuss complementary systems it is necessary to invoke Meta

Time,which is where the integrative concepts are located.

kind of a clock we are contemplating. The structural relationships between

these various clocks and how they can be integrated are discussed in
Appendix I.

Biological Time

Before life appeared on this earth—an estimated 2 to 4 billion years ago—

the light and dark cycles, occasioned by the rotation of our tiny planet as it
exposed first one and then the other side to the sun, represented but one of a
series of cycles that made up an important part of the environment in which
life evolved. The ebb and flow of the tides and the seasonal rhythms
established by the travel of the earth in orbit around the sun formed the
basis for other sets of clocks as life began. Sunspot cycles and the swelling
and shrinking of the earth's primitive atmosphere like a huge beast
breathing in its sleep all established a rhythmic change of environment that
early life forms not only adapted to but eventually internalized.

From that point on, no form of hfe evolved or could evolve in a timeless
nonrhythmic world. In fact, it was these very rhythmic changes from light
to dark, from hot to cold, and from wet to dry that forced upon early living
forms the very qualities that set the stage for later forms of life. Without
environmental change, complex forms of life cannot evolve.

From this, one might say that in the beginning there was time and all time
was periodic and rhythmic. As life evolved, the external cycles became
internalized and took on lives of their own. Fiddler crabs, tuned to the
twelve-hour tidal clock, foraged on beaches exposed at low tide. Oysters,
tuned to the same clock, fed when covered with water. Grunions spawned
and laid their eggs within thirty minutes of high tide. Even at the primitive
level of slime molds, as many as six different times were delineated which
control different states of developmental sequencing. Much higher up the
evolutionary ladder, chickens lay more eggs when the days are longer in the
summer. In humans there are hourly shifts in the hormonal levels of the
blood.

Without intervention from the outside, these biological clocks will

ordinarily stay in sync with the normal rhythms and cycles

of the external environment. What happens inside is congruent with the

outside world, so that while there are two kinds of time mechanisms,
physical and biological, they behave as one.

In recent years there has been an enormous amount of research about how
different organisms temporally integrate activities within as well as outside
their bodies: sleeping, eating, mating, foraging, hunting, playing, learning,
being bom, and even dying, all involve exosomatic timing (phasing of an
activity with events taking place outside the body). Phasing of this sort
depends on an incredible system of internal timing mechanisms that keeps
all living things in step not only with each other but also with the world. So
important is this subject that over a thousand scientific papers a year are
devoted to it.

Staying in phase is often taken for granted because it is an integral part of

everyday life and much of it is out of our conscious control. Nothing can
grow in a healthy way unless it is in a time-controlled, uniform manner; for
example, it is the unregulated (out-of-phase) growth of cells in the body that
characterizes cancer. Men have spent weeks in caves to see if their body
rhythms are tied to the rising and setting of the sun or whether they are
independent, trying to discover which of the two theories of biological
timing actually determines how the "clocks" are set. Internal timing
mechanisms are at work in the young man who hasn't discovered girls yet,
who wakes up one morning feeling a new stirring in his blood and is
amazed at how pretty the girl next door has suddenly become. He is
responding to timing mechanisms deep within the glandular system in his
body. Such mechanisms were laid down millions of years ago when the
earliest mammals became differentiated from reptiles.

Anyone who has traveled east to west or west to east for more than three or
four hours on a jet airplane and who has suffered jet lag has had firsthand
experience in how our body rhythms are set according to the twenty-four-
hour cycle of the planet. There is some speculation that travelers in space
may run into serious difficulty not only because of lack of gravity, but also
because of disorientation of the hundreds of biorhythms regulating body
function. Professor Frank A. Brown of Northwestern

University postulates that physiological chaos will set in when humans

travel too far beyond the boundaries of our own planet.^ The study of
biological clocks includes not only those of living organisms, but also those
of fossils—dating back to the Devonian times (350 to 400 million years
ago) when the year was 400 days long rather than 365. On the behavioral
side, the Japanese have been experimenting with biorhythms and keeping
track of the periodicity of highs and lows in human energy, intellectual
activity, and sociability. They report a reduced accident rate when their bus
drivers drive more carefully during a "critical" phase. Whether the reduced
number of accidents has come about as a result of simply telling the drivers
to be careful at certain times, or because the rhythms have been accurately
identified, has not been tested. However, biorhythms are closely related to
"personal time," since they are supposedly unique to the individual.

Personal Time

Personal time has as its primary focus the experience of time (see chapter
8). Psychologists who have studied the way in which people experience the
flow of time in different contexts, settings, and emotional and psychological
states are concentrating their attention on personal time. Is there anyone
who has not had the experience of time "crawling" or "flying"? Although
biological time is relatively fixed and regular and personal time more
subjective, there do seem to be environmental and physiological factors
which help explain these great shifts in the way in which time is
experienced. The slowing down of brain waves and the heart and
respiratory rate during meditation have produced instances where people
reported that "time stood still."
Physical Time

Sitting enclosed all day in "weatherized" steel and glass cocoons with all of
our physical needs cared for, there is simply no reason for the average
individual to keep close tabs on the sun in its annual pilgrimage from south
to north and then back

to south again. Specialists do that for us. June 21 and December 22 shp by
unnoticed.

All over the world the pre-industrial peoples in the middle latitudes watched
the sun travel along the horizon and carefully recorded its progress until the
points farthest north (the longest day for those in the northern hemisphere)
and farthest south (the shortest day for those in the northern hemisphere)
were precisely charted and landmarks associated with the fixed sighting had
been firmly established. In this way the date of all important ceremonies as
well as planting and harvesting could be calculated for the coming six-
month period. There are literally hundreds of such sighting points
discovered in the American Southwest alone.

After observing that the sun moved and that everything was associated with
that movement, early man had the problem of pinning dowm the pattern—
of recording and fixing it in space in order to start counting the days.
Whether the discovery was made once and difiPused or was discovered
independently all over the globe we will never know. One thing seems
evident, however, and that is the practice of making accurate observations
was tied to establishing the solstices. Ruth Benedict in her Zwm Mythology
describes this process: "The sun told him . . . come to the edge of the town
every morning and pray to me ... at the end of the year when I come to the
south, watch me closely; and in the middle of the year in the same month
when I reach the farthest point on the right hand watch me closely . . . The
first year ... he watched the sun closely, but his calculations were early by
thirteen days. Next year he was early by twenty days . . . The next year his
calculations were two days late. In eight years he was able to time the
turning of the sun exactly."^

Observations such as these conducted in hundreds if not thousands of spots

around the globe must have laid the foundations of modem science and
have provided mankind with the first tangible clues that there was order in
the universe, because these observations could be conducted hundreds of
times and still yield uniform results.

Some of the greatest minds on this planet have focused their attention on
physical time. Isaac Newton treated time as an absolute—one of the basic
absolutes of the universe. Newton

and his followers conceived of time as fixed and immutable, which meant
that time could be used as a standard for measuring events. Newton was
wrong, of course, as was clearly shown by Albert Einstein. Writing from his
desk as a patent clerk in Bern, Switzerland, Professor Einstein provided
compelling arguments that time was relative. He predicted that as a clock
approached the speed of light, it would slow down. Einstein argued that a
fast-moving astronaut could leave this earth and return a century later to
find everyone he knew had died, while he himself had aged only a few
years. This is not just a theory, but a physical fact, with far-reaching
implications for mankind.

Fred Hoyle and other astronomers, who studied the shift toward red in the
spectra of receding galaxies, date the universe around 15 billion years old,
while the most distant objects from the solar system are 9 billion light-years
away. To understand the meaning of these numbers of years or to reduce
them to human scale is virtually impossible. There is nothing in human
experience for the average person to compare them to. In the meantime,
Newton's absolute time simply moved over into the profane box. No
engineer could get along today wdthout Newtonian time, which is an
example of the prohibition against applying the rules of one time system to
another. At the other end of the physical scale, there are short periods of
time which, while important in the measurement of the drift of continents
and radio waves, have little existential meaning to the man on the street.
Such a clock at Johns Hopkins University's applied physics lab in Laurel,
Maryland, measures time down to trillionths of a second—or about the time
it would take a ray of light traveling at the rate of 186,000 miles per second
to go the distance measured by the thickness of a playing card.

As is the case with the electromagnetic spectrum, the human sensorium is

only able to respond perceptually to a small fraction of the visual part of
that spectrum. The same applies to time. Mankind's capacity to experience
time frequencies is limited to a tiny fraction of the total our instiiiments will
tell us are present in the universe. Clearly the human species' time on earth
is so short as to make it difficult to imagine when compared to the total.

Possibly even more remarkable than the effect of the 15-

billion-year reach of time on human consciousness is the fact that physicists

now see nothing sacrosanct about the directionality of time. Admittedly, in
the physical world on which we depend for our intellectual underpinnings
time is still irreversible, and H. G. Wells's time machines, while wonderful
to speculate about, are real only in the imagination. Nevertheless, at the
subatomic level, time may not be limited to one direction only, but can go
in both directions, forward and backward. There isn't a clue as to what this
will mean in the future— reversal of aging, for example?

Metaphysical Time

There is no generally accepted theory of physical time to account for

metaphysical time. The two, metaphysical and physical, make an interesting
pair, and while Newton was reported to have been more than a casual
believer in the occult, very few twentieth-century scientists will admit to
preoccupations of this sort.

Leaving physics for the provenance of culture and the everyday life of
human beings, one finds the metaphysical not only alive and well but also
thriving. For those who have experienced it, the metaphysical has always
been intimate and personal. And though there is, so far, no way of equating
the physical with the metaphysical, this fact cannot be a basis for writing off
the mass of human experience, in all cultures, with this extraordinary
dimension. It is necessary to remember that one should not attempt to apply
the rules or methods of investigation of one kind of time system to another,
even a closely related one. We must content ourselves with the view that
they are simply different, in the sense that words and things are different.

One of the foremost students of metaphysical time was J. B. Priestley, who

drew upon the television audiences of Great Britain for hundreds of
examples of individual experiences in which individuals had transcended
both time and space."* One does not have to read Priestley to be aware of
time warps. Most people have had a brush with "dej^ vu," for which I have
no explanation. However, as many have observed, a goodly number of
experiences of this sort, including those in Priestley's sample,

are not only trivial in nature but also characterized by an almost total lack
of surrounding context. They are difficult, if not impossible, to pin down in
either time or space. But not all of Priestley's examples are so easily
dismissed. He seems to provide us with a fairly representative sample, as
these things go— representative for the British Isles, that is. However, a
significant number of the cases sent to him by his public are not at all
trivial. Nor can they be brushed aside as the product of a demented mind.
Those that are published—and many were not —are well documented.
Also, in these instances the context was sufficiently explicit and vivid in
detail so that Priestley's sources were actually able to act on their
precognitive experiences to avoid catastrophes. We can't explain these
things and right now I wouldn't even attempt to do so. The fact is that all
over the world, regardless of culture or station in life, human beings keep
reporting these rather extraordinary occurrences. I for one would be
opposed to dismissing them simply because they don't happen to fit our
particular paradigms. The metaphysical plays an important role in many
people's lives, and it is comforting for them to know that it is there.

In this book, while little more will be said about the metaphysical, as a
student and observer of human behavior I am compelled to take the position
that, until proved othei-wise in irrevocable terms, the metaphysical must be
viewed as simply one more variant of what the human species has
experienced which must be taken as seriously as anything else that happens
to human beings. There are, however, a great many things about our own
species which do not come under the metaphysical umbrella which are just
as remarkable and much less well known. Some vdll be discussed in this
book. In one sense I think it may be quite stubborn and blind on our part to
treat the metaphysical as separate from "life."

Micro Time

Only recently identified and still not widely recognized, micro time is that
system of time that is congruent with and a product of primary level culture.
Its rules are almost entirely outside conscious awareness. It is culture
specific; that is, it is unique to

each culture. Monochronic and polychronic times (see chapter 3) are

examples of major patterns of this type. Even though mono-chronic time is
shared by most North European countries and cultures, it has its own
variations for each culture and region. The significance attached to different
periods of waiting time by Americans when they are on business is another
example. Micro time is one of the basic building blocks of culture. Much of
the material in this book is devoted to micro time.

Sync Time

Sync time is an even more recent discovery than its partner, micro time. The
term "to be in sync" is derived from the media and dates back to the
beginning of "talking pictures" when it was necessary to synchronize the
sound track with the visual record on film. Since then, frame-by-frame
analysis of motion picture film taken during normal transactions of daily
life reveal that when people interact they synchronize their motions in a
truly remarkable way. One of the first things that happens in life is for
newborn infants to synchronize their movements to the human voice.
People who are out of sync with a group are disruptive and do not fit in.
Different people move to different beats. Each city and town in the United
States has its own beat. Each culture has its own beat. Though it took the
white man thousands of years to discover "sync time," the Mescalero
Apaches have known its significance for centuries. Chapters 9 and 10 are
devoted to sync time.

Sacred Time

Modem AE people—peoples of American-European heritage —have some

difficulty understanding sacred or mythic time, because this type of time is
imaginary—one is in the time. It is repeatable and reversible, and it does
not change. In mythic time people do not age, for they are magic. This kind
of time is like a story; it is not supposed to be like ordinary clock time and
everyone knows that it isn't. The mistake is in trying to equate the two or to
act as if it were necessary to create a fixed
relationship between the sacred and the profane. When American Indian
people participate in ceremonies, they are in the ceremony and in the
ceremony's time. They cease to exist in ordinary time. For some, sacred
time makes the rest bearable. By putting themselves in sacred time, people
subconsciously reaffiiTO and acknowledge their own divinity, but by
raising consciousness they are acknowledging the divine in life. Mircea
Eliade in his book The Sacred and the Frofane sees this as imitating God
(imitatio dei). I don't; I see it as defining consciousness.^

Profane Time

Rooted in the sacred time of the Middle East, which in turn grew out of
physical time, profane time now dominates daily life and that part of life
which is explicit, talked about, and formulated. In the Western world,
profane time marks minutes and hours, the days of the week, months of the
year, years, decades, centuries—the entire explicit, taken-for-granted
system which our civilization has elaborated. Possibly because the time
system is linked to the sacred in a complementary way, some of the
sacredness rubs oflF and therefore people generally do not tolerate changes
in it. When the Julian calendar had slipped so far out of line because of the
computation of leap year, it was necessary to recalibrate it. Pope Gregory
XIII tried to alter the calendar by cutting out ten days. People responded by
rioting, shouting, "Give us back our ten days." There are other more
contemporary examples: When President Franklin D. Roosevelt tried to
change Thanksgiving so that it wouldn't be so close to Christmas, the public
response was almost as intense as in Gregory's time.

Meta Time

Meta time is made up of all those things that philosophers, anthropologists,

psychologists, and others have said and written about time: the innumerable
theories, discussions, and preoccupations concerning the nature of time. It is
not time in the

true sense but an abstraction from difiFerent temporal events. Much of the
confusion or lack of consistency between the many theories of time are due
to difiFerent individuals looking at one kind of time (metaphysical time, for
example) from the perspective of another (physical time) or confusing meta
time with reality.

Truth only reveals itself when one gives up all preconceit>ed ideas,
shoseki^

When visiting the Hopi villages for the first time in 1931, I didn't need H.
G. Wells and his time machine to move into another age; for there it was,
floating like a mirage on the mesas above. Soon I would be immersed in it.
Even close to the mesas it was diflBcult to distinguish the houses from the
weathered sandstone of the crumbling vertical cliffs. Those mesas and
arroyos, those distances and roads set that world apart, preserving a life-
style and culture out of the past. Here and there were islands of the white
man's world (like icebergs in an Arctic sea), but unlike the icebergs those
islands and their impact would grow and infiltrate the Indian's world.

The country posed problems for the tourists then, many of whom would
have mini tantrums when time stopped, as it was frequently apt to do.
Standing red-faced on the side of a running arroyo, they champed at the bit
because they couldn't get across. Their automobiles were immobilized, and
they would have to wait for the water to go down (which could take
anywhere from five to thirty-five hours). I never realized that bridges were
an agent of time until I worked on the reservation. Now, of course,
everything on the mesa is an agent of time. The

white man's world has taken over and there are not only paved roads, but
also bridges all the way across the reservation. A wonderful scenic trip that
put one in the middle of the country, to say nothing of into another age, and
used to take a week is now completed in a matter of hours.

Having visited the Hopi and Navajo reservations in 1931, I never dreamed
that I would be back, within a year, and would spend significant portions of
the next five years on those reservations. It started with a telegram from
John Collier—Commissioner of Indian Affairs—offering me an opportunity
to participate in a new program. The objective was to do something positive
with and for the American Indian. As luck would have it, I was sent to the
Navajo-Hopi part of the reservation and worked first as a manager running
a camp for the two tribes and then later as a construction foreman building
dams and fixing roads. It was in this context that I experienced for the first
time how cultures really do clash with each other and how diflBcult it is to
get behind the externals and down to the nitty-gritty of what makes each
group behave and think the way they do. Having arrived at an insight, I
learned how little this means to the average white person on the reservation
whose job it is to work with my Native American friends.

I soon learned that I was dealing with at least four different time systems:
Hopi time, Navajo time, government bureaucratic time, and the time used
by the other white men (mostly Indian traders) who lived on the reservation.
There was also Eastern tourist time, banker's time (when notes were due),
and many other variations of the white man's time system. And what
differences there were among those time systems! There seemed to be no
way at all to bring them in line. Even as a somewhat naive youth, I was
amazed and puzzled by how little importance was attached to those
differences. They were ignored so that everyone could adhere to his own
time system.

To the Navajo, the future was uncertain as well as unreal, and they were
neither interested in nor motivated by "future" rewards—a foundation on
which many of our government programs were based. Sheep and stock
reduction programs were planned and sold to the Indians in terms of future
rewards, "when the range recovers from overgrazing" twenty years hence.

which the Navajo took as a ludicrous joke—simply one more example of

white perfidy.

The government bureaucrat assumed erroneously that anything technical,

such as a dam, a road, a building, or a boundary, was just that: a technical
problem involving only a search for the correct technical solution. It did not
come easily to us then or now that other issues might be at stake.

From the beginning, the government couldn't and didn't see it that way, and
it managed to stumble into one mistake after another. You couldn't blame
the engineers, reared in Oklahoma and recently reduced in force in
Washington and sent out to the reservation on emergency short-term jobs.
Those well-intentioned men knew nothing of either the Hopi or the country.
Dams were staked out in drainages that looked promising, without
consultation with the Hopi either for information on the microclimate or on
clan ownership. The Indians talked about how one drainage could be
counted on for rain and runoff while another one—only three miles to the
east—was always dry. They knew which watersheds would produce runoff.
They were also fully aware of the social and political consequences of
placing a dam in any place on that reservation.

Nor was the religious impact of the location projects considered. Would the
dam be near clan-owned shrines and sacred places? In fact, the reservation
superintendent—the man who, like the ship's captain, was in command and
who set policy— once threatened to fire me and "run me off the
reservation" because I suggested it might make sense to consult the Hopi.
The result was that dams were frequently located so as to exacerbate
ongoing feuds between clans and villages. A government dam built on clan-
owned land for the use of all Hopi technically could be claimed by that
particular clan; if a dam were made available to other clans for watering
their stock, this could establish a precedent and provide an opening wedge
for future claims on the land. These inauspicious beginnings couldn't help
but influence the Hopi's attitude toward work on a dam. The fact that the
two radically different tribes—Hopi and Navajo—inhabited the reservation
didn't simplify matters, and there were further complications.

Two major differences between the Hopi and the Navajo, hav-

ing a direct influence on the work, were immediately apparent. First, the
Navajo preferred working a full month (a twenty-day work period without
weekend breaks); and, there was an almost organic relationship between the
Navajo men^ and their work. They took great pride in good workmanship
and identified deeply with each dam they built. Above all, they wanted the
work done right. The Hopi, in those times, seldom had this sort of
identification. When it came to work schedules, Hopi men, in contrast to the
Navajo, were not only willing, but also preferred to divide up the work.
Any period, no matter how short, was all right as long as it meant that more
people from their village could be hired. Also, Hopi men had an addiction
to devoting a portion of each day to cultivating their fields, something
which failed to register with the dam builders. The men felt uncomfortable
and unfulfilled when this ritual couldn't be performed. The government
work interfered with their routines and kept them away from their fields.
Actually, the government could have employed a completely new crew
every day had it been possible to keep up with the bookkeeping. Computers
weren't even a gleam, then, in John Von Neuman's eye. Everything was
done by hand, and not very accomplished hands at that. Payrolls
complicated by Indian names in a strange language, unfamiliarity with the
Indians themselves, and the fact that many men had two or more names
(white and Indian) posed more problems than the meager clerical staflF
could handle.

Because each dam required from one to three thousand man-days of labor
to complete, it would have been theoretically possible to use every Hopi
male on the reservation over the ninety-day period required to finish a given
project. That no one would have had time to learn how to do his job
properly was not considered by the Hopi. Nor did the fact that the
completion of each project would have been endlessly delayed seem
relevant to them. The whites simply took this back-and-forth discussion and
wrangling as an additional sign of Hopi irascibility and another brick in the
edifice of stereotypes about the Indian. It did not occur to most of the Indian
Service personnel that they were dealing with a different mentality based on
whole

congeries of unfamiliar and exotic assumptions. That there could actually

be diflFerent assumptions on matters of this sort which involved logic was
simply unacceptable to them.

How Hopi time affected the whites in the area was more dramatic in its
implications than the best science fiction. Many of the foundation stones on
which our system was built were simply not present in Hopi culture. It
gradually became apparent that the Hopi were operating on a very different
plane.

AE people grow up expecting that, once initiated, a project will continue

more or less without pauses or serious breaks until it has been completed.
We Americans are driven to achieve what psychologists call "closure."
Uncompleted tasks will not let go, they are somehow immoral, wasteful,
and threatening to the integrity of our social fabric. A road that ends
abruptly in the middle of nowhere signals that something really went
wrong, "somebody goofed." I became increasingly puzzled as I began to
realize that the Hopi lacked this crucial concern for closure and that they
had no timetables in their heads for ordinary built objects, as contrasted
with their ceremonies, which were scheduled. In those years, one of the
most noticeable and arresting characteristics of Hopi villages was the
proliferation of unfinished houses which dotted the landscape. Walls would
be laid in courses of rock and mortar (beautiful stone walls— strong, solid,
well made, showing that people cared and had invested considerable
amounts of time and effort). The window frames—with or without windows
—would be inserted, but the roof would not be finished. Vigas made from
fir and pine from distant forests, cut and scraped, would be lying neatly
stacked next to the house, waiting to be put in place to support the roof.
Everything was ready—waiting for what looked like three weeks' work on
the part of two or three men—and there the house would sit for years.
Questions by whites as to when the house would be finished were treated as
non sequiturs—which they were to the Hopi. There appeared to be no built-
in time schedule, no feeling that life would be out of joint as long as the
task remained incomplete. There was no apparent relationship between the
completed project and a schedule for completion, all of which we whites
took for granted. Yet the underlying

culture pattern that explained the unfinished houses had an unexpected

impact on the conservation work—which I'll describe in a moment.

In regard to Hopi demands for more frequent crew changes, the government
compromised, changing crews every two weeks. This only meant double
the paperwork, and double the number of checks. The real trouble began,
however, when it came time to divide the number of man-days spent on the
job (the labor cost) by the cubic yardage of a completed dam. In those days,
comparable work on regular construction projects would run from 60 to 75
cents a cubic yard of earth moved. According to our engineers, the dams
constructed by our Hopi crews were costing from $4.50 to $5.00 a yard—
six to ten times the normal. It was evident that the Hopi weren't working as
hard as they should be—at least that was the implication. When this was
pointed out to the crew foremen, the Hopi response was strong and
negative. Deeply incensed by the white man's criticisms, they bitterly
complained of harassment. The program developed into a logrolling
boondoggle, not because the Hopi couldn't or wouldn't work but because no
one felt it was important to make the eflFort to explain what the work was
all about in terms understandable to the Hopi.

Still another side of this complex issue must be raised in explaining the
Hopi behavior. Basically, the cultures of the world can be divided into those
in which time heals and those in which it doesn't. Whites belong to the first
category and the Hopi belong to the second. For the Hopi, past experience
with whites—first the Spanish and then the white Americans from the East
in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century—is as sad a story as one
can find in the archives of colonialism. The Spanish priests enslaved the
Hopi. Our government didn't do much better. The Indians were thought of
as heathen savages who must be turned into white men as expeditiously as
possible. Their sacred ceremonies were disrupted and even banned.
Everything possible was done to destroy the fabric of Hopi life, but it was
the attacks on their religion that caused the bitterest resentment. Religious
leaders were jailed—taken away from their families, who were not
informed about what had happened to

.»-•.

their fathers and husbands or when, if ever, they would be returned to their
homes, so that wives remarried, not knowing their husbands would return.
In another instance, an entire village—men, women, and children—^was
treated as sheep— literally—and run through cement troughs full of Black
Leaf 40, a strong concentration of pure nicotine. The excuse was that the
people had lice!

This is not a story for anyone to be proud of, yet, because we live in a "time
heals" culture, the white people of the Indian Agency at Keams Canyon
were either completely ignorant of the past or else assumed that because
"that was ancient history" the Hopi could not feel intensely about things
which happened before those now living were bom. Well, the Hopi hadn't
forgotten, and for them the past dominated the present. Also, our
government was oblivious to the life in the Hopi villages. Most of what
transpired on the mesa tops simply did not exist in the minds of the whites.
This was because employees didn't spend any more time than they had to in
the villages. In fact, there was an informal rule that one should not get too
involved with the Indians. (I was later to see this attitude in our overseas
diplomatic and technical aid missions for Third World countries. )
Separated spatially, temporally, and culturally, the Hopis fumed. Past
injustices gnawed at them and wouldn't let up. The visions of injustices
grew while the circumstances that had led to them were forgotten. Then
along came the United States Government with its "Emergency
Conservation Work" program and hit them with some ridiculous nonsense
(to the Hopi) about how many days it is supposed to take to finish a dam, as
though the dam had a built-in schedule Hke the maturing of a sheep or the
ripening of com. It was just one more instance of the white man making life
diflBcult. The dam was no diflFerent, in the minds of the Hopi, than their
unfinished houses.

The tragedy was that, with the best of intentions, the government was really
trying to do something for the Hopi: to give them work in a time of
depression, work designed to improve their country. Money was cranked
into the economy, dams and roads were built, springs were developed, but
the end result was that old rivalries were revived because of the
construction

schedules and the placement of dams that ignored traditional boundaries,

which the government didn't even know existed. A knowledge of primary
level culture simply was not ours.

These new "injustices" were perpetrated because the government, in its

naivete, thought that the Hopi would naturally want to get as much value
from the government appropriation as possible. It was up to them; they
could build twenty dams or two. The alloted funds were the same. It soon
became apparent that we were at odds because of two systems of logic
which were diametrically opposed. Furthermore, there was no readily
identifiable common ground on which to meet.

The problems we were having all had either a strong spatial or temporal
component or both. Who was there that I could talk to about this? With the
exception of one Indian trader (a friend named Lorenzo Hubbell) who
taught me most of what I knew at the time about the Hopi and the Navajo,
no one seemed to have a clue as to what it was that was causing the
difficulty or, in many instances, that there even was any diflBculty. What
they were experiencing was considered normal for work with American
Indians. Trying to explain why it was that the Hopi were reacting as they
did, I found that most people either were not interested or else chalked it all
up to irascibility, saying, "The Hopi are always complaining." The tragedy
is that the same sort of misunderstanding exists today. In fact, in spite of
modernization on many fronts it's almost as though disaflFection between
the two cultures has increased instead of diminished. The cultural gap today
is as broad and as deep as it ever was. Admittedly, there are many built-in
obstacles in the road to understanding, and differences in the structure of
the two languages is one of them.

Let's consider the way the Hopi language influences the way they think.
What follows is based directly on the work of a great pioneer thinker in the
field of linguistics, Benjamin Lee Whorf, a linguist and chemical engineer.
Whorfs theory is not only technical but also detailed.^

All AE languages, including English, treat time as a continuum divided into

past, present, and future. Somehow we have managed to objectify or
externalize our imagery of the passage of time, which makes it possible for
us to feel that we can

manage time, control it, spend it, save it, or waste it. We have a feeling that
the process of 'TDecoming later" is real and tangible because we can attach
a numerical value to it. The Hopi language does not do this. No past,
present, or future exists as verb tenses in their language. Hopi verbs have no
tenses, but indicate instead the validity of a statement—the nature of the
relationship between the speaker and his knowledge or experience of that
about which he is speaking. When a Hopi says, "It rained last night," the
hearer knows how that Hopi speaker knew it rained: whether he was out in
the rain and got wet, looked outside and saw it raining, whether someone
came through the door and said it was raining, or he woke up in the
morning and saw that the ground was wet and assumed that it had rained.

In AE languages, temporal terms such as summer and winter are nouns,

which gives them a material quality because they can be treated like any
other noun, numbered and given plurals. In other words, they are treated as
objects. The Hopi seasons are treated more like adverbs (the closest AE
analog). The Hopi cannot talk about summer being hot, because summer is
the quality hot, just as an apple has the quality red. Summer and hot are the
same! Summer is a condition: hot. There is nothing about summer that
suggests it involves time—getting later—in the sense that is conveyed by
AE languages.

It is clear that our emphasis on saving time, which goes with quantifying
time and treating it as a noun, would also lead to a high valuation of speed,
which is demonstrated in much of our behavior.

Living in the eternal present as the Hopi do and spending the "now"
preparing for ceremonies, one feels that time is not a harsh taskmaster nor is
it equated with money and progress as it is with AE peoples. For AE
peoples, it does have that characteristic of adding up, of never letting them
forget. This can be burdensome. To the Hopi, the experience of time must
be more natural—like breathing, a rhythmic part of life. Also, the Hopi, to
my knowledge, have never become preoccupied with philosophizing about
the "experience" of time, or the nature of time.

Philosophy is one of the cornerstones on which the intellectual edifice of

America is built. Science is another, and technology makes up a third.
Religion, however, is not as central as it once

was, and it has for some time now been separated from daily life, sealed
away in a compartment of its own.

Not so for the Hopi.

Religion is the central core of Hopi life. Religious ceremonies perform

many functions which in AE cultures are treated as separate and distinct
entities, quite apart from the sacred: disciplining children, for example;
encouraging rain and fertility; staying in sync with nature; helping the life-
giving crops to be fertile and to grow; relating to each other; and initiating
the young into adulthood. In fact, religion is at the center not only of social
organization but also of government, which is part and parcel of Hopi
ceremonial life.

The Hopi year is divided into two halves separated by the solstices. The
Kachinas, masked figures,^ are somewhat analogous to gods or nature
spirits or even the embodiment of dominant themes in Hopi life. They live
with the people for half of the year and return to their home in the San
Francisco Mountains (north of FlagstaflF, Arizona) for the remaining six
months. Every man, woman, and child is initiated into the Kachina cult and
participates in the Kachina ceremonies. The year begins with the rites of the
winter solstice, at which time everything is prepared for the coming year.
The fixing of the exact date of the winter solstice is extremely important. It
is the Sun Priest's duty to determine precisely when the sun has stopped on
its journey to the south and, going no farther, is turning around and about to
move north again.

Living with the Hopi, talking to them about the dances, watching the dances
being performed, I found myself many times enveloped in a particular kind
of time and space warp which only occurs if the dance is successful. When
this happens all consciousness of external reality, all awareness of the
universe outside, is obliterated. The world collapses and is contained in this
one event; there is nothing else, nothing except the people, the crowded
kiva, and the dancers.^ If this could happen to me, a young white, think
how it must seem to the Hopi!

Hopi time, when they talk and now write about it today, is most frequently
in terms of the dance ceremonies held throughout the year. "It was just
before Wowochim." "It happened dur-

ing Soyal." Wowochim is the tribal initiation ceremony held in November.

Soyal follows Wowochim in December and is associated with the winter
solstice. It is an important ceremony, participated in by the Sun Clan in
honor of the sun god (the most powerful and important god, who controls
all life).*'' The ceremony celebrates or marks his departure from his
southern home and the beginning of his journey north to his northern home,
where he spends the summer.

Associating events with sacred dances quietly reinforces the power and
strength of these events. Life, in fact, revolves around them, and for the
members of the clans and secret societies who perform the dances, they take
precedence over everything else: work, family obligations, sex, and
personal feelings and commitments. Nothing was supposed to be more
important, and for those who were initiated nothing was, particularly in the
old days. Another difference between AE time and Hopi time is that in the
AE pattern the public ceremony is where it all comes together, whereas in
the Hopi tradition the public part of the ceremony is not only preceded by
days of preparation in the kiva but also followed by several more days of
kiva rituals.

The Hopi marriage ceremony illustrates another variant of the culture

pattern. In the AE cultures the marriage marks a clear-cut division between
one state and another. Who hasn't heard a young woman who has just
exchanged marriage vows comment: "I can't get over it. I am now Mrs.
Walter A. Nash. Just a few minutes ago I was plain Jane Moore and single
and now I am a married woman!" That such remarks are so common
reflects the fact that even in AE cultures people find it surprising that such
incredibly important changes can take place in a matter of minutes. With
this buildup, one would expect that the Hopi marriage would take
somewhat longer to solemnize, which is precisely the case. Second Mesa
artist Fred Kabotie's and Sun Chief Don Talayesva's descriptions of Hopi
marriages^ included as many as twenty-six different events spanning an
entire year. The Hopi don't just slip into something overnight. It is
important to stress the point that differences of this sort are not just
conventions, but reflect deep-set structural differences between the two
cultures. In AE cultures we expect that things will happen fast once we
have made up our minds and, as a consequence,

we are apt to pay little attention to the pattern we are weaving in life's fabric
or to the slow accumulation of Karma in the multiple acts of daily living.

Living and working on the Hopi and Navajo reservations in the early '30s
was an extraordinary experience. There were two relatively intact exotic
societies, each difiFerent from the other, and both of them difiFerent from
our own. In addition, there was the environment, and the physical setting, a
life-style fifty years behind that of the rest of the country. Summer's rains
and winter's snow and mud coupled with the lack of roads created a
situation with its own rules. We didn't make the rules, the country and
seasons made the rules. When it snowed or rained, everything stopped
(except the horses and wagons, of course, which were adapted to mud).
When the washes ran, no one in his right mind would attempt to cross—
even the small ones. The rusted carcasses of too many automobiles and
trucks lay buried in the sandy floors of the Dinnebito, Oraibi, Polacca, and
Weepo washes. The general practice—even for whites—when confronted
with a running arroyo was simply to wait until the water went down. One
would cross the sandy floor of those arroyos which were up to a quarter
mile across and forty feet deep only when they were dry. Those stream beds
would be dry for months at a time, and then one day, out of the north, there
would be a distant roar that became louder by the minute as a wall of water
pushing brush and logs and trees in front of it would round a bend. What
had been dry sand was transformed into a raging brown torrent in a matter
of minutes. Arroyos would run for hours and even days with the runofiF
from a cloudburst up to fifty miles upstream. It helped to know about these
things—the fact that events many miles away could result in the loss of a
good vehicle stuck in what had been dry sand only minutes before. One
learned to pay attention to what was happening at all points of the compass,
but particularly upstream, because all the main washes ran roughly from
northeast to southwest. Thunderclouds over Black Mesa could mean floods
in Oraibi five hours later. Those things, like many others, were important
because one frequently could be left high but not dry waiting on the wrong
bank of an arroyo for days until roads were passable again. I soon learned
that it did not pay

to resist the country but rather to move with it, becoming an integral part of
it, which is difficult for a white man.

This message came across to me in another unexpected way because of my

horses. I had always had horses. They went with the schools I attended and
had become an integral part of my life. The only thing was, my horses were
in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and I wanted to move them to the reservation.
Trucking them out was impractical and too expensive, so I decided to ride
them. The experience proved to be one which left an indelible mark on my
psyche. Saddling up two horses and using a third as a packhorse, two of us
rode from Santa Fe, over the Jemez Mountains, across the Continental
Divide where it intersects Chaco Canyon, past Crown Point and Gallup,
over to Window Rock, through the cool forests of the Fort Defiance
Plateau, dropping down to Ganado and from there striking due west across
the open flats and sagebrush-covered mesas and on to Jeddito, Keams
Canyon, Polacca, Toreva, Chimopovi to Oraibi and, after a pause to see
Lorenzo Hubbell, north to Pinyon, a sort of epicenter of Navajo spiritual
life.

Our daily average was twelve to fifteen miles, otherwise the mustangs we
were riding would tire and ultimately give out. Dropping down from the fir-
covered slopes of the Jemez Mountains onto the parched plains to the west,
I watched the same mountain from different angles during three days, as it
seemed to slowly rotate while we passed by. Experiences of this sort give
one a very diflFerent feeling than speeding by on a paved highway in one or
two hours. The horse, the country, and the weather set the pace; we were in
the grip of nature, with little control over the rate of progress.

Later, riding horseback on a trek of three or four hundred miles, I

discovered it took a minimum of three days to adjust to the tempo and the
more leisurely rhythm of the horse's walking gait. Then I became part of the
country again and my whole psyche changed. I used to notice that the
cowboys, some of whom helped raise me when I was a preadolescent, had a
tempo of speech unlike that of other white men. It didn't speed up and slow
down to keep in sync with the people around them. As a group, they were
marked by their own tempo—geared to the personality, the mood, and the
situation. During emergen-

cies—such as when the horse and the pack animal I was leading fell o£F a
mountain trail and landed on a ledge—the words came fast as lightning:
"For Chrissake, get that ^'x^®! rope off the pummel or you'll get cut in half
if the horse gets up." But for conversation they did not want to be rushed, so
they set their own pace. Dudes and tourists would seek quick responses to
their questions and verbally tailgated these men of the outdoors, trying to
"get them up to speed." They never realized that it was their own urban
tempo that was out of sync with the body and that the mere rush of words
over the years could erode the disposition just as surely as those Western
arroyos eroded the soft soil of the vaUey flats through which they ran.

Cultural reaction time—the time required for a response to a threat,

challenge, slight, or an injustice—varies greatly. Like booby traps and land
mines set to go off, the time interval can be anything from days to years for
major events. White Americans, when stimulated to action, tend to respond
somewhat precipitously, whereas many Native Americans burn with a much
longer fuse. It takes them a while to build up to action. For example, the
Pueblo Revolt of 1680 drove the Spaniards from the Southwest. It wasn't
until 1692 that the Spanish returned. Some of the Indians allowed the
priests to set up their churches again, some did not. Awatovi, the
easternmost of the Hopi villages, where the Spanish had established a
thriving mission, took the priests back. It was six years before the other
Hopi acted in revenge. They destroyed Awatovi, murdering the inhabitants.

Whites tend to think that because nothing overt is happening, nothing is

going on. With many cultures there are long periods during which people
are making up their minds or waiting for a consensus to be achieved. We
would do well to pay more attention to these things.

3 Monochronic and Polychronic Time

Lorenzo Hubbell, trader to the Navajo and the Hopi, was three quarters
Spanish and one quarter New Englander, but culturally he was Spanish to
the core. Seeing him for the first time on government business transactions
relating to my work in the 1930s, I felt embarrassed and a little shy because
he didn't have a regular oflBce where people could talk in private. Instead,
there was a large comer room—^part of his house adjoining the trading post
—in which business took place. Business covered everything from visits
with oflBcials and friends, conferences with Indians who had come to see
him, who also most often needed to borrow money or make sheep deals, as
well as a hundred or more routine transactions with store clerks and Indians
who had not come to see Lorenzo specifically but only to trade. There were
long-distance telephone calls to his warehouse in Winslow, Arizona, with
cattle buyers, and his brother, Roman, at Ganado, Arizona—all this and
more (some of it quite personal), carried on in public, in front of our small
world for all to see and hear. If you wanted to leam about the life of an
Indian trader or the ins and outs of running a small trading empire (Lorenzo
had a dozen posts scattered throughout north-

em Arizona), all you had to do was to sit in Lorenzo's office for a month or
so and take note of what was going on. Eventually all the different parts of
the pattern would unfold before your eyes, as eventually they did before
mine, as I lived and worked on that reservation over a five-year period.
I was prepared for the fact that the Indians do things differently from AE
cultures because I had spent part of my childhood on the Upper Rio Grande
River with the Pueblo Indians as friends. Such differences were taken for
granted. But this public, everything-at-once, melange way of conducting
business made an impression on me. There was no escaping it, here was
another world, but in this instance, although both Spanish and Anglos had
their roots firmly planted in European soil, each handled time in radically
different ways.

It didn't take long for me to accustom myself to Lorenzo's business

ambiance. There was so much going on that I could hardly tear myself
away. My own work schedule won out, of course, but I did find that the
Hubbell store had a pull like a strong magnet, and I never missed an
opportunity to visit with Lorenzo. After driving through Oraibi, I would
pull up next to his store, park my pickup, and go through the side door to
the office. These visits were absolutely necessary because without news of
what was going on life could become precarious. Lorenzo's desert "salon"
was better than a newspaper, which, incidentally, we lacked.

Having been initiated to Lorenzo's way of doing business, I later began to

notice similar mutual involvement in events among the New Mexico
Spanish. I also observed the same patterns in Latin America, as well as in
the Arab world. Watching my countrymen's reactions to this "many things
at a time" system I noted how deeply it affected the channeling and flow of
information, the shape and form of the networks connecting people, and a
host of other important social and cultural features of the society. I realized
that there was more to this culture pattern than one might at first suppose.

Years of exposure to other cultures demonstrated that complex societies

organize time in at least two different ways: events scheduled as separate
items—one thing at a time—as in North

Europe, or following the Mediterranean model of involvement in several

things at once. The two systems are logically and empirically quite distinct.
Like oil and water, they don't mix. Each has its strengths as well as its
weaknesses. I have termed doing many things at once: Polychronic, P-time.
The North European system—doing one thing at a time—is Monochronic,
M-time.^ P-time stresses involvement of people and completion of
transactions rather than adherence to preset schedules. Appointments are
not taken as seriously and, as a consequence, are frequently broken. P-time
is treated as less tangible than M-time. For polychronic people, time is
seldom experienced as "wasted," and is apt to be considered a point rather
than a ribbon or a road, but that point is often sacred. An Arab will say, "I
will see you before one hour," or "I will see you after two days." What he
means in the first instance is that it will not be longer than an hour before he
sees you, and at least two days in the second instance. These commitments
are taken quite seriously as long as one remains in the P-time pattern.

Once, in the early '60s, when I was in Patras, Greece, which is in the middle
of the P-time belt, my own time system was thrown in my face under rather
ridiculous but still amusing circumstances. An impatient Greek hotel clerk,
anxious to get me and my menage settled in some quarters which were far
from first-class, was pushing me to make a commitment so he could
continue with his siesta. I couldn't decide whether to accept this rather
forlorn "bird in the hand" or take a chance on another hotel that looked, if
possible, even less inviting. Out of the blue, the clerk blurted, "Make up
your mind. After all, time is money!" How would you reply to that at a time
of day when literally nothing was happening? I couldn't help but laugh at
the incongruity of it all. If there ever was a case of time not being money, it
was in Patras during siesta in the summer.

Though M-time cultures tend to make a fetish out of management, there are
points at which M-time doesn't make as much sense as it might. Life in
general is at times unpredictable; and who can tell exactly how long a
particular client, patient, or set of transactions will take. These are
imponderables in the chemistry of human transactions. What can be
accomplished one day

in ten minutes, may take twenty minutes on the next. Some days people will
be rushed and can't finish; on others, there is time to spare, so they "waste"
the remaining time.

In Latin America and the Middle East, North Americans can frequently be
psychologically stressed. Immersed in a poly-chronic environment in the
markets, stores, and souks of Mediterranean and Arab countries, one is
surrounded by other customers all vying for the attention of a single clerk
who is trying to wait on everyone at once. There is no recognized order as
to who is to be served next, no queue or numbers to indicate who has been
waiting the longest. To the North European or American, it appears that
confusion and clamor abound. In a different context, the same patterns can
be seen operating in the governmental bureaucracies of Mediterranean
countries: a typical oflSce layout for important oflBcials frequently includes
a large reception area (an ornate version of Lorenzo Hubbell's oflBce),
outside the private suite, where small groups of people can wait and be
visited by the minister or his aides. These functionaries do most of their
business outside in this semipublic setting, moving from group to group
conferring with each in turn. The semiprivate transactions take less time,
give others the feeling that they are in the presence of the minister as well
as other important people with whom they may also want to confer. Once
one is used to this pattern, it is clear that there are advantages which
frequently outweigh the disadvantages of a series of private meetings in the
inner oflBce.

Particularly distressing to Americans is the way in which appointments are

handled by polychrome people. Being on time simply doesn't mean the
same thing as it does in the United States. Matters in a polychronic culture
seem in a constant state of flux. Nothing is soHd or firm, particularly plans
for the future; even important plans may be changed right up to the minute
of execution.

In contrast, people in the Western world find little in life exempt from the
iron hand of M-time.^ Time is so thoroughly woven into the fabric of
existence that we are hardly aware of the degree to which it determines and
coordinates everything we do, including the molding of relations with
others in many

subtle ways. In fact, social and business life, even one's sex life, is
commonly schedule-dominated. By scheduling, we compartmentalize; this
makes it possible to concentrate on one thing at a time, but it also reduces
the context.^ Since scheduling by its very nature selects what will and will
not be perceived and attended, and permits only a limited number of events
within a given period, what gets scheduled constitutes a system for setting
priorities for both people and functions. Important things are taken up first
and allotted the most time; unimportant things are left to last or omitted if
time runs out.

M-time is also tangible; we speak of it as being saved, spent, wasted, lost,

made up, crawling, killed, and running out. These metaphors must be taken
seriously. M-time scheduling is used as a classification system that orders
life. The rules apply to everything except birth and death. It should be
mentioned, that without schedules or something similar to the M-time
system, it is doubtful that our industrial civilization could have developed
as it has. There are other consequences. Monochronic time seals oflF one or
two people from the group and intensifies relationships with one other
person or, at most, two or three people. M-time in this sense is like a room
with a closed door ensuring privacy. The only problem is that you must
vacate the "room" at the end of the allotted fifteen minutes or an hour, a
day, or a week, depending on the schedule, and make way for the next
person in line. Failure to make way by intruding on the time of the next
person is not only a sign of extreme egocentricism and narcissism, but just
plain bad manners.

Monochronic time is arbitrary and imposed, that is, learned. Because it is so

thoroughly learned and so thoroughly integrated into our culture, it is
treated as though it were the only natural and logical way of organizing life.
Yet, it is not inherent in man's biological rhythms or his creative drives, nor
is it existential in nature.

Schedules can and frequently do cut things short just when they are
beginning to go well. For example, research funds run out just as the results
are beginning to be achieved. How often has the reader had the experience
of realizing that he is plea-surably immersed in some creative activity,
totally unaware of

time, solely conscious of the job at hand, only to be brought back to

"reality" with the rude shock of realizing that other, frequently
inconsequential previous commitments are bearing down on him?

Some Americans associate schedules with reality, but M-time can alienate
us from ourselves and from others by reducing context. It subtly influences
how we think and perceive the world in segmented compartments. This is
convenient in linear operations but disastrous in its effect on nonlinear
creative tasks. Latino peoples are an example of the opposite. In Latin
America, the intelligentsia and the academicians frequently participate in
several fields at once—fields which the average North American
academician, business, or professional person thinks of as antithetical.
Business, philosophy, medicine, and poetry, for example, are common,
well-respected combinations.

Polychronic people, such as the Arabs and Turks, who are almost never
alone, even in the home, make very different uses of "screening" than
Europeans do. They interact with several people at once and are continually
involved with each other. Tight scheduling is therefore diflBcult, if not
impossible.

Theoretically, when considering social organization, P-time systems should

demand a much greater centralization of control and be characterized by a
rather shallow or simple structure. This is because the leader deals
continually with many people, most of whom stay informed as to what is
happening. The Arab fellah can always see his sheik. There are no
intermediaries between man and sheik or between man and God. The flow
of information as well as people's need to stay informed complement each
other. Polychronic people are so deeply immersed in each other's business
that they feel a compulsion to keep in touch. Any stray scrap of a story is
gathered in and stored away. Their knowledge of each other is truly
extraordinary. Their involvement in people is the very core of their
existence. This has bureaucratic implications. For example, delegation of
authority and a buildup in bureaucratic levels are not required to handle
high volumes of business. The principal shortcoming of P-type
bureaucracies is that as functions increase, there is a proliferation of small
bureaucracies that really are not set up to handle the problems of outsiders.
In fact, outsiders

traveling or residing in Latin American or Mediterranean countries find the

bureaucracies unusually cumbersome and unresponsive. In polychronic
countries, one has to be an insider or have a "friend" who can make things
happen. All bureaucracies are oriented inward, but P-type bureaucracies are
especially so.
There are also interesting points to be made concerning the act of
administration as it is conceived in these two settings. Administration and
control of polychronic peoples in the Middle East and Latin America is a
matter of job analysis. Administration consists of taking each subordinate's
job and identifying the activities tliat go to make up the job. These are then
labeled and frequently indicated on the elaborate charts with checks to
make it possible for the administrator to be sure that each function has been
perfoiTned. In this way, it is felt that absolute control is maintained over the
individual. Yet, scheduling how and when each activity is actually
performed is left up to the employee. For an employer to schedule a
subordinate's work for him would be considered a tyrannical violation of his
individuality—an invasion of the self.

In contrast, M-time people schedule the activity and leave the analysis of
the activities of the job to the individual. A P-type analysis, even though
technical by its very nature, keeps reminding the subordinate that his job is
not only a system but also part of a larger system. M-type people, on the
other hand, by virtue of compartmentalization, are less likely to see their
activities in context as part of the larger whole. This does not mean that
they are unaware of the "organization"—far from it—only that the job itself
or even the goals of the organization are seldom seen as a whole.

Giving the organization a higher priority than the functions it performs is

common in our culture. This is epitomized in television, where we allow the
TV commercial, the "special message," to break the continuity of even the
most important communication. There is a message all right, and the
message is that art gives way to commerce—polychronic advertising
agencies impose their values on a monochronic population. In mono-
chronic North European countries, where patterns are more homogeneous,
commercial interruptions of this sort are not tol-

erated. There is a strict limit as to the number as well as the times when
commercials can be shown. The average American TV program has been
allotted one or two hours, for which people have set aside time, and is
conceived, written, directed, acted, and played as a unity. Interjecting
commercials throughout the body of the program breaks that continuity and
flies in the face of one of the core systems of the culture. The poly-chronic
Spanish treat the main feature as a close friend or relative who should not
be disturbed and let the commercials mill around in the antechamber
outside. My point is not that one system is superior to another, it's just that
the two don't mix. The effect is disruptive, and reminiscent of what the
EngUsh are going through today, now that the old monochronic queuing
patterns have broken down as a consequence of a large infusion of
polychronic peoples from the colonies.

Both M-time and P-time systems have strengths as well as weaknesses.

There is a limit to the speed with which jobs can be analyzed, although once
analyzed, proper reporting can enable a P-time administrator to handle a
surprising number of subordinates. Nevertheless, organizations run on the
polychronic model are limited in size, they depend on having gifted people
at the top, and are slow and cumbersome when dealing with anything that is
new or different. Without gifted people, a P-type bureaucracy can be a
disaster. M-type organizations go in the opposite direction. They can and do
grow much larger than the P-type. However, they combine bureaucracies
instead of proliferating them, e.g., with consolidated schools, the business
conglomerate, and the new superdepartments we are developing in
government.

The blindness of the monochronic organization is to the humanity of its

members. The weakness of the polychronic type lies in its extreme
dependence on the leader to handle contingencies and stay on top of things.
M-type bureaucracies, as they grow larger, turn inward; obHvious to their
own structure, they grow rigid and are apt to lose sight of their original
purpose. Prime examples are the Army Corps of Engineers and the Bureau
of Reclamation, which wreak havoc on our environment in their dedicated
eflForts to stay in business by building dams or aiding the flow of rivers to
the sea.

At the beginning of this chapter, I stated that "American time is

monochronic." On the surface, this is true, but in a deeper sense, American
(AE) time is both polychronic and monochronic. M-time dominates the
official worlds of business, government, the professions, entertainment, and
sports. However, in the home—particularly the more traditional home in
which women are the core around which everything revolves— one finds
that P-time takes over. How else can one raise several children at once, run
a household, hold a job, be a wife, mother, nurse, tutor, chauffeur, and
general fixer-upper? Nevertheless, most of us automatically equate P-time
with informal activities and with the multiple tasks and responsibilities and
ties of women to networks of people. At the preconscious level, M-time is
male time and P-time is female time, and the ramifications of this difference
are considerable.

In the conclusion of an important book. Unfinished Business, Maggie Scarf

vividly illustrates this point. Scarf addresses herself to the question of why
it is that depression (the hidden illness of our age) is three to six times more
prevalent in women than it is in men. How does time equate with
depression in women? It so happens that the time system of the dominant
culture adds another source of trauma and alienation to the already
overburdened psyches of many American women. According to Scarf,
depression comes about in part as a consequence of breaking significant ties
that make up most women's worlds. In our culture, men as a group tend to
be more task-oriented, while women's lives center on networks of people
and their relations with people. Traditionally, a woman's world is a world of
human emotions, of love, attachment, envy, anxiety, and hate. This is a little
difficult for late-twentieth-century people to accept because it implies basic
differences between men and women that are not fashionable at the
moment. Nevertheless, for most cultures around the world, the feminine
mystique is intimately identified with the development of the human
relations side of the personality rather than the technical, cortical left-brain
occupational side. In the United States, AE women live in a world of
peoples and relationships and their egos become spread out among those
who are closest to them by a process we call identification.'* When the
relationships are

threatened or broken or something happens to those to whom one is close,

there are worries and anxieties, and depression is a natural result,

Polychronic cultures are by their very nature oriented to people. Any human
being who is naturally drawn to other human beings and who lives in a
world dominated by human relationships will be either pushed or pulled
toward the polychronic end of the time spectrum. If you value people, you
must hear them out and cannot cut them off simply because of a schedule.

M-time, on the other hand, is oriented to tasks, schedules, and procedures.

As anyone who has had experience with our bureaucracies knows,
schedules and procedures take on a life all their own without reference to
either logic or human needs. And it is this set of written and unwritten rules
—and the consequences of these rules—that is at least partially responsible
for the reputation of American business being cut off from human beings
and unwilling to recognize the importance of employee morale. Morale may
well be the deciding factor in whether a given company makes a profit or
not. Admittedly, American management is slowly, very slowly, getting the
message. The problem is that modern management has accentuated the
mono-chronic side at the expense of the less manageable, and less
predictable, polychronic side. Virtually everything in our culture works for
and rewards a monochronic view of the world. But the antihuman aspect of
M-time is alienating, especially to women. Unfortunately, too many women
have "bought" the M-time world, not realizing that unconscious sexism is
part of it. The pattern of an entire system of time is too large, too diffuse,
and too ubiquitous for most to identify its patterns. Women sense there is
something alien about the way in which modern organizations handle time,
beginning with how the workday, the week, and the year are set up. Such
changes as flextime do not alter the fact that as soon as one enters the door
of the office, one becomes immediately locked into a mono-chronic,
monolithic structure that is virtually impossible to change.

There are other sources of tension between people who have internalized
these two systems. Keep in mind that polychronic individuals are oriented
toward people, human relationships, and

the family, which is the core of their existence. Family takes precedence
over everything else. Close friends come next. In the absence of schedules,
when there is a crisis the family always comes first. If a monochronic
woman has a polychronic hairdresser, there will inevitably be problems,
even if she has a regular appointment and is scheduled at the same time
each week. In circumstances like these, the hairdresser (following his or her
own pattern) will inevitably feel compelled to "squeeze people in." As a
consequence, the regular customer, who has scheduled her time very
carefully (which is why she has a standing appointment in the first place), is
kept waiting and feels put dovra, angry, and frustrated. The hairdresser is
also in a bind because if he does not accommodate his relative or friend
regardless of the schedule, the result is endless repercussions within his
family circle. Not only must he give preferential treatment to relatives, but
the degree of accommodation and who is pushed aside or what is pushed
aside is itself a communication!

The more important the customer or business that is disrupted, the more
reassured the hairdresser's polychronic Aunt Nell will feel. The way to
ensure the message that one is accepted or loved is to call up at the last
minute and expect everyone to rearrange everything. If they don't, it can be
taken as a clear signal that they don't care enough. The M-time individual
caught in this P-time pattern has the feeling either that he is being pressured
or that he simply doesn't count. There are many instances where culture
patterns are on a collision course and there can be no resolution until the
point of conflict is identified. One side or the other literally gives up. In the
instance cited above, it is the hairdresser who usually loses a good
customer. Patterns of this variety are what maintain ethnicity. Neither
pattern is right, only different, and it is important to remember that they do
not mix.

Not all M-times and P-times are the same. There are tight and loose
versions of each. The Japanese, for example, in the oflBcial business side of
their lives where people do not meet on a highly personalized basis, provide
us an excellent example of tight M-time. When an American professor,
business person, technical expert, or consultant visits Japan, he may find
that

his time is like a carefully packed trunk—so tightly packed, in fact, that it is
impossible to squeeze one more thing into the container. On a recent trip to
Japan, I was contacted by a well-known colleague who had translated one
of my earlier books. He wanted to see me and asked if he could pick me up
at my hotel at twelve-fifteen so we could have lunch together. I had situated
myself in the lobby a few minutes early, as the Japanese are almost always
prompt. At twelve-seventeen, I could see his tense figure darting through
the crowd of arriving business people and politicians who had collected
near the door. Following greetings, he ushered me outside to the ubiquitous
black limousine with chaufiFeur, with white doilies covering the arms and
headrests. The door of the car had hardly closed when he started outlining
our schedule for the lunch period by saying that he had an appointment at
three o'clock to do a TV broadcast. That set the time limit and established
the basic parameters in which everyone knew where he would be at any
given part of the agenda. He stated these limits—a little over two hours—
taking travel time into account.

My colleague next explained that not only were we to have lunch, but he
wanted to tape an interview for a magazine. That meant lunch and an
interview which would last thirty to forty minutes. What else? Ah, yes. He
hoped I wouldn't mind spending time with Mr. X, who had published one of
my earlier books in Japanese, because Mr. X was very anxious to pin down
a commitment on my part to allow him to publish my next book. He was
particularly eager to see me because he missed out on publishing the last
two books, even though he had written me in the United States. Yes, I did
remember that he had written, but his letter arrived after the decision on the
Japanese publisher had been made by my agent. That, incidentally, was the
very reason why he wanted to see me personally. Three down and how
many more to go? Oh, yes, there would be some photographers there and he
hoped I wouldn't mind if pictures were taken? The pictures were to be both
formal group shots, which were posed, and informal, candid shots during
the interview, as well as pictures taken with Mr. X. As it turned out, there
were at least two sets of photographers as well as a sound man, and while it
wasn't "60 Minutes," there was quite a lot of

confusion (the two sets of photographers each required precious seconds to

straighten things out). I had to hand it to everyone— they were not only
extraordinarily skilled and well organized, but also polite and considerate.
Then, he hoped I wouldn't mind but there was a young man who was
studying communication who had scored over 600 on an examination,
which I was told put him 200 points above the average. This young man
would be joining us for lunch. I didn't see how we were going to eat
anything, much less discuss issues of mutual interest. In situations such as
these, one soon learns to sit back, relax, and let the individual in charge
orchestrate everything. The lunch was excellent, as I knew it would be—
hardly leisurely, but still very good.

All the interviews and the conversation with the student went off as
scheduled. The diflBculties came when I had to explain to the Japanese
publisher that I had no control over my own book —that once I had written
a book and handed it in to my publisher, the book was marketed by either
my publisher or my agent. Simply being first in line did not guarantee
anything. I had to try to make it clear that I was tied into an already existing
set of relationships with attached obligations and that there were other
people who made these decisions.^ This required some explaining, and I
then spent considerable time trying to work out a method for the publisher
to get a hearing with my agent. This is sometimes virtually impossible
because each publisher and each agent in the United States has its own
representative in Japan. Thus an author is in their hands, too.

We did finish on time—pretty much to everyone's satisfaction, I believe.

My friend departed on schedule as the cameramen were putting away their
equipment and the sound man was rolling up his wires and disconnecting
his microphones. The student drove me back to my hotel on schedule, a
little after

3 P.M.

The pattern is not too diflFerent from schedules for authors in the United
States. The difference is that in Japan the tightly scheduled monochronic
pattern is applied to foreigners who are not well enough integrated into the
Japanese system to be able to do things in a more leisurely manner, and
where emphasis is on developing a good working relationship.

All cultures with high technologies seem to incorporate both polychrome as

well as monochronic functions. The point is that each does it in its own
way. The Japanese are polychronic when looking and working inward,
toward themselves. When dealing with the outside world, they have
adopted the dominant time system which characterizes that world. That is,
they shift to the monochronic mode and, characteristically, since these are
technical matters, they outshine us. As will be seen later, the French are
monochronic intellectually but polychronic in behavior.
4 High and Low Context Messages

Computers have captured the fancy of the Western world. They are
marvelous servants for the mind, they can relieve the mathematician of
much of the tedious routine work associated with his craft. They simulate
all sorts of complex processes and procedures. They link information
networks and memory banks, unifying entire countries; they run subway
systems and trains, fly the space shuttle, smooth out traflSc flow during
rush hours, write letters, collect bills, and in fact do many of the tasks
formerly assigned to lower and middle management. There is one thing,
however, that computers do not do well: translate! This deficiency is not for
want of money, need, interest, talent, or brains. Millions of dollars spent on
computer translations of Russian after years of effort demonstrated that the
most efficient and the most effective translator of scientific Russian is a
human being, a scientist. Scientific linguists found that it was particularly
important that the scientist have a deep knowledge of the field being
translated. The failure of the computers was not in the proper analysis of
syntax (grammar) and vocabulary, a monumental task in itself, but in the
relationship of the linguis-

tic code to the larger setting of the scientific field: the context in which each
word, sentence, and paragraph was set.

Words and sentences have different meanings depending on the context in

which they are embedded. The word "man," for example, means one thing
when spoken in the context of stages of maturity for males, another when
speaking of units of work such as "man hours" or "man days" of labor, and
still another when referring to a ioo,ooo-man army (which now includes
women).

Regardless of whether it is ultimately possible for humans to evolve

computer translation to the point where it will be useful, the matter of
context will be an issue in any communication between human beings.
"Contexting" seems to be a function of the right and left hemispheres of the
brain,^ each working in quite a different way, but in tandem; each supplying
an essential element of virtually any communication. No communication is
totally independent of context, and all meaning has an important contextual
component.^ This may seem obvious, but defining the context is always
important and frequently difficult. For example, language is by its very
nature a highly contexted system. As stated earlier, language is not reality;
it is, however, rooted in abstractions from reality. Yet, few people realize
how dependent the meaning of even the simplest statement is on the context
in which it is made. For example: A man and a woman on good terms, who
have lived together for fifteen or more years, do not always have to spell
things out. When he comes through the door after a day in the oflBce, she
may not have to utter a word. He knows from the way she moves what kind
of day she had; he knows from her tone of voice how she feels about the
company they are entertaining that night.

In contrast, when one moves from personal relationships to courts of law or

to computers or mathematics, nothing can be taken for granted, because
these activities are low context and must be spelled out. One space inserted
between letters or words on a computer where it does not belong can stop
everything in its tracks. Information, context, and meaning are bound
together in a balanced, functional relationship. The more information that is
shared, as with the couple referred to above.

the higher the context. One can think of it as continuum ranging from high
to low.

tow context

high context

The top of the triangle is high on context, the bottom has very little context

Pair this triangle with another in a balanced relationship. In this second

triangle there is very httle information at top and more at the bottom.

little information

much information
Combine the two and it can be seen, as context is lost, information must be
added if meaning is to remain constant. The complete relationship can be
expressed in a single diagram; there can be no meaning without both
information and context.

The matter of contexting requires a decision concerning how much

information the other person can be expected to possess on a given subject.
It appears that all cultures arrange their members and relationships along
the context scale, and one of the great communication strategies, whether
addressing a single person or an entire group, is to ascertain the correct
level of contexting of one's communication. To give people information
they do not need is to "talk down" to them; not to give them enough
information is to mystify them. The remarkable thing about human beings
is that they make these adjustments automatically

and, ill the majority of cases, they manage to produce a high proportion of
messages that are appropriate. Here, too, the rules vary from culture to
culture, so that to infer by the level of contexting that "they" do not
understand may be an insult, even though your assumption is correct. North
Germans, for example, place a high value on doing things right. Their
approach is of the detailed, meticulous, low context variety. When learning
a foreign language, Germans take pride in speaking correctly and following
the rules of grammar exactly. It comes as a blow, therefore, when a high
context Parisian corrects them.

Examples of how the rules of context work can readily be seen in

advertising, particularly in automobile ads in the United States. Contrast the
information in advertisements for the German-made Mercedes-Benz with
those for the Rolls-Royce produced in England. The Rolls ad won't even tell
the informed readers of automobile magazines such as Road <b- Track or
Car and Driver the rated horsepower; Rolls representatives are known to
have replied simply, "Enough," not a suflBcient answer for such informed
readers, some of whom might even buy a Rolls. The Mercedes ad, on the
other hand, has an abundance of data which is devoured by potential
buyers. The readers of the above magazines expect a number for anything
that can be measured, and horsepower is one of the first numbers they look
for. Don't ask me why, but many Americans don't seem to be able to
evaluate the performance of anything unless they can attach a number to it.
Needless to say, different readerships require differing amounts of
contexting. In the American journal Science (the organ of the American
Association for the Advancement of Science),.there are two types of
articles: moderately contexted feature articles for the generalist, and short,
high context technical articles for specialists, in which it is taken for granted
that the reader knows the field well enough so that little or no explanation
need accompany descriptions of experiments.

The communication strategies of the United States and Japan provide a

different perspective in the matter of contexting. Americans lacking
extensive experience with the Japanese (particularly older Japanese who
have not adapted to European

HIGH AND LOW CONTEXT MESSAGES §9

communication patterns) frequently complain of indirection— they have

diflBculty knowing what the Japanese are "getting at." This is because the
Japanese are part of a high context tradition and do not get to the point
quickly. They talk around the point. The Japanese think intelligent human
beings should be able to discover the point of a discourse from the context,
which they are careful to provide. There are several interesting and
important spinoffs from this basic difference in communication strategy.
The United States, having its roots in European culture which dates back to
Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle, has built into its culture assumptions that the
only natural and effective way to present ideas is by means of a Greek
invention called "logic." The Japanese see our syllogistic method and its
deductive reasoning as an effort to get inside their heads and do their
thinking for them. It was for this as well as other reasons that many
European missionaries had poor results in Japan compared to other cultures.

On one of my visits to Japan many years ago, only one of the Jesuit
missionaries I interviewed was having any success and this was because he
had learned the difference in the contexting patterns. He concluded quite
correctly that the way to reach the Japanese was not with the low context
logical reasoning of Thomas Aquinas, but by emphasizing something else
—namely the wonderful feelings that one had ff one were a Catholic.
Feelings are rooted in one part of the central nervous system, while words
and logic are a function of an entirely different area of the brain. To reach
people, you have to know which part of the brain to involve!^

Another important and closely related feature of both context and

communication is the fast and slow message continuum.* All cultures seem
to settle on particular spots on the "message velocity spectrum" where their
members feel most comfortable. It does very little good to send a message
in the fast category to people who are geared for a slow format. The content
of the two messages may be the same, but once a person is "tuned in" on a
given frequency, messages on any other frequency might as well not exist.
It's like changing channels on a television set, only in this case few people
know that there is any channel except the one they have used all their lives.

THE DANCE OF LIFE

What are some examples of fast and slow messages and the characteristics
of each? The following chart lists a few:

FAST

Prose

Headlines

A communique

Propaganda messages
Cartoons

TV commercials

Sports events

Lust

Hollywood short duration marriages "First-naming" in the United States A

reproduction of a work of art Michael Korda's manipulations^

SLOW

Poetry

Books

An ambassador

A well-researched

position paper

Etchings

TV series-in-depth

History and meaning

of sports

Love

Successful marriages

of any sort

"First-naming" in Germany Work of art itself Genuine friendship

This rather cursory list provides an idea of how the pattern operates in AE
cultures. Actually, everything human beings consider or pay attention to, as
well as most things they do not pay attention to, can be placed somewhere
along the fast/slow message spectnmi. The meaning of life is a message that
releases itself very slowly over a period of years. Sometimes there aren't
enough years for the message to unfold. Arnold Toynbee used to study the
rise and fall of civilizations for the messages they carried over hundreds and
even thousands of years. History falls into the very long, slow category. In
the United States, personal relationships and friendships tend to be
somewhat transitory. In many other cultures, friendship takes a long time to
develop; however, once established, it persists and is not taken lightly. Sex
in the United States is treated as fast, when, as a matter of fact, it takes
years to develop a close, deep relationship in which sex frequently plays an
important part.

The velocity spectrum relates directly to our topic of communication and

particularly communication across cultural boundaries. The problem with
American television is that the commercial message must be released in a
minimum of lo to 15 seconds or at most 60 seconds. Six commercials
during a two-minute break is not unusual. The use of a fast message, by
implication, suggests that the product itself is not going to last very long. If
this is so, a 60-second commercial would be appropriate only for such items
as soap, cigarettes, Kleenex, disposable diapers, perishable vegetables, and
household cleaners. It would be unsuitable for banks, insurance companies,
Mercedes-Benz or Rolls-Royce, and many small Japanese cars, all of which
we expect to be endowed with an aura of permanence. TV commercials are
best adapted to fast, low context messages. Diplomacy, statesmanship, and
an examination of life, love, and the pursuit of happiness are best done in
the high context slow modes, such as books or BBC television series.
Buddha, Confucius, Muhammad, Christ, Shakespeare, Goethe, and
Rembrandt all produced messages that the world is still deciphering
hundreds of years later. The message any spoken or written language gives
us is very slow. The same can be said of culture. Human beings have been
studying languages for over four thousand years, and we are just beginning
to discover what language is all about. Culture, particularly primary culture,
will take longer.
In the marketplace, selling provides us not only with interesting examples
of fast and slow methods, but also with high and low context. Consistent
with the American practice of establishing relationships with others rather
quickly, American businessmen tend to think in short-time intervals. In
American business, planning intervals range from the quarter to the year.
Five-year planning is virtually unheard of in many industries, even though
overall strategy may require it. Sales representatives are expected to get
results in a hurry. Contrast this with France, where a French colleague who
used to be one of my graduate students discovered that, to sell his product,
he had to establish long-term personal relationships with his customers,
typical of high context polychronic behavior, and that at times it was a
matter of selling as many as three generations in a family-owned

business. This process could take up to two years and is a highly contexted
routine. When his French company was bought by an American firm and an
American manager was installed, his new American boss failed to
understand why my friend couldn't just walk through the door and sell his
product to the client in one or two visits. The American boss was simply not
willing to allow the time for his salesmen to develop the proper relationship
to sell his products. It is easy to see why customers in France do not belong
to the company but rather to the salesman, and why they follow the
salesman whenever he changes jobs. A similar long-term pattern exists in
Latin America, where people depend more on human relationships, which
they consider permanent, than they do on the wording of a contract, which
is not. Needless to say, the North American system puts American business
at a disadvantage, and only a few managers know why.

There are businesses in the United States that have been built with personal
relationships, such as the personalized bookstore where the proprietor
knows not only the books but also the customers. The Francis Scott Key
Book Shop in Georgetown, Washington, D.C., is an example. Once when
my wife was ill, I asked the proprietor to help me select some books for her.
Not only did she know what my wife had read but what she hadn't read and
was thinking of reading next! Needless to say, such service, while once
common in the book trade, is increasingly rare. Mass merchandizing of
books is now threatening the livelihood of many of the nation's small
bookstores and some book representatives are being replaced with
computers. The ultimate efiFects of moves of this sort are not known. By
removing the human element, the personal contact, the feedback from book
dealers, and the accumulated expertise of the book sales representatives,
decisions are made on the basis of a computer printout or the accountant's
sharp pencil. This "bottom line" approach influences which ideas are
disseminated and which are not—just one more example of decisions which
are moving us further down the road to depersonalization. All societies
depend for their stability on feedback from the people. Depersonalization
reduces feedback to a minimum, contributing to

instability and lowering the overall level of congruence in the society.

Congruence of communication in form, function, and message is a

recognizable and necessary element in everything. It is especially easy to
observe in art. In fact, it is the basis of all great art, and not nearly enough is
known about it. Lack of congruence makes people anxious or ill at ease.
The principle can be seen in almost any activity. An example is the
individual who is passing himself off as someone he is not. Carefully
studied details are there, but if they are not put together in the right way or
are used incorrectly, they are incongruent. Music is particularly sensitive to
congruence. According to Leonard Bernstein, Beethoven's work has the
highest congruence of that of any composer.^ Beethoven would work on a
single note until he got just the right one. When this choice was made, it
was clear that no other note would do. Bernstein expressed it somewhat as
follows: "It looks as though it's phoned in from God! Every note is perfect."
That is congruence; it holds you in awe.

It is axiomatic in AE cultures that the 'law" is a permanent feature, one of

our most important institutions. Contracts are sacred and binding because
they are backed by law. Yet a contract can be drawn up overnight. In Latin
America, as stated earlier, only human relationships are regarded as
"permanent" and, as such, are treated as slow messages. A North American,
therefore, who quite naturally puts his faith in contracts and treats human
relationships as rather fast, ephemeral, and not to be depended on, not only
will be vulnerable, but will introduce dissonance and incongruence into the
situation. Anxiety—when it is a product of incongruence—is not easy to
detect and, if detected, its cause can be hard to pin down. Thus, the North
American businessman, feeling secure because he has made the proper
offerings to his own gods, will assume quite naturally that he has done
everything he should to ensure his economic survival in Latin America.
Instead, he and his company are a patchwork of vulnerabilities directly
traceable to failure to ensure the future by developing the proper networks
of friends in the right places.

The types of vulnerabilities I am referring to have nothing to

do with size, wealth, geography, or poHtical or miHtary power, but they can
be just as crucial in determining the outcome of a transaction. For the
reasons just stated, it is not to be expected that the vulnerability will be seen
in its true light. In chapter 7, I describe briefly one such vulnerability: that
of the American business person confronted with retroactive French fiscal
regulations that make people guilty of ofi^enses that were perfectly legal at
the time they occurred.

Still another kind of vulnerability directly traceable to differences in time

systems is suffered by American business people when competing with the
Japanese. Unfortunately, there is little likelihood that American businesses
will change their ways, not because they don't want to do well, but because
most businessmen are narrow and unsophisticated. From a narrow "hard-
nosed" point of view, primary level culture is most commonly seen as
trivial. There is no way to provide enough contexting for the overseas
American to see the consequences of his decisions. In the twenty-five years
I have been working with business, the practice has been to consult the
experts only after mistakes have been made—when it's too late.

Another development which some consider trivial is the effect on the family
of cultural differences in house type. American-style houses in Japan are
now being blamed for weakening the highly cohesive structure of the
Japanese family,'^ which in turn contributes to violence on the part of the
young. The reader may wonder why I bring up the subject of houses when
we are talking about time. The answer is that time and space are inevitably
functionally interrelated. In an earlier study. The Hidden Dimension, my
partner and I found that in rehabilitating houses occupied by the urban
(predominantly black) poor, the provision of a room in which children of
school age could shut the door and study produced noticeable improvement
in their grades. What the space provided was time to be alone with the
books without distractions, and it took spatial adjustments to achieve that
end. In the Japanese case, what was taken away in the shift from the
traditional Japanese home to the American mass-produced bungalows was
the time that adults and the growing young spent together. Takeo Matsuda, a
successful housing "tycoon" who helped to bring affordable American-

style houses to Japan, is now afraid that these houses may have contributed
to the rising violence in Japanese families and schools. She says: "Japanese
families are very tight. We all studied together and slept together." The
American home compartmentalizes the family, so children grow up leading
"separate lives" and, as a consequence, lack training in having consideration
for others. Matsuda states that now "we have everything," but "we don't
help each other."

There can be no doubt that the compartmentalization of time and space

have reinforced narcissistic trends engendered elsewhere and are at least in
part responsible for the "me first" pattern in American culture. This does
not mean that everyone should immediately do away with all partitions. It
does mean that Americans would be well advised not to disregard the
eflFect of temporal and proxemic patterns on our lives.^

The case cited below is from New Mexico and illustrates the following
points: 1) the difficulties encountered by poor people in adjusting to a
complex society everywhere; 2) the importance of understanding the role of
time as used by such marginal families; 3) the kind of attention and
shepherding many poor people need which can only be provided by
committed, resourceful individuals from their own group; 4) the almost
unbelievable range of differences in a complex culture such as that of the
United States; and 5) how sometimes some government programs designed
—with the best of intentions—to help people have the opposite effect.^

In the United States, ethnic diversity has been with us since the beginning.
One of the most recent groups to assume importance in many ways,
including sheer numbers, is the Spanish. In New Mexico, Spanish-Anglo
contact dates back more than one hundred and fifty years. The two groups
have lived side by side, worked together, intermarried, and governed the
state in tandem, yet have retained separate identities in spite of their
intermingling.

Of all of the problems faced by working-class Spanish trying to adjust to

the dominant Anglo culture, the most difficult and basic are those of
polychronic individuals having to adjust to a monochronic culture. ^"^
These points are illustrated by the story of a Chicana friend who established
a private school to help

families of "battered" children. Describing how the condition of her clients

aflfected the school schedule, she said: "We have to go out and get them,
because they can't plan far enough ahead to catch the bus." Drawing a deep
breath, she continued, "So that we won't have to spend too much time
waiting for them to get ready, I have to call up some of the mothers one
hour before our bus arrives—every day of the week. I ask, 'Have you gotten
the kids up? Have you gotten breakfast? Have you dressed yourself?
Because, remember, you have to come, too.' "^^ Think for a minute about
the diflFerences between families in the same country: in one family one
cannot even plan ahead for the whole day's meals, but must run to the store
for the food for each meal when people become hungry. Contrast that with a
family where one member, usually the mother, not only markets for the
week or the month, but also creates a complex series of interlocking
schedules of events covering months at a time. Unfortunately, most
government aid programs are implicitly built around middle-class white
American time models. By taking people as they are, it would not be too
difficult to create a variety of graded models, incorporating increasing
complexity and durations against which progress could be measured. One
could even reward families for being able to make the transition
successfully from planning one meal to planning and marketing for all the
meals for the day!

Moving from intracultural differences, intercultural di£Ferences are just as

great, but considerably more complex. Consider the implications for
Americans working in Ecuador, where the pattern is polychronic.
Ecuadorians^^ don't measure their time tlie way we do. For us, marking
time is a little bit like writing a sentence on the page and keeping the words
evenly spaced so that they are not crowded. North Americans try to
distribute time evenly and if it seems there will be a crunch at the end, for
whatever reason, we increase the tempo and the effort to make the deadline
so that it all comes out even. The Ecuadorians might know that something
has to be done by the end of the day, but they will not act as though anyone
should speed up or make any additional effort at all. Photographs that must
be processed are left unprocessed. If they stop and talk to someone on the
street corner and discover that a mutual friend is in the

hospital, everything stops and takes on a new direction, for, "We must go to
the hospital and see him!" The North American notion that obligations in
time must be honored in order to keep from causing stress to others is a
complete and utter non sequitur. The North American has intemahzed the
schedule;^^ Ecuadorian schedules are externalized, and therefore carry very
little weight. The internalized network of friends and relatives and attending
to their needs takes precedence. Internal controls are much more binding
than the exteiTial ones because you are your own tyrant.

For more than twenty-five years I have been intimately aware of the
difference between Colonial Iberian-Indian (CII)^^ time and AE time. Not
only is one polychronic and oriented toward people and the other
monochronic, stressing procedures (procedures are fast while people are
slow), but there are other differences as well which run from South America
to northern New Mexico.

The differences in the way in which time is handled are known to both
groups, but neither takes the other seriously. I can stiU conjure up images of
high-ranking, high-speed North Americans in a slow, people-oriented
setting, getting hotter and hotter under the collar waiting as the time that
they were to be received by some local functionary arrived, passed, and
then faded into history. High blood pressure, disenchantment, and ulcers
were the most common by-products of North Americans working in the CII
area. Why? The answer did not come immediately, but had to be teased
from the matrix of behavior at home in the United States over a period of
years. Once identified, the reasons were obvious.

To understand the pattern that was making Americans so unhappy overseas,

it is first necessary to say a few words about the difference between external
and internalized controls. In Westerners, the conscience is the most familiar
and widespread example of internal control mechanisms. I do not believe
that it is the only one, but it may be one of the most important. Failure to
follow the dictates of the conscience leads to guilt and/or anxiety. I feel
anxious when I see I am going to be late and wiU do what I can to avoid it,
not only because I feel an obligation to be on time but because I want to
avoid anxiety. Since my

time controls are internal, I do not need to be told or reminded that I should
be on time. The CII pattern has a different set of loyalties and controls.
First, their obligation, as suggested earlier, is not to the schedule, but to the
people they are with, particularly to those who are related or close. So what
happens when people are inevitably late or fail to show up? The individual
waiting is not upset because there are so many things going on that it
usually doesn't matter that much. Besides, being kept waiting is not read as
a slap in the face. The schedule is something that is outside and is not
linked to either the ego or the superego as it is for those reared in North
European cultures. Being late is not a message nor is it taken personally.
For the North American, however, time set aside for an activity that doesn't
happen is wasted and can never be reclaimed or recovered. But that's not
all.

AE time isn't just structured functionally and used to control the flow of
work, activities, and involvement with others, but how it is handled is also
deeply symbolic. Time is not only money, but also a symbol of status and
responsibility. The amount of leeway an individual has in a given time
system is a signal to all indicating where that individual is placed in his
organization. It isn't just "the name on the door and the Bigelow on the
floor" that counts, but how much discretion a person has in the way he can
schedule time. Even within the confines of a single culture, there are
problems because the patterns are seldom spelled out. They demonstrate,
however, how subtle and binding PLC patterns can be. For example, some
individuals will unknowingly violate these unwritten mores (thereby
making things diflBcult for themselves and others) by using the primary
level systems to communicate a status that they have not earned —the
equivalent of putting on airs. For a subordinate to treat time in the same
way that his boss does, taking liberties with the system (days off, arriving at
irregular hours, taking off early, and generally stretching the system to the
limit) can lead to tremendous resentment as well as anxiety among fellow
workers. People work many years for these privileges and flexibilities in
their schedules, and it makes them resentful to see someone who is a
subordinate taking such liberties with the system.

This is somewhat comparable to cutting in front of people in line. Waiting

one's turn is one of the basic structure points of AE culture. Those who have
waited the longest or been around the longest are seen as being the most
deserving. The time system and what people make of it gets even more
involved with the status connotations of different waiting times in oflBces.
While there are regional and ethnic differences, the pattern for the majority
—particularly on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States—is that the
passage of waiting time in an oflBce carries three sets of interrelated fast
messages to the individual who is kept waiting: first, there is the importance
of the business itself, second is status, and third is politeness. If Blevins,
who sits behind the closed door, feels his caller. Wood, has important
business, he will make sure it is handled expeditiously at the appointed
time; likewise, if Wood arrives half an hour early and expects to be seen, he
may be putting Blevins down by making his own business seem more
important than it really is. On the other hand, if their business is really
important, then Blevins will have cleared his desk in advance when his
secretary announces: "Mr. Wood from Mutual of Nebraska is here to see
you, Mr. Blevins." (Wood is here to discuss a long-term loan that Blevins
has been negotiating for months.) Under conditions of this sort, Blevins will
be ready to go whenever Wood arrives. To fail to do so would communicate
disinterest or casual-ness that might make a lender look elsewhere.

Nevertheless, for routine matters, if a waiting time of twenty-five to thirty

minutes occurs, this long period signals that the status of Wood's business
has been symbolically reduced to nothing and that boundary has been
crossed into the region of rank and status. It is bad enough to have his
business discounted, but then that just may be the situation. Blevins,
because of matters beyond his control, is simply not interested or can't act
right now. However, unless he wants to be cruel or rude, he will not keep
Wood waiting to a point where serious inroads on his status have been
made. It is at this point that Wood's blood pressure usually wiU begin to rise
as he becomes more and more upset.
If the reader is a member of the AE culture and is not either

consciously or unconsciously rebelling against the system, he should have

little trouble recalling instances when he was kept waiting long enough for
it to begin to reflect on his status. How one handles such a situation is
purely personal. Some physicians and most hospitals are, of course,
notorious in their violations of the nation's mores. It would not be so bad if
it weren't so stressful for the patients. The message comes through,
however, that hospital stafiF is in charge; they are important, the patient
isn't (he's lucky to be there). The patient's status, by all applicable nonverbal
criteria and measures, has in most instances become reduced to that of a
nonperson. It wasn't designed that way; it just happened. But it doesn't have
to stay that way. Our hospitals are even harder on polychronic people than
they are on the monochronic ones. At least for AE peoples the schedules are
understandable, even if what is being communicated by those schedules and
the people who make them is hard to swallow. What polychronic people
need, which they can't have in our hospitals, is lots of friends and relatives
around them all the time. But regulations and scheduled visiting hours won't
permit this.

Whenever controls are external, as occurs with industrial time clocks and
schedules in the military, schools, business organizations, and hospitals, one
finds that they are frequently rigidly enforced. It all depends, however, on
the administrator. The problem lies in the inequities and exceptions,
because not everyone can get to work at the same time. The writing of
regulations to handle all contingencies is virtually impossible and can
become cumbersome. Such complexity builds up and adds to the
burdensomeness and size of government. The general rule is that
externalized controls inevitably lead to complexity. It is almost impossible
to simplify from the outside, because usually only the people who are
directly involved are in a position to simplify anything.

A similar pair—closely related to time—which confounds matters in almost

any office where both monochronic AE and polychronic CII people are
interacting, is how these two groups are oriented toward people and
procedures. This is not simple, and there are ramifications that go beyond
what one might imagine. Whenever it is necessary to get action, to change
something, to adjust the system to prevent past mistakes from reoccuning,
the automatic response of the AE group is to take a look at procedures, and
then to try to develop suitable alternatives to correct matters. Yet, it is this
procedural orientation that makes our bureaucracies so vulnerable to fraud.
All that is needed is the correct "procedure," and the bureaucratic wheels
start grinding.

The CII group's response is quite diflFerent. First, if there is a breakdown of

any kind they immediately see who is involved and what the human
consequences will be of taking remedial action. If it is a personal matter, a
more responsive system is needed and the question will be: "Who do I
know who can help me?" If it is an organizational matter, they find who is
in charge and who can help them. If they don't know someone at that
moment, they will look until that connecting link in the human chain is
located. Obviously, systems employ both people and procedures, but the
emphasis in each cultural group is different.

It is almost impossible for fast-message, procedure-oriented people to

bypass their procedures—even in an emergency. They have the feeling not
only that it is not right, but also that without the proper procedures nothing
works. Remember that external controls tend to become complex—which
means that the procedures of the CII people-oriented cultures can be
cumbersome. This invokes a double penalty on the poor AE bureaucrat
stationed in Rio who gets a cable from New York to be on the next plane to
Washington. He has an emergency need to clear the country on three hours'
notice, when Brazilian "procedures" require three or more days. Brazilians,
of course, simply find a friend and bypass the procedures.

It is sometimes diflBcult for North Americans in Brazil to realize that one

of the costs of doing business is taking the necessary time to cultivate
friendly working relationships with individuals strategically located in
business and government. Until this is done, nothing will happen. Who one
knows and has as a friend can make a lifesaving difference in an
emergency. A Latin American does not (cannot) simply act on the abstract
assumption that the individual who has been waiting in Hne longest is more
important than his friend. If one has to wait.
it simply indicates that either he is not connected (and therefore not worth
bothering with), or he doesn't know how to get along with others and has no
friends. Either of these is an indictment. Procedures, schedules, and Hnear,
monochrome time cluster just as orientation toward people in bureaucratic
settings, poly-chronic time, and rather loose schedules cluster. Having
worked at the interface of the AE and CII cultures for most of my life, I
have discovered again and again that PL culture is "for real." It isn't just that
certain CII individuals cannot be depended upon to arrive at the appointed
time or cannot complete projects according to AE schedules, but that these
people are in the grip of one pattern, while I am in the grip of an entirely
difiEerent one.

OceanofPDF.com
5 Culture s Clocks:

Nuer, Tiv, and Quiche Time

Winston Churchill once said, "We shape our buildings and then they shape
us." This was during the debate on the form that Parliament should have
when it was rebuilt following the bombing of London during World War II.
Churchill was right, of course, but it isn't just space that shapes us; time
does the same thing, only it's hard to realize that when we build our time
systems we are shaping our lives. It is only recently, however, that time and
space have begun to be recognized as influencing the direction as well as
the outcome of behavior.

E. E. Evans-Pritchard, authority on the African peoples and one of the

grand old men of anthropology, was the first to my knowledge to have a
major section in an ethnography devoted to "time and space."^ He also
recognized that there was something inherently different about the way in
which the African people actually experienced and structured time.
Realizing that time could be different from one culture to the next, he had
sufficient insight to accept it as a product of the human mind and not as a
constant transcending culture. Evans-Pritchard even categorized the time
system of the Nuer (a sub-Saharan tribe) in two ways: eocological (sic) and
structural. Eocological

time was essentially time dealing with seasons, annual cycles, movements
of animals, in fact, all the temporal aspects of nature in the Nuer
cosmology. In addition, the Nuer structured time as a component of cultural
and social life. Discussing this, Evans-Pritchard observed that "the subject
bristles with difficulties." He was right, of course. The subject does 'tristle
with difficulties," many of them as yet to be confronted. It is a tribute to
Evans-Pritchard's sensitivity and perceptiveness that he recognized this.
Speaking of his experiences, he states: "With the Nuer . . . time is not a
continuum, hut a constant between two points . . . the first and last persons
in a line of descent." Nuer time was fixed as a channel through which kin
and groups moved. The visual metaphor evoked by his analysis is like a
stroboscopic picture of a turning wheel when the spokes are frozen in time
by the synchronized flashes of the light. In Nuer time one knew the wheel
was moving, but it had the appearance of standing still as generations fed in
at the hub slowly worked their way up to the top of the spoke at the rim.
The Nuer realized that time moved, in a sense, but for their purposes it was
necessary to treat it as though it did not—for them only the generations
moved.

My colleague Paul Bohannan,^ following in Evans-Pritchard's footsteps,

made the next insightful record of African time while working with the Tiv
of Nigeria. Bohannan went much further than Evans-Pritchard in describing
how Tiv time works, for which we are greatly indebted to him. To the Tiv,
time was somewhat like a series of enclosed rooms, each containing a
difiFerent activity. The walls of time, like the hollow conduits of the Nuer,
seem to have been relatively fixed. "Time rooms" could not be moved about
or shuffled, nor was the activity in those rooms to be changed or
interrupted, as occurs in AE cultures.^ Once inside one of their time-
activity chambers, both the Tiv and their activity were inviolate. Like the
time clock in a vault, they were sealed in and safe from interruptions. This
is a situation Westerners may envy, because even Presidents are not immune
from interruption.

Dominated as it is by activities, Tiv time is intimately associated with the

famous African markets. Markets, like everything else that humans
produce, have a regional character. The

Tiv market is restricted to a single category of commodity; the Tiv know

what day it is by what is being sold in the market, i.e., leather, brass, cattle,
vegetables, etc. Each area, as might be imagined, has its own sequence of
produce and commodities so that the weekdays occur in a diflFerent
sequence. There is no attempt on the part of the Tiv to integrate these
diflPerences, for it is quite evident that for the Tiv time provides a
permanent frame in which activities fit like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Viewed from the perspective of a Westerner, it must be reassuring to have
time, space, and activity not only fixed but also congruent. With a time
pattern such as this, with markets and goods forming a permanent fixture
(like the wheel of Nuer time), relationships develop and form between
merchant and buyer as they do the world over. Each day imprints the people
with its special character, produced by the tempo and personalities of the
market. Each new week provides a reinforcing replay of the preceding
weeks. It is not difficult to recall somewhat analogous frames in the United
States, for example, the woman who takes every Thursday to go to town, or
the weekly or monthly rounds of a traveling salesman, but neither of these
is related temporally to a centralized institution like the market in which
everyone participates, nor are the personalities in the orbit necessarily fixed
as they are with the Tiv.

To some Westerners it must sound as though the Tiv are in a rut, knowing
what to expect from one week to the next. In our own culture this could
happen, but there is a difference. AE peoples create ruts, but it is done in a
very interesting way. We call them routines. Routines are seen in the
repertoires of transactions, the responses evoked from others and ourselves.
We know we are in a rut when we foresee what someone else is going to
say next and what our reply will be. We're in a rut when there are no
surprises, nothing is new, particularly no new ideas, and when there is no
new development in literature, art, music, dance, or when there are no new
ways of looking at things. H. H. Munro (Said) wrote a delightful satire on
this. His protagonist, Clovis, visits an English clergyman and his
housekeeper-sister, who are definitely "in a rut." Overhearing their
complaints of ennui, Clovis arrives at a correct diagnosis and then proceeds
to make a shambles of the clergyman's life

and his household by totally disrupting all the routines. The title Munro
chose for this little story was "The Unrest Cure."

Barbara Tedlock's Time and the Highland Maya* is an unusually rich

description of how the Quiche Indian (pronounced "key chay") time is
organized and how it leads to an experience of living which \s totally
different from that of AE cultures. Translating from Quiche time to AE time
is possible only in the most limited sense.

The Quiche Indians, descendants of the Maya and occupants of highland

villages in Guatemala, inherited the Maya calen-drical system, one of the
most advanced in the world at the time of the Spanish conquest of Mexico
and Latin America. The Maya recorded the lunar and solar cycles,
calculated eclipses, as well as the orbits of Venus, Mars, and Jupiter, with an
accuracy equal to and sometimes superior to that of their conquerors.
Not only were religious festivals accurately timed, but the daily lives of the
people were so intertwined with the time system that it is impossible to
understand one without the other. There are even specialists—diviners—in
interpreting Quiche time. The term for diviner is Ajk'ij, meaning "day
keeper." To get at the core of Quiche culture, anthropologist Tedlock and
her husband apprenticed themselves to a diviner and are now practicing
Quiche diviners. Because day keeping is a sacred function, diviners are
actually shaman-priests. In fact, the entire Quiche curing-rehgious system is
built around divination and the "day keepers," who are also the people's link
to the gods.

Following the tradition of their ancestors, the Quiche have two calendars,
one civil and the other religious (sacred-divinatory). Composed of 18
twenty-day months, the civil calendar year totals 360 days with 5 days
remaining. There are 260 days to the religious calendar, which has no
months but is an assemblage of 20 combinations. These two calendars
interlock like two rotating gears to produce the Calendar Round, which only
repeats itself once every fifty-two years.

Not only are there two separate calendars that mesh, but there are other
qualitative pattern differences worthy of attention. In the United States and
Europe it is generally taken for granted that there will be a beginning and an
end to every-

CULTURES CLOCKS TJ

thing: saying good-bye to the old year and ushering in the New Year; the
capital at the beginning of a sentence and the period at the end; the first day
of the week and the last day of the week. Name anything you wish:
relationships, jobs and careers, meals, and working for advanced degrees—
for everything there is a beginning and an end. Yet, in the Guatemala
highlands, Tedlock provides convincing evidence that the Quiche 260-day
calendar, like the wheel which it resembles, has no beginning and no end.

There are other differences. To the Maya, the sacred 260-day calendar
provides the base on which an elaborate system of divination is built. Each
day has special characteristics and it takes a shaman-diviner to provide a
proper interpretation of the day. This is particularly important when critical
decisions are contemplated. Not only does each of the twenty days have a
proper name and character that is divine, but also a number. The "nature" of
the days change depending on the numerical accompaniment, as well as the
actions or moves contemplated during that particular day. A "good" day in
one context may be bad in another. There are favorable and unfavorable
combinations, and it is the combination that determines how a day should
be interpreted.

The very nature of the calendrical system and people's relationship to it

forces them to ponder each day to decipher its sacred message, a message
relating to each life in a different way. Mayan calendars are structured in
such a way as to direct people's attention not only to interpreting the
significance of the various combinations of names and numbers but also to
what these combinations mean in different contexts. The context in which
the message is set in this way becomes part of the meaning. Need I add that
the Quiche are a highly contexted people?

Contrast the above with AE calendrical systems. Our days have no formal
differences except for Sunday, the Sabbath, and holidays like Thanksgiving,
Easter, Christmas, and New Year's Day. All of our days, even the holidays,
are virtually indistinguishable. The days of the week are the same
regardless of the month, season, or year. The etymology of four of the days
of the week indicate, of course, that these were originally named after

the Scandinavian mythological gods: Tiw's day, Woden's day, Thor's day,
Fria's day, which may have given them an entirely diflFerent significance in
days past.

To the average European, however, the Quiche system sounds like

astrology. This is not the case, but, again, one must take into account the
context. AE people look at astrology as the opposite of science. Ergo, for
many Europeans astrology is not taken seriously because it is not scientific.
My point about the Quiche is not whether an astrological type of system is
vaHd or not, or logical according to Western definitions. Rather, I'm
concerned about the effect such a system has on the people— how they
think and live. The Quiche calendar and what goes with it represent a
mental environment in which the people spend their entire lives.
Also, Quiche time performs specific functions related to curing, religion,
economics, well-being, marriage, family, and village welfare. The ancestors
and mythological beings, sorcery and witchcraft are all involved and
reinforced by the time system.

Given the task of describing a time system such as the Quiche Mayan in
words poses problems. The words assume more importance than they
should. Words, after all, are symbols, and while it is the symbols that are
used to describe what the people do, somehow in this process the symbols
and the story they tell take on a life of their own. This creates a new reality
that is quite different from the reality expressed by the Guatemalan Indians.
As readers—and writers—we are lacking in adequate contexting. I am
trying to remind the reader that this reality about which I speak exists as
something distinct from what I or anyone else says or thinks. The Quiche
reality causes them to scrutinize each day and its character as it relates to
their own character, their desires, and their past, as well as the tasks that lie
ahead. The Quiche really do have to think deeply and seriously about the
process of how each day is to be lived. Our time system has quite the
opposite effect.

With AE peoples time is an empty container waiting to be filled;

furthermore, the container moves along as if on a conveyor belt. If time is
wasted, the container on the belt slips by only partially filled and the fact
that it is not full is noted. We

are evaluated by how those containers look. If they are all full, that is a
strong plus. If they are full wdth good deeds and creative productions, then
we can feel we have lived a "full and productive life"! Judged by this
standard, some people are seen as more productive than others and require
bigger containers while the rest of us sit back in awe of how much they
accomplish in their lifetime. To have done little or nothing means no
containers are filled. Sitting around passing the time of day with others,
incidentally, is in the "nothing" category. Yet, there are people who judge by
other standards, lead very productive lives simply by being encouraging,
helpful, and supportive of others. These good souls—and they are good
souls—are sometimes made to feel that they haven't "made much of life"
because other people's containers are full but where are theirs?
Compared to cultures like the Quiche, ours seems unusually self-centered
because our time system keeps reminding us that we are the only ones who
can fill those containers. Our own unwritten rules tell us other people
cannot help. Time itself is seen as neutral and its only value is that it is
relentless and unfeeling; it waits for no man.

For us the law of productivity still applies. Americans must make every
moment count, because each container is divided into hours, minutes, and
even into seconds. We look back and say, "I can't imagine where the week
went," or "It's Monday and the next thing you know it's Friday and the week
is over" —a roundabout way of saying, "I didn't get as much accomplished
as I thought I should have." The Quiche don't feel they have to make every
moment count. The Quiche face a different, more subtle task: how to use
each day properly.

For the Quiche, living a life is somewhat analogous to composing music,

painting, or writing a poem. Each day properly approached can be either a
work of art or a disaster if the proper combinations are not found. For
individuals brought up in the AE tradition, these difiFerences are not easy
to articulate or understand. Why? Because we pay so little attention to what
it means to live right. In our part of the world, living is something that is
taken for granted. It's done automatically. Living has a lot to do with filling
those containers—with meeting objectives.

On the group level, Quiche time has been a great source of strength in
helping the people in the difficult and sometimes almost impossible task of
integrating alien European institutions, material culture and customs in
ways that make sense to them. It is the Quiche way to consciously evaluate
everything from the outside world. If the item is judged to be beneficial, it
is then adapted to local custom; otherwise it is rejected. As a result, nothing
is ever felt to be alien or strange. Unwanted, alien customs, beliefs,
procedures, and ceremonies are simply ignored. In that way the foundations
of life are not threatened. In this regard, the difference between our two
cultures has far-reaching consequences. In the United States, blacks and
Native Americans are like islands surrounded by a sea of AE culture. Over
the years both have suffered varying degrees of destruction of their
institutions, some of which might have been avoided had they been lucky
enough to have shared some of these crucial Quiche patterns of adaptation
or rejection.

It is necessary to digress a moment to say a few words about what happens

when the members of two cultures meet. Some cultures tend to be more
receptive to what is different, while others are less so. The AE group has
trouble coming to terms with anything different. As a consequence, there
are strong, deep currents of proselytization very close to the mainstream of
all AE cultures. We are the ones who send missionaries not just in religion
but in virtually every aspect of life. Americans more than most seem
dominated by the need to shape other people in our own image. This drive
to clone our own culture is accompanied by the implicit conviction that
culture is something that one dons and doffs like a suit of clothes. Unlike
many other peoples on the globe, we don't experience our own culture as
something that penetrates every cell of our bodies, which is the source of all
meaning in our lives. Since culture is seen by Americans as something
superficial which can be shed without disturbing what lies underneath, we
are frequently blind to the disastrous consequences of our addiction to
proselytizing.

Students of culture now generally agree that black informal (out-of-

awareness) primary culture survived the ravages of contact with whites
during slavery. For Native Americans the history is both brighter and
sadder. On the bright side, the

Pueblo Indians of the Southwest have managed to survive with most of

their culture intact. Other Indians were less fortunate; their cultures either
were crushed or collapsed, because they proved to be extraordinarily
vulnerable to AE customs and institutions. In this respect the Quiche are
quite remarkable. They are well defended against Europeans and their
culture. There may be a clue to how this immunity to cultural disintegration
works in the way in which time is handled.

According to Tedlock, the Quiche treat time as a dialectic, which means, in

her terms, that "at no given time, past, present, or future, is it possible to
isolate that time from the events that led up to it and which flow from it."
How different from Americans, who discard the old and eagerly clasp the
new to our breast. We see this in our attitudes toward ideas, books, music,
automobiles, styles, and, most recently, marriage partners. Even when we
rediscover the old, it is treated as new, like the move to search for one's
"roots." We live in a culture where most things are disposable; continuity
simply is not there. Also, whenever anything new is incorporated or
adopted—a belief, a life-style, or even a spouse—there are deep,
unconscious patterns that make us feel we must automatically disavow the
old. In disavowing our past, we fragment history and in the process manage
to break the few remaining threads that bind, stabilize, and give unity to
life.

The Quiche do not have this problem, and while neither culture planned it
that way, the results are there for us to examine. Given the dialectic nature
of the Quiche time system (which knits everything together), the Quiche do
not feel the need to rid themselves of the foreign elements already
integrated. This principle was applied when Tedlock was unhesitatingly
accepted as an apprentice diviner on the same basis as a Maya—something
that would never have happened among the Pueblo Indians. Quiche
thought, as molded by Quiche time, did not require that she disavow her
own culture, only that she integrate the new material into what was already
there. Under similar circumstances in the United States, we would
resolutely try to "cast out" the alien elements regardless of how long they
had been around or how deeply integrated they were into the psychic
structure of the individual.

We can see this disavowing pattern in the whole "bom-again" syndrome of

American life. The reality is that it may be possible to alter one's view of
one's past or events in that past, but the past is still there; it will never go
away and it cannot be altered.^

To summarize the significance of Quiche time, the day-keeping divination

is a constant reminder of: A) the sacred time system; B) one's obligation to
one's hneage as well as bonds to that Hneage reaching back in time (the
indiscretion of an ancestor can be the reason behind today's misfortune); C)
one's related-ness to the earth and its nature spirits and to the gods; and D)
one's relationships with and obligations to the larger community. We have
very few ceremonies in AE cultures where one is forced to think about god,
family, and one's relationship to self and others.
Quiche time binds people to the village, to ancestors, gods, and daily life. It
all comes together in the divination process, at which point another
connection is added, tying people into their physiology. An important
feature of Quiche divination is the use of the body as a sender, receiver, and
analyzer of messages. I do not refer to "body language" but to physiological
functions of the body itself, which is read the same way one reads a book.
The Quiche view the circulation of the blood as an active agent in the
body's message system. Ability to divine with the "blood" is said to be a
direct gift of the ancestors. Either the shaman's own body or the patient's
body can be used. If the patient's body is used, the shaman feels the pulse in
different parts of the body. This "pulsing" is not like our own, where the
rate is used diagnostically; rather, the total character of the pulse is analyzed
for its meaning, including twitching and tingling. In one instance, the
shaman sat with her legs straight in front of her. If the pulse moved up the
inside of the legs, the patient would live. If it moved up the outside, the
patient would die. In addition to the blood, the shaman makes use of
feedback from the long muscles of the body which twitch, contract, or
tingle. Where the blood is experienced as a sensation and how the muscles
respond tell the story.

Again, the Western reader may treat this type of diagnosis as hogwash—
simple superstition. In our frame of reference this

would be right, because AE peoples know very little about how to read the
messages of the body. Our knowledge is limited to slow messages of the
psychosomatic type and leaves out the fast ones that signal what is
happening right now. Tedlock and her husband learned to read their own
bodies the Quiche way and they state categorically that it provided a variety
of feedback in their relations to others that had been heretofore unknown to
them.

In another context, I once knew a psychoanalytic colleague who saved his

life by depending on this very same system to tell him what was going on in
a patient. This therapist was treating an unusually attractive, seductive, and
assaultive female patient. Having narrowly escaped death from attacks by
the patient on two occasions, my friend decided that a more reliable way of
staying in tune with his patient was required. A split-second ducking reflex
once prevented his head from being crushed by a weighted smoking stand.
Would he be that lucky the next time? The attacks came without warning
and with lightning speed. There were none of the usual external signs that
something was about to happen. All of the sensory cues on which people
depend for feedback were absent. In fact, it seemed almost as though the
assaults occurred when least expected and when the therapist was relaxed
and most vulnerable. Those therapists who have had experiences with
assaultive patients also know that it is important to be able to control one's
own level of anxiety, and this is not easy if one may be struck at any
moment by a heavy object. Looking for a solution, my friend discovered
that unbeknown to his conscious mind his body had been picking up signals
before an attack. In his own pulse rate there was a highly reliable, built-in,
early warning system, which he then proceeded to monitor regularly. A
quickening beat sent the unmistakable message: "Look out!"

There are references in the literature on the Maya to the twitching of

muscles, but until I read Tedlock it never occuiTed to me that these could be
anything but unexplained aberrations in the body's rhythm system. Later in
this book I will devote a chapter to body synchrony and to what one body
tells another when the two move in synchrony. In Beyond Culture I referred
to these mechanisms as the body synchronizers. Although there

are some very suggestive leads, it is still not known exactly how these
messages are sent and received. It would appear that the Quiche shamans
may have developed or elaborated on this process and their own knowledge
of how the system works, or enhanced their awareness of their own bodies
as senders and receivers of messages (probably all three). Whatever the
explanation, the result is heightened awareness of an important component
of human consciousness. In light of the current interest in consciousness
raising I would say that it never pays to dismiss something simply because
there is no adequate explanation of an experience that is only partially
understood.

On the basis of almost fifty years' experience with cultures covering a very
wide range of complexity, I am convinced that the West has made a great
mistake in writing off the very special knowledge and abilities of the rest of
the world simply because they don't conform to our standards for scientific
paradigms. There is still much to be learned from the proper study of other
cultures.

Insights gained from examining primary level systems have proved so

rewarding that I think it is worthwhile to discuss two of the world's leading
countries from this point of view: Japan and the United States. My aim is
not so much to increase understanding or to diminish misunderstanding
(which may be even more important), as it is to enhance appreciation of the
underlying cultm^al processes—to motivate people to be more inquisitive
about those things they take for granted. I would also like to communicate
some of the tremendous possibilities that lie ahead if the human race can be
weaned from its fascination with technology and turn its attention once
more to the study of the human spirit. The material on which this chapter is
based is drawn from my own experiences as an anthropologist,^ from Zen
Buddhism, and from some of the better known books on Japanese culture.-

Since World War II, when Ruth Benedict wrote her landmark book. The
Chrysanthemum and the Sword, contact between the United States and
Japan has increased on a massive scale. Japan's success in American and
European markets and a shrinking globe have had the combined effect of
greatly increasing

the demand for relevant material on the two cultures. The quality as well as
the quantity of published material has improved immeasurably in the
intervening years. However, there is one element lacking in the cross-
cultural field, and that is the existence of adequate models to enable us to
gain more insight into the processes going on inside people while they are
thinking or communicating. We need to know more about how people think
in different cultures, as well as how they organize and explain ideas. What
is perceived and what is left out? What is an "idea" or a "concept" as
defined by a Japanese compared to an American? What is important? How
are ideas organized? According to what principles? How are the separate
events that go to make up an idea organized? Some of the answers to such
questions can be gleaned from ascertaining where a given culture is on the
context scale. Is it high or low context? It is most important to learn how
time is structured.
It was not too surprising for me to discover that cultural time is one of the
keys to understanding Japan. To begin with, Japanese time, Zen Buddhism,
and the concept of MA are all intimately interrelated—relationships which
are sometimes difficult for a Westerner to understand. In making this
observation, I am not saying that understanding the Western mind is any
easier for the Japanese. Remember, time as I have been using it is a core
system in our lives around which we build our picture of the world. If the
time systems of two cultures are different, everything else will be different.
As I stated at the beginning of this book, I do not accept the Western notion
that time is an absolute. One studies how cultures handle, experience, use,
and talk about time as a way of gaining additional insights into those
cultures and understanding the psychology of the people.

In many respects, Zen has represented the ultimate enigma for Americans.
The koan "WTiat is the sound of one hand clapping?" is just one example.
Koans are sayings or instructions to disciples which appear on the surface
to be illogical or impossible, but which have a deeper meaning underneath.
To understand a koan it is necessary to understand the context. Westerners
find koans difficult to understand because we think of Zen as a concept, a
philosophy, or a religion. It is none of these. According to those authorities
who write about Zen'' it is

a "way," and a rather extraordinary way at that. Zen represents one of the
basic means by which people learn. In Zen we find an excellent example of
what I have termed informal learning— learning which depends almost
entirely on the use of models, practice, and demonstration.^ Words are
anathema to Zen because words distort. It is not hard to see the stumbling
blocks presented by Zen for a culture like ours that begins everything with a
question and is constantly asking, "Why?"

Zen is extraordinarily high on the context scale, probably as high as it is

possible to get. This means that Zen communication is incredibly fast. One
of several reasons Americans have trouble understanding Zen is simply that
we are not properly contexted about the history of Zen. We don't know the
background of all the koans. This is illustrated by an example taken from a
little book by Yoel HofiFmann, Every End Exposed: The lOo Koans of
Master Kidd: "Master Anzan went into the mill to see Master Sekishitsu.
He said, Tt is not easy is it?' Sekishitsu replied, 'What is so hard about it?
You fetch it in a bottomless bowl and take it away in a formless tray.'" What
Sekishitsu was communicating is ". . . that if one is aware of the mu
['bottomless,' 'formless'] aspect of things, one can take them for what they
are . . . with this attitude, there is nothing hard in milling or any other
work." It is the bottomless and formless shape of things that Westerners find
so difficult to accept.

If we only knew in the Western world how much of our lives actually
contain widiin them the seeds of Zen. Unfortunately, many of us spend our
lives denying this fact and, as a result, we deny an important part of
ourselves. This process of denial interferes with our being able to take the
next step—discovery of the hidden energy and power that enables us to do
things like draw the great bow with the muscles of the arms and shoulders
completely relaxed.^

There is some Zen in the way in which the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico
teach and interact with each other. An example was provided several years
ago by the late John Evans, son of Mabel Dodge Lujan. Evans was
superintendent of the combined Pueblo agency and was stationed in
Albuquerque about 130 miles south of Taos Pueblo. After a long search, he
had finally managed to find an agricultural extension agent to work

at the pueblo who seemed to suit the people and who got along well.
Everything went fine, through the summer and the winter. But one day in
the spring John was visited by this extension agent, who looked rather
forlorn. Standing in John's office, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other, he blurted out, "Jo^> I don't know what's wrong, but the Indians don't
like me anymore."

The following week John drove to Taos and sought out one of his friends,
an old Indian, one of the chief religious leaders of the Pueblos, and asked
him what had gone wrong. The Indian, playing the part of a Zen master,
remained silent. John Evans, standing there on a spring day warmed by the
bright New Mexico sun, looked back at him. Finally the Indian said,
"Jc>hn, he just doesn't know certain things." And that was as much as he
would say. Here is the Native American version of Zen modified slightly by
contact with whites, but still incomprehensible to most of them. The Indian
wasn't being recalcitrant or difficult. He knew that John Evans knew the
answer and that he would have to use his head to get it.

Evans' stepfather, Tony Lujan, was a Pueblo Indian from Taos, where Evans
had spent years as a boy and where the Indians were used to treating him as
one of their own. This explains why he got the answer he did. If it had been
someone else, there would have been no answer at all or else some non
sequitur. After Evans had thought about it for a while, the answer came with
a flash. Of course, how could he be so dumb? In the spring. Mother Earth is
pregnant and must be treated gently. The Indians remove the steel shoes
from their horses; they don't use their wagons or even wear white man's
shoes because they don't want to break the surface of the earth. The
agricultural extension agent, not knowing all this and probably not thinking
it important if he did, was trying his best to get the Indians to start "early
spring plowing"!

Of course, there is much more to Zen than simply refusing to give easy
answers to the uninitiated. What struck me was that the patterns were
virtually the same in these two very different cultures. And while the date
has not been precisely established, the forefathers of the Taos Indians must
have crossed the Bering Strait into the western hemisphere somewhere
between ten and

twenty thousand years ago. But put that Taos Cacique (religious leader) in
the place of the Zen master and John Evans as his apprentice and the
dialogue would be virtually interchangeable.

None of this means that a Zen master or a student of Zen is going to

understand the Pueblos of New Mexico any more than any other outsider.
All non-Pueblo people are almost totally lacking in not only specific
information but also context, and the Pueblos want to keep it that way. It
only means that if you set up your communications in certain ways, the
patterns, if not the content, will be similar. Both the Pueblo Indians and the
Japanese are brought up and live much of their lives in close-knit, highly
contexted situations. This is why there are no questions, no explanations,
and there is great difficulty understanding and accepting outsiders. Yet once
accepted, the outsider becomes an insider. If people take the trouble to learn
how to work the inside system, it will work as well for them as for anyone
else.

Everything that has been said so far applies to time. There is no indigenous
philosophical approach such as one finds in the West with its preoccupation
with defining what time IS. The American Indians I know have no word of
their own for time, and in Japan one doesn't find the extensive
preoccupation with this subject. What is Japanese time? How does it
compare with Western time? First, it is not and never has been considered
an absolute. Time is not imposed on Japanese music as we impose time on
our music with a metronome or a conductor. Japanese musicians and their
music are "open score." Their music, like their time, comes from within
themselves. For example, nema-washi is the term for the time required to
get everybody's cooperation as well as consensus. This has been likened by
the Japanese to a needle following the groove of a Victrola record. The
record is a spatial mechanical metaphor for the process and the transactions
that must be accomplished in all parts and at all levels of an organization.
The center of the disk where the needle comes to rest symbolizes that the
nemawashi process has reached the very top. The speed of the disk is not
part of the metaphor. The nemawashi is finished when it is finished and not
before. Just like the beginning of the Pueblo Indian dances—they start
"when things are ready" and not a moment sooner.

We concentrate on the contrasts between the two cultures,

go THE DANCE OF LIFE

particularly those which have proved to be stumbling blocks to

understanding or to the smooth running of everyday transactions in business
and government, and begin with the experiences of Eugen Herrigel, a
German professor of philosophy who took up Zen after World War II, with
some surprising results. Herrigel's wonderful book Zen in the Art of
Archery is not only a masterpiece but also a treasure chest of insights on
how differently the cultures of Europe and Japan approach virtually
everything. Herrigel came to Japan to teach but also to learn. He spent six
years studying Zen under a master archer. It would be fruitless for me to
attempt to explain to Westerners how one learns a philosophy by shooting a
bow and arrow. Herrigel's small volume achieves that purpose more
eflFectively than I ever could. But let's try to put his experience in a
somewhat different frame.

Western philosophies are not commonly viewed as paralleling either

religion or daily life. D. T. Suzuki makes it quite apparent that Zen
Buddhism—which is both philosophy and religion—is actually very close
to the underlying primary level culture of Japan. In Japan, the discovery of
self is directly linked, therefore, to the full realization of the basic social
laws by which one's relatives, friends, neighbors, and countrymen live. In
contrast, Western religion, philosophy, and daily life are, following our one-
thing-at-a-time scheduling mode, sealed off from each other in tight
compartments, while philosophy is a way of training the conscious mind in
the search for "truth" or the "meaning of life." In Japan, philosophy is
deliberately set up to bypass the word world of the mind and to help the
individual tap the well-spring of his own life. There philosophy is life, and
it is also the deep core culture of the people.

In the West, archery is sport. In Japan, archery can be a sport, but it can also
be a religious-philosophical ritual, a discipline to train the mind. Archery in
Western cultures implies the instrumental objective of "hitting the target,"
which depends on training and strengthening the body. While we are
training the body, the Japanese in the Zen tradition follow spiritual
exercises designed to expand the mind. When Western people train the
mind, the focus is generally on the left hemisphere of the cortex, which is
the portion of the brain that is concerned with words and numbers.* We
enhance the logical, bounded, linear func-

THE EAST AND THE WEST Ql

tions of the mind. In the East, exercises of this sort are for the purpose of
getting in tune with the unconscious—^to get rid of boundaries, not to
create them. We follow an "actor, action, goal" paradigm, a manifestation of
the grammatical structure of the language: the archer (actor) hit (action) the
target (goal). In the practice of Zen archery, the purpose is to blend the
archer, arrow, bow and string, and target into a single, unified process. We
train by mastering skills; the Japanese train by emptying the mind and
eliminating consciousness of the self. In the West, there are schedules that
tell us what to do and when; time is an outside force helping us to organize
our lives. In the East, time springs from the self and is not imposed. The
purpose of Zen is to attune one's self to nature and to "eat when hungry and
sleep when tired."

In the West we "organize" our thinking, make plans, theories, and designs
for action; we calculate. In Zen, "thought" interferes with consciousness.
That is, Zen thinking is natural and unconscious, whereas Western thought
is conscious and analytical, leading to dogmas, creeds, and philosophies
(content). Zen is more oriented toward context and form. Yet how many
archers could duplicate the feat of Herrigel's master, who shot the entire
distance of the target hall at night with only a lighted taper illuminating the
target area, and split one arrow with another!

In addition to bypassing conscious thought, one of the goals of Zen is to

dissolve the ego, to rid the individual of feelings about success, failure, and
consciousness of self. To be a master, the Zen swordsman must eliminate all
feelings about the dividing line between life and death. Herrigel says:
"Every master who practices an art molded by Zen is like a flash of
lightning from the cloud of all-encompassing truth. This Truth is present in
the free movement of his spirit, and he meets it again, ... as his own original
and nameless essence." Truth in the West is specific, whereas to the Zen
master it is all-encompassing and, paradoxically, the very essence of the
self.

In the West, we impose our view of nature on man and nature alike because
we think of man as separate from nature. Since the early Greek scholars, we
have made word pictures of reality in our heads, projected them on the
world, and treated these pic-

tures as real. These projections are like the image of gaslight on the screen
of a nineteenth-century Soho stage. Using words and mathematics, our
thinking in the West has been predominately hnear, out of necessity and
design. Our thinking is therefore left brain and low context'^ and ultra-
specific. Yet, we learn from Japan (and, similarly, from Native Americans
like the Hopi^ and the Navajo) that there is another kind of logic which
complements our dialectic—the logic of hara, which is a logic of context
and of action not limited to word paradigms. It should begin to be obvious
that in some of the most basic elemental aspects of life, Japanese and
Americans are radically different. Nowhere is this more evident than in art.
Art in Japan encompasses all of the Zen disciplines, including flower
arrangement, archery, and swordsmanship. As a consequence, much of art is
highly contexted.

Four important elements of art— hara, MA, intuition, and michi (the way)
—tell us even more. Hara links the individual to nature, since it expresses
that part of the person that is innately and irrevocably natural and an
expression of nature (internalized nature). The Japanese artist, be he a
practitioner of one of the martial arts,* potter, painter, actor in a Noh play,
archer, calHgrapher, or poet, begins with nature on the inside. Nature is not
something that is outside and separate which he is trying to reproduce. MA,
the second element of art, is a space-time concept and a meaningful pause,
interval, or space. Silences in Japan shout the deepest feelings. With us, the
silence stands for embarrassment, "dead air," a time in which nothing is
going on. Intuition, the third element, comes from long, deep study and
experience. It is the distilled essence of a theme, an emotion, idea, or object.
Michi, the way, implies devotion to discipline and perfection in one's art.
Our closest approximation to michi is technique.

Most Western artists are influenced by two critics. One is internal, the other
external. Whether the artist wills it or not, there is always a set of aesthetic
and visual conventions present which make up the context in which his
work is set. Apart from the abstract schools is his own need to understand
and represent the object before his eyes as faithfully as possible. In contrast,
the Zen artist, after years of disciplined exercise, experi-

ences the object with his whole self and then "lets the object draw the
picture using the inkbrush as a tool." There is seemingly no conscious effort
on the part of the artist to direct the brush. As was true of the Zen archer,
the object—the brush— and the artist are part of a single, unified,
integrated process. The diflFerence is that the Japanese, in order to develop
his art, must center his efforts on self-knowledge and ultimately on
enlightenment. The greatest efforts are made to still the mind and to
eliminate the ego, which is subject to the frailties of praise, success, failure,
and lack of recognition. Enlightenment is its own reward. The Western
artist, on the other hand, with few exceptions, can hardly be likened to a
shrinking violet. The ego plays an important role in the life of the Western
artist. Those with weak egos have trouble surviving. The vulnerability (if
such is the case) of Japanese art is that it grows from within and is less
subject to enrichment from the outside. If his own analysis is correct, the
Japanese artist would not normally be in the position of learning about his
own unstated assumptions when confronted by either radically changing
times or a foreign culture. His tendency is either to learn the outsiders
system in its entirety or else to turn inward, a characteristic response in
other matters as well. The Western artist, while he cannot be counted on to
learn a great deal about himself through introspection and meditation while
working, does seem to integrate the work of other artists into his own in
quite a different way from the Japanese artist. Our artists are much more
prone to concentrate either on the aesthetic context, or on the object, or
both, than to use art as a way of gaining insight into the workings of their
own psyches. They use their art either as a way of expressing what they see,
hear, and feel, or as an aid to understanding what they see, hear, and feel.
This doesn't mean that the artist never uses art as an avenue to
understanding of self, only that it is not in our tradition as an implicit
function of art. If it were, we would not see the outraged indignation that
occurs in audiences when artistic productions violate the artistic mores of
the group. It is as though we in the AE cultures share the outside, while the
Japanese and possibly other Eastern cultures share the inside. There are
additional differences. Art in Japan is traditionally not compartmentalized

life, separate and apart, as it is in the West. It is rather the very essence of
life.

It is interesting to note that nowhere in Japanese thought do we find any

mention of individual talent. The implication is that virtually anyone who
applies himself can become a master in one of the arts and while there are
acknowledged "greats" who are given the status of "National Living
Treasure," the assumption seems to be that the talent is in the cultural
unconscious, rather than in the individual. The Zen approach, of course,
places great demands on the individual, while failure is seen simply as
insufficient appHcation of discipline, work, and dedication. Failure in the
West is frequently chalked up to low aptitude. I am sure that the Japanese
recognize aptitude informally, but they don't seem to use its absence as an
excuse for poor performance.

An additional diflFerence is that in the West, while large sums of money are
paid for the work of big-name artists, those who are not known are apt to
have a pretty thin time of it. Nor are Westerners likely to do what I have just
done—take art as serious data on the life and mind of our culture. We are
rather more inclined to look at economics and politics for insights into the
patterns of cultural psychology. Not so in Japan. Swordsmanship, flower
arrangement, archery, calligraphy, and art are all viewed as equally valid
avenues to understanding the heart and soul of the people and their
traditions. In the West, we look for truth in one place. The Zen master
knows that enlightenment can be found everywhere.

By now the reader may be saying, "This is all well and good, but who is
going to devote his life to the mastery of archery— even in Japan? How
typical is this? What proportion of the people are Zen practitioners? None
of this seems to explain why the Japanese have been so successful in the
world marketplace and why they have managed to wrest leadership in
electronics, and the producing of motorcycles and automobiles, from the
Western manufacturers."

There is, of course, another side to Japan which is much more visible,
which we in the West must also begin to understand. What I have been
describing is the underlying bedrock that slowly breaks down into the soil
of everyday life. Japanese bed-

rock and the soil of Japanese culture are comprised of the same
constituents, but in different forms. It is the cultural soil of the Japanese and
American gardens which I now wish to discuss. As one might surmise, they
are quite different.

M. Matsumoto,^*^ the Japanese author, interpreter, and translator, states

that the Japanese act from three centers: mind, heart, and hara ("gut" or
"belly"). Because of the highly situational character of Japanese culture, it
is important to know which of these three may dominate a given situation.
Mind is for business, heart is for home and friends, while hara is what one
strives for in all things. It should be noted, in regard to hara, that while
Japanese tradition seems to place great value on it, today, I'm told, hara is
more commonly associated in people's minds with politicians rather than
with Zen masters. The dichotomy between mind and heart has a somewhat
different character than in the West. Again, it is in part a matter of situation,
but the pull of Japanese culture as a whole is to the heart and not the mind,
whereas in the West it is the opposite. To provide an example, because
Japan is a high context culture^^ (few rules are stated and a great deal must
be filled in with the imagination), maintaining proper personal relationships
in" business is most important. Contracts won by foreigners with the
accountant's sharp pencil are frequently lost later because of neglect of the
heart. The heart you can depend on; the mind is always changing. It takes
hara to integrate the two.

An extension of the above is that in the West we need to understand and

appreciate three more things in order to function in Japan: tatemae
(sensitivity toward others, public self), honne (sensitivity toward one's own
private self), and suji (the situational significance of an event). Suji assumes
an immersion in a highly contexted culture and includes not only an
understanding of the manifest content of a communication, but also an
appreciation of the situational contexting aspects. This includes eveiything
else in the situation which has a bearing on the roles that are being acted
out.

Sensitivity toward others, while not highly developed in the West, is at least
a cultural value acknowledged by some. However, until quite recently,
sensitivity toward self has been slighted or looked upon as selfish
narcissism, which is far from

the case. My impression is that Westerners place much greater stress on the
pubhc self and somewhat less on the private self. The contemporary
generation has made more progress in changing this than have their parents
and grandparents. What is still lacking, however, is the integration that is
expressed in tatemae, honne, and hara, as well as the difference in emphasis
on the private and public selves mentioned above.

What about the Americans doing business in Japan? They are very much
Hke business people in other parts of the world in the sense that they tend to
take their own way of doing business and their own cultural assumptions
for granted and assume that things will work out the way they do at home
after one gets some experience. The American abroad—even when he is
most successful—is likely to voice such sentiments as "After all, when you
get to know them, they are just like the folks back home." Yet one
American, an unusually gifted and sensitive man who had worked in an
Asian country for almost two decades, learned exactly how to get things
done the Japanese way. Commenting on a recent personal coup which
received international recognition, he said that he had done his best to
understand the culture and that it was important to learn to do things in a
"roundabout way which is different from my own country and yet not be
phony about it or lose my own identity and become a different person in the
process." Part of this "roundabout way" lays great stress on ceremony.

Daily life in Japan is replete with ceremony—young women even bow to

greet customers entering the Ginza department stores. But like everything
else in Japan there are contrasts which are seen in the great internal drive on
the part of the Japanese to move away from formality, to leave behind the
public selves (tatemae) and move toward the more comfortable, less rigid,
warm relationships between private selves (honne).

Consistent with this, the Japanese depend more on being able to develop
good human relationships than they do on legalistic formality. We in the
West demand a carefully worded contract, which we see as our only hold on
'someone else. Yet, a European approaching business in this manner in
Japan is finished before he starts. What do people do to keep from failing?
There are institutions to help with this. The evenings spent at nightspots

with colleagues and clients are for the specific purpose of finding each
other as human beings and establishing bonds of friendship. Not only is
friendship accorded more importance than in our country, but when a
Japanese makes a friend, he doesn't just drop him later when he is no longer
useful, as happens much too often in the United States.

The Japanese take an extremely dim view of anyone who changes his mind
or the rules of the game once an agreement has been reached. To fall back
on some legal technicality, a policy change, a shift in the political climate,
or the thought that a better deal can be made elsewhere, will only make
enemies who will take revenge later. You may not even know when it
happens.

Virtually all relationships in Japanese culture can be put in one of two

classes: close and not close (honne and tatemae) — us and them! There is
nothing in between. Since it is difficult to work with someone over any
period of time without establishing a close relationship, one finds that time
binds one's self by silken threads to the lives of others. The loyalty of the
Japanese to those with whom they are closely tied can be described as
nothing less than fierce. On the other hand, while we assume that people
will be "on the team" when working together, we have nothing approaching
the Japanese dedication and loyalty to the group whatever that group
happens to be. Such loyalty is why they are able to depend upon the proper
relationship to ensure that things go as planned and why they have no need
for contracts. The above also implies a number of other points. When an
American in Japan does make up his mind or decides on a certain course of
action, he should stick to it. This will not be easy for some Americans, who
are in the habit of changing everything at the last minute.

While the Japanese expect to make a profit, their considerations in

computing the "bottom line" are much more inclusive than ours. Our
"bottom line" is restricted to dollars and cents, while theirs includes an
evaluation of possible contributions to national welfare, relationships within
the company, networks of people, and much more. If there is any lesson the
West could learn from Japan, it would be to expand the concept of the
"bottom line" by making it more inclusive—social costs and

gS THE DANCE OF LIFE

long-range effects on the country or the market should be considered. And

while such a move in a country like ours would not be easy, the overall
benefit would be considerable, to say nothing of reducing our tunnel vision
syndrome, which makes us especially vulnerable during times of rapid
change. Special interests and single-issue politics are two of the most
formidable obstacles to be overcome in such a move. The Japanese learned
to depend upon each other in ways that we do not, and these dependencies,
which are taken for granted, not only strengthen the organization but are
part and parcel of the pattern just described.
Related to dependence is the Japanese concept of giri,^^ obligations which
you incur during a lifetime and which must be repaid. To be in the debt of a
rich, powerful person is considered good because that individual can watch
out for your interests. Mutual dependence is even better, because each is
accumulating and paying off giri at the same rate. This would be
extraordinarily difficult for Americans, many of whom are averse to being
dependent on anyone. We take pride in our independence; in Japan, it is the
other way around. It should be noted, however, that dependence in Japan
has little or no relation to neurotic dependency as it is known in Europe and
America. There is nothing neurotic about the way in which a young, up-
and-coming Japanese will use the help of those who are in power to protect
as well as to further his interests.

By way of contrast, the act of getting ahead in the United States and in
European countries is dependent on being able to stay in the limelight. We
seek publicity, to stand out in a group. To see this basic pattern at work, all
one has to do is look at half-a-dozen high school yearbooks. The drive in
this country is for recognition. You can see it in stance, dress, posture,
attitudes, voice level, and in our possessions. Our idols are public figures.
The ones who get the greatest pay in sports, theater, and business are the
ones who are best known. All of this works against us in Japan. Americans
who want to do well in Japan have to develop a whole new approach based
on being unobtrusive and avoiding attracting attention. This takes some
doing on our part. The rewards do not go to showoffs In Japan.

Japanese who work overseas pay a heavy price for their absence from
home. If one is away from Japan or out of touch, it weakens his ties to
others. However, there is also a lesson here for the American who does
business in Japan. One can build on this dependence if one takes it seriously
and does not become too wrapped up in squeezing the last nickel out of
every transaction. Many a contract lost on price has later been picked up
again because of this need to be constantly in touch. Neglect of the
customer on the part of the low bidder can turn victory into defeat.

In the United States, we strive for a meeting of minds; in Japan, it is a

meeting of hearts. In the United States, top management makes the
decisions; in Japan, the real decisions are made at the middle level. Start at
the middle and when things are right you will reach the top. In the United
States, we spar with words to show who is smartest. In Japan, people
synchronize their breathing. With us, difiPerences of opinion aren't serious;
in Japan, they can be veiy serious, hence the need to avoid confrontations.
To be highly articulate in the West is an advantage. Not so in Japan, where
to be too articulate is a disadvantage and is inconsistent with hara. They
allow for the MA in rhetoric. It permits people time to think. Timing is
everything in both cultures, but the context is much broader in Japan.

7 The French, the Germans, and the Americans

Primary level cultural differences between AE peoples and the Japanese are
to be expected. But what about relations between Americans and
Europeans? Many Americans leam either German or French in high school
and college and certainly tend to think of the two peoples as more like us
than Arabs, Hindus, or Malaysians. They would be right because, culturally,
white Americans are closer to Europeans than anyone else. After all, most
of our ancestors came from one part of Europe or another. However, it so
happens that there are unanticipated differences witliin the AE group, some
of which are rather extraordinary.

Few of these differences are as apparent on the surface as those between the
AE group and cultures in other groups in the world, but this only makes
them more enigmatic, particularly when encountered in daily life. American
business is not only particularly vulnerable but also frequently blind to the
risks being taken in Europe because significant differences are found in
virtually every aspect of life. How can this be?

The most basic of culture patterns are acquired in the home, and begin with
the baby's synchronizing his or her movements with the mother's voice.^
Language and our relations vdth others

THE FRENCH, THE GERMANS, AND THE AMERICANS lOl

build on that basic foundation of rhythm. In the American home, schedules

are introduced almost immediately, and in the early twentieth century,
schedules were even regulated as to when the baby was nursed. It was
schedule first, baby and mother's needs second. This has fortunately
changed in recent years. When the child enters school, however, the culture
comes on full force. Schools instruct us how to make the system work and
communicate that we are forever in the hands of administrators. Bells tell
everyone when they must begin leaiTiing and when to stop.

More than thirty years after I graduated, I couldn't help being startled,
saddened, and at times exasperated by the ear-shattering bells in the halls of
the various universities where I taught. Those bells punctuated the
beginning and end of each class period, and were completely unnecessary,
because both students and professors had years ago internalized the whole
process of scheduling. Even the most oblivious and insensitive professor
would have a hard time ignoring signals emanating from students when it is
time for the class to end. Somewhere at the bottom of the bureaucratic
morass there must still be a line item in the budget for the maintenance of
bells. The message, of course, is that there is an administration calling the
shots. Time is imposed! Internal rhythms, classroom dynamics,
efiFectiveness of learning and teaching are all subordinate to the schedule.
Nevertheless, even though administrations dominate our lives, we in the
United States, when compared with the French, are relatively decentralized.

In France, until very recently, what was taught and when in every classroom
in the land was dictated from a central point —Paris. All periods and all
subjects in the French school system were scheduled in advance. At any
time of the day it was possible to tell what any child in any city or village
was studying. Consistent with this centralized orientation in scheduling, the
French have centralized virtually everything else in both time and space.
Their bureaucracies are much more powerful than our own, and within
French bureaucracies the middle position is considered to be the strategic
one. French bureaucracies are also deeply committed to the welfare of
France and, I am told, will subordinate their own interests to those of the
country.

Regrettably, this is not always the case in the United States. Another
difference between France and the United States is that in France businesses
—particularly banks—are not in an adversary relationship to the
government. Even if there weren't the "old boy" network of classmates from
school, it would be unthinkable that business and government would not
cooperate with each other.

Centralization permeates France down to and including the individual

business person, manager, or executive. It is important, however, to keep in
mind that size is another significant variable in any organization. Larger
organizations must be more tightly scheduled than smaller ones. A single
person at the head of a small office can carry in his head both individual
and organizational needs, and this makes time shifts more manageable. The
central point—the person in the middle—is the place where everything
comes together and from which all power and control originates. The center
defines the situation and, as we shall see, the nature of time. This central
orientation applies regardless of the size of the organization.^

Some of the consequences of this centralized pattern have been cause for
much concern on the part of American businesses in France. There are
always surprises in store for those who do not know how the French system
operates. American logic, business practices, and definitions of fairness
seldom apply in France. According to bankers interviewed in Paris and in
the United States, most American executives really do their best to do
things right and abide by the French requirements. Yet no matter how
careful, how meticulous in their reporting of financial transactions, or how
conscientious in adhering to agreed-upon plans, it is still possible to wake
up one morning to discover that their bankers are faced with retroactive
fiscal regulations. The American is dismayed and frustrated because he
finds it difficult if not impossible to plan in such an environment.''

Unaware that he is in the grip of an immutable time system —the rules of

which are not only automatic but also out-of-awareness—the American is
outraged when he runs afoul of the French system. Since we have never had
to question our own rules and don't know the new ones, we can only say:
"They can't do that!" or "It is unfair. What do they mean, retroactive!"

It is clearly impractical as well as inappropriate to try to change the French,

so the American has no alternative but to give up treating time as a constant
represented by the system he was brought up in, and accept tlie fact that he
is facing a new set of rules, which, like his own, are unstated. Until this
crucial step has been taken, it is not possible for him to develop appropriate
strategies for coping.

The French in the United States are confronted wdth a different set of
problems. Viewing the social and business world as a set of influence
networks, the Frenchman does not at first realize that, unlike France, there
is no real center of power in the United States. Certain people have
influence, but they are scattered throughout the society and represent
different interest groups. Some French business people in the United States,
often recent arrivals to this country, give the impression of being vociferous
social climbers and snobs, only interested in knowing the right people who
can do them some good. All they are really trying to do is locate the true
center of power and discover who has influence to ensure that nothing
devastating happens without their being prepared. In France, if one does not
have a link to the influence networks where financial and other ciTicial
decisions are made, it is possible to become bankrupt overnight. These
strategies are necessary because, like everything else in France, core culture
time is centralized and the authority to literally turn back the clock lies in
the hands of a few individuals in the Ministry of Finance who draft the
fiscal regulations on which the welfare of the country depends. The French
may tell foreigners in France that they must obey the law and take their
financial reporting responsibilities seriously, but they do not warn them of
the very important fact that, in France, it is possible to reverse the flow of
time. Therefore, it is the responsibility of the foreign businessmen to keep
informed as to how the French Government is viewing a constantly
changing world. The French attitude is that if outsiders are unable to keep
in touch, then they should not be doing business in France. The
Frenchman's first loyalty is to France, and from this perspective he couldn't
care less what other people think. It is almost as though they unconsciously
and continuously restructure the past to justify the present.

The American business person overseas is at a disadvantage for other

reasons as well. Americans do not put their national interests ahead of
everything else/ so that business and the goveniment are seldom on the
same side working together, and the bickering between competing
government agencies as to what our policies are and how they are to be
enforced creates a never-never land in which the business person seldom
knows where he is. It takes a national catastrophe or an attack on the nation
before Americans abandon their own interests and pull together as a team.
Under conditions such as these, planning is difficult because no one can
agree on a coherent national policy. Time on the organizational level,
therefore, is not a ribbon or road to the future but more like a series of small
circles with a radius of three months. The midpoint of each circle—the now
— is sacred and one does not attempt to move it. The direction in which the
circles move depends upon the complex interrelations of all the different
competing groups.

But we are not alone. The Germans and the French have trouble at the
primary level. Consider the experience of a typical French businessman, M.
Chandel (not his real name), working for a German manufacturing firm
with overseas subsidiaries. His experience highlights differences in the high
and low context systems which occur in various combinations with
monochronic and polychronic time, centralized and decentralized lines of
authority as well as open and closed score planning.^ I will try to describe
what happens when a monochronic time system is combined with a low
context, decentralized social structure. Or when a closed score organization
with open score time (French) must incorporate individuals who are used to
open score organization and closed score time (German). The differences as
well as the repercussions are quite extraordinary.

Results in the real world are deeply influenced by these four interrelated
contexts. Unfortunately, there are no metaphors in the English language to
express adequately the structural relationships between these quadratic sets
and the communication that results from combining the parts in different
ways. How then do we talk about these things? One can experience them as
operating living wholes, but as soon as we begin to separate and identify the
basic components, the unifying patterns dis-

solve before our eyes. One has the feeling that chemistry might come closer
conceptually to what we want to express than the building blocks provided
by the spoken language. I mention chemistry because the world of matter,
Hke the world of culture, is composed of a limited number of elements that
are combined in different ways. As any metallurgist knows, simply by
adding infinitesimal amounts of different substances such as tin,
manganese, and cobalt to steel, entirely different characteristics are taken on
by the metal. Polychronism is a single way of organizing events in time,
and the difference between a polychrome institution and a monochronic
institution is like that between night and day. Combine either with highly
structured management and the result will be very different. Everything
changes.

Chandel is an unusually perceptive manager at the top of the middle level in

a German company. He is responsible for the French operations. Chandel is
polychronic, as are his French colleagues. He states, however, that the
French picture themselves as monochronic, consistent with systematized
linear culture in the Cartesian sense. I should explain that there is nothing
unusual about people actually being one way but having an entirely
different image of themselves. Intellectually and philosophically the French
can be monochronic but still be polychronic at the PLC level in the context
of daily life—particularly in interpersonal relationships.

Chandel feels most comfortable working in a highly centralized system of

control. He feels at ease working in the French mode where "power is in the
middle." When asking a superior for a decision in his own polychronic high
context, centralized system, he expects a simple "yes" or "no" answer. His
expectations are based on the assumption that his superior will know the
situation (and thus not need contexting), which is a characteristic of
organizations that are centralized and polychronic.

Yet, when M. Chandel addresses the Germans, asking similar questions, he

discovers that his German counterpart requires extensive orientation and
detailed descriptions as to the nature of the problem, and endless time is
required ex-plaining the German position. When this happens, Chandel
feels "put down" because they are "low contexting" him by talking down to
him.^ After reading Beyond Culture, in which the contexting com-

munication subsystem is described, Chandel began to realize that what he

had taken personally was not meant to be personal at all, but was simply the
difiFerence between a high context way of communicating and a low
context mode. This insight did not alter the way he felt about being "low
contexted," but it did eliminate his feeling of being "put down," because he
was then able to translate from German to French behavior and vice versa.
The highly monochronic Germans, with their need for privacy and order,
puzzled Chandel in other ways. The Germans compartmentalized the
business and cut themselves off from each other and this did not make sense
to him. The chain of command on the informal, daily working level seemed
not only chaotic but also quixotic. For example, when working in France,
Chan-del's boss—the man next in the chain of command above him in the
organization—seemed to have very little real authority over him (something
that would never have happened in his French culture). Chandel's situation
was not unique, except that few people are as observant and analytical as he
happened to be. The explanation lay in the fact that in his company—and
others like it—there were at least three different authority networks, each
with its own information channels: a) the technical structural organization
of the company wdth its formal chain of command and associated
organization charts; b) a professional specialized and substantive line of
authority with its organic disciplines as the basis for the information
channels—engineers talking to engineers, chemists taking their cues from
chemists, lawyers attending to lawyers, and all at different organizational
levels; and c) a network of influential people wdthin the company whose
success and drive had associated them with highly productive profit centers.
These were men who had reputations for getting things done. Chandel's
links were with "b" and "c" rather than "a", a situation with which many
Americans are familiar even though it is at the informal rather than the
technical, explicit level of culture.

It is no surprise, therefore, that the picture of German organizational

structure as seen through French eyes is that virtually anyone within a given
quadrant of responsibility can, if he is

strong, smart, and ambitious, pick up the ball and run with it. This is a
pattern that should also be familiar to Americans. German and American
cultures are quite similar. The two cultures also have in common a deep
commitment to technical organization charts. Both take for granted that the
technical organization and the procedures that accompany it may not agree
with the informal reality" of day-to-day operations.

Another German rule of the informal but binding type is that, once in your
organizational box, you not only have the authority to do your job, but no
one will bother you. However— and this is important— you must not make
loaves! Much to Chandel's amazement, the German system was not only
flexible, but it worked! It permitted great latitude for talent and aptitude,
even leeway to the point of tolerating incompetence. As long as the
individual didn't cause trouble, complain, or criticize, and was not too
obvious about his shortcomings, he was left alone. There was, as might be
predicted from the above, great reluctance on the part of the Germans to fire
anyone. German eyes turned inward, protected by closed-door, soundproof
offices that were structural metaphors of the underlying unconscious
cultural facts—a direct expression of the reality of German primary culture.

A note on the American behavioral counterpart: Americans are somewhat

hybridized in this respect. In contrast to the Germans, the Americans have
an "open-door" policy, and office time is not quite so monochronic.
Germans with their drive for order try to fit their entire society into a single
temporal plan, whereas the Americans are content to work within the time
frame of a single organization. While there are not nearly the number of
conflicts between schedules in the United States as one observes in
Germany, there are conflicts between the demands of home and office, for
example. The implications of all this will become apparent in a moment.

Though ours is an "open-door" policy, American bosses are frequently

much less available than they would lead you to believe. As is the case with
the Germans, the strong personality who is not in the chain of command but
has nevertheless taken over is a common occurrence with us. Anyone who
has been in

the Army knows about first sergeants and sergeant majors who tyrannize
their officers. Bureaucracies of all types are infiltrated with this syndrome
—secretaries who won't work, supply clerks who won't get supplies, postal
clerks and cloakroom personnel who are rude to the public.

At the time this book was being written, a "classic" case was being reported
in the press.^ According to news reports, two U.S. Food and Drug
Administration employees, on their own initiative, had arbitrarily outlawed
the inexpensive solutions commonly used for sterilizing soft contact lenses.
They had also, without authority, approved a much more expensive saline
solution manufactured by a little-known company. The net eflFect was to
increase the sales of that company from $5 million a year to many times
that amount. The company was later reported to have been sold to a Swiss
company for $110 million. What is extraordinary about this story is that the
authority to approve the saline solution did not rest with these two
individuals. One of them, according to FDA sources, "wrested decision-
making from superiors." Again, parallel to the German pattern, these two
bureaucrats who had been wined and dined and received all sorts of favors
were not fired when the news broke. Instead, they were put on "leave with
pay" (suspended). After almost a year, and only after the second set of
hearings by a congressional committee had again publicly established
favors and friendship between the benefactors of FDA decisions and the
individuals who had made those decisions, the workers were suspended
without pay.

This sort of arbitrariness occurs in many countries, but the difi^erence is

that in France individuals must be situated in a centralized position before
they can tyrannize others. Remember the concierge of years past? Bosses in
France are perfectly free to use their subordinates' time in any way they see
fit; German bosses don't have that kind of control over employees—the
monochronic system and the schedules that go with it are sacred, as we
shall see shortly. In Germany it would be unthinkable to routinely ignore an
employee's scheduled needs and make him work during the scarce hours set
aside by the government when the shops are permitted to open. Additional
observations on how the two cultures contrast in organizational settings
appear below:

THE FRENCH, THE GERMANS, AND THE AMERICANS

109

FRENCH

GERMAN

Authority and Control

Bosses exercise authority over subordinates' time. Secretaries are expected

to work overtime and on weekends if their bosses need them.
The combination of polychronic time and the centralized authority makes it
impossible for the French to schedule in the way the Germans do.

Subordinates' time is sacrosanct, particularly secretaries'. Even on a coffee

break they cannot be disturbed, nor can they be kept overtime, for to do so
would result in missing limited hours when shops and markets are open.

One thinks of the entirety of Germany as one vast interlocked schedule. By

law, in order to protect employee rights, markets can only be open during
certain hours of the day. Office workers must be able to shop at those hours,
otherwise the family doesn't eat!

Decision-making

Agendas are more fluid and a function of the situation as it develops.

Answers are expected to be of the decisive "yes" or "no" variety.

In a low context system, information must be highly structured so that

everyone knows where he is. Memos to subordinates cover the deep past
(back to Charlemagne). Agendas are important and should be adhered to. A
good manager throws a protective screen around talented subordinates
because the open score, informal organization fosters competition that can
be destructive. In America, we are less likely to protect subordinates simply
because they are good workers; we let them "take care of themselves."

no

THE DANCE OF LIFE

Information and Strategies

The French centralized system favors the decision tree linear pattern,
moving from higher centers to and through subordinate centers.

Polychronic relationships require —in fact, demand—strong screening for

people in responsible positions. Secretaries and subordinates provide this
screening. The French don't like to use the telephone because not only does
it deny them information from the face and body, but it makes them too
available. Hence, the "Pneumatic," which can get a letter from one part of
Paris to another in an hour.

French managers have a heavy responsibility to .stay informed. Information

flows around at a single level of insiders. If you are not part of that group,
you may have trouble getting your message through.

German management is a bit like chess: strong pieces can dominate any
level. Like the American counterpart, this system is also subject to great
blockages, depending on the individuals involved.

A strong person, while appearing to cooperate, can either run with the ball
or block and obstruct, thus killing the initiatives of others below him or
frustrating a boss above. The model is reminiscent of the city-states in
Europe prior to the Renaissance. There are, however, chances for talent to
rise in the system.

Image

In a variety of situations, the French seem to be more prone to reveal who

they are than the Germans or Americans. They feel protected by
membership in group, are committed to their individual identity. They can,
therefore, in academic meetings

The front you present to others is very important and you must be sure to
present the right one. It is permissible to make mistakes as long as nobody
important knows about them. Never show your incompetence in anything.

THE FRENCH, THE GERMANS, AND THE AMERICANS

111

make such statements as "I know you all think I am a fool and that you will
spit on my ideas, but I am going to tell you about them anyway." No
American would dare to be so provocative.

The result is frequently a certain amount of skepticism about others.

Salesmanship is taken for granted, while the need to establish close
relationships— as with the French—does not necessarily hold in business.
Germans do make friends and very close friends once the outer barrier has
been let down. Americans let people in, but protect a hard core near the
center so that people have the feeling they never know us, i.e., that we are
all image.

Personal Relationships

Polychronic time brings people together and accentuates highly

personalized relationships. But due to their need for privacy, the French
protect themselves by not putting their name on the door. In their system
you are either in their circle or you are out, and if you are out, they may not
be too happy to see you. It is quite natural then that given this set of
circumstances and the obstacles to be overcome, the French salesmen
would "own" their customers, who are not the property of the company. It
sometimes takes years to develop a relationship, which is why you have to
work on several at a time. This is also why the French take their customers
with them when they move.

Compartmentalizing M-time seals people off from each other so that

personal relationships tend to be defined in terms of the job. Great care is
taken to protect the privacy of others, whereas the French are preoccupied
with protecting their own privacy.

Much of interpersonal behavior centers around communication. German

communication, being generally low context, places great stress on words
and technical signs, which is one reason they have to go into so much detail
and why symbols of authority carry so much weight.

THE DANCE OF LIFE

Interpersonal communication in France depends more on the high context

messages of the body and the face j( movie actor Femandel is an example).
High context messages take longer to learn to read accurately but are much
faster once learned—and more dependable and trustworthy.

Propaganda and Advertising

In general, high context cultures are more resistant to propaganda and
advertising, which must be amusing and punchy—not serious—if it is to be
effective.

Words from the man at the top are, however, taken very seriously, even if
one does not agree with them.

Low context cultures are, in general, quite vulnerable to propaganda and to

advertising. That is, until they learn that the agent behind the message is
untrustworthy, and then they may mistrust all advertising.

People pay attention depending on who is talking and how forceful and
convincing a case they are making, regardless of where they are in the
organization. The Germans are tuned and therefore vulnerable to low
context communications, regardless of source. Many are aware of this,
which is why they attach so much importance to where the source is on the
scale of political philosophies.

The Role of the Press and the Media

In high context centralized cultures such as France the press seems to speak
from a defined center of power. Which center, depends upon whether
people

One might assume that in a low context, closed score, M-tiine culture the
press might be controlled. As a matter of fact, the press in Germany and

THE FRENCH, THE GERMANS, AND THE AMERICANS

113

listen or not as well as whether they are in sympathy with the point of view
or not.

the United States is one of the few sources of laige-scale feedback on

important issues. Without this safeguard, either countiy would be in a much
more precarious position because of the propensity to "sweep things under
the rug," to let people solve their own problems, not to fire incompetents,
and the vulnerability of the system to strong personalities at any level. The
press and the public media are the only ones who are freely allowed "to
make waves." Of comse, the responsibility is awesome, and is not always
respected by members of the press.

Given tM'O systems that are as different in their basic structure as are those
of France and Germany, it is no wonder that rapprochement is often
difficult to achieve. If one is advising people in the conduct of international
afiFairs on either the governmental or the business level, I would suggest
very careful selection of personnel, looking for those who are intuitive,
sensitive, and superintelhgent. Success in a cross-cultural situation requires
much more talent than climbing the ladder of success in one's own culture.
There are exceptions, of course (certain personality types sometimes find
cultures that are vulnerable to their ministrations and wiles, and therefore
do well even though they may not be unusually gifted). There is no doubt in
my mind that to sell products in France involves veiy different rules than in
Germany and takes more time, even though the German system may be
more cumbersome.

Zlme as Beeper ience

8 Experiencing Time

Since the beginning, mankind has been submerged in a sea of time. The sea
is characterized by many diverse currents and countercurrents, fed by rivers
from difiPerent lands. The rivers alter the mix and produce a unique
chemistry of time for each location. Human beings, hke fish in water, have
only slowly made themselves aware of the time-sea in which they live. Like
many important patterns in life, awareness of time is at first diflBcult to
demonstrate. It is worthwhile to reflect a moment on the great differences
resulting from such insights on the part of our forebears. When this
happens, something really new is added, the first indications of which were
present in Neanderthal burials in Europe somewhere between 70,000 and
35,000 years ago. Following the Neanderthals, Cro-Magnon hunters
inhabited Ice Age caves in southern France and northern Spain, beginning
about 37,000 years ago.^ The Cro-Magnons also buried their dead. The
cave deposits have also produced evidence that these men and women, who
were the first modern human beings, had begun to make and record
systematic observations of the phases of the moon, migration of game
animals, the spawning of salmon, and possibly even the position of the sun
at different times

of the year. Being able to record and predict such events as the ripening of
berries, fruits, and grasses, as well as the migration periods of different
birds, fish, and game animals, greatly enhanced the potential for survival of
these early human beings and made it possible for them to plan for the first
time in human history.

All this is known principally because of the efforts of one man, Harvard
University's Alexander Marschack,^ an archaeologist who made highly
detailed examinations of Stone Age sequences of scratches that appeared on
the surfaces of bone tools and the ribs of bison found in caves. Under the
microscope, instead of random scratches he found purposefully engraved
marks that proved to be unique. Each mark had been made at a different
time and with a different instrument! Marschack's evidence is unequivocal.
We have here mute testimony of the modest beginnings of observations and
studies that were to hold the human species spellbound for all time to come.

Much later, beginning sometime in the Bronze Age—two to three thousand

years ago—primitive but accurate models for recording the movements of
the sun, moon, and planets began to appear all over the world. These
"observatories"—some call them computers—of which Stonehenge is the
best known, made it possible not only to accurately set the dates of religious
ceremonies, but also to predict eclipses of the sun and moon. The ability to
predict seasons was absolutely essential as an aid in planting and plotting
the life patterns of the planet: predicting when deer were in rut, when big
game and birds migrated, when the last frost could be expected to occur,
when there were apt to be storms. In fact, everything that impinged on our
species had some time period associated with it. These observations were
also of paramount importance in maintaining the proper synchrony between
religious ceremonies and festivals and the seasons. At first, this knowledge
was esoteric and held in the hands of a precious few who controlled
knowledge and kept the secrets. During these early periods, time centered in
the universe and in nature. The units were large. A day or half-day (before
or after midday) were the smallest units of time. The week was unknown,
months were merely a succession, and the knowledge of the exact day on
which the winter solstice took

place was in most societies restricted to one or two men, or to a small

priesthood in the larger societies.

Following the Bronze Age and its massive computer-like formations such
as Stonehenge, clocks apparently evolved from elaborate astrolabes,
working models of the solar system used in astrology. Clocks did not appear
in Europe until the fourteenth century, and were at first only owned by
royalty and the very wealthy. By the mid-sixteenth century, well-established
clock-makers' guilds had grown in Europe, while clocks were beginning to
be sold in city markets.

The AE love aflFair with various kinds of timekeeping devices even

exceeds the AE love of the automobile and in some ways may have made a
deeper impact on our lives—albeit more subtly. It is the clock that is
primarily responsible for our preoccupation with variable time (time
dragging and time Hying), which is the central theme of this chapter. It was
the clock that provided an external standard against which to judge the
passage of time—to detennine whether it was "racing" or "crawling." Until
then, people's internal clocks moved fast and slow, and usually in unison, so
that few possessed an awareness of the speed at which time was passing.
Even today, it is the presence of clocks that makes us aware of the passage
of time. We know this from multiple experiences with peoples all over the
world who do not or did not have clocks. As recently as fifty years ago, the
Navajo Indians with whom I worked did not own clocks and had no need
for them.

Before going into the complexities of variable time, it is necessary to say

something about extensions,^ of which clocks, watches, and calendars are
examples. Extensions are basically tools and instruments, including tools of
communication such as language. They are a natural product of most, if not
all, living substance, although the extension process has been tremendously
enhanced by humans. Examples among the less-evolved life forms are
spider webs, bird nests, and territorial markers. Mankind has evolved its
extensions to such a point that they are beginning to take over the world and
may ultimately make life impossible unless they are better understood.^
Extensions are remarkable because they can be evolved at virtually any
speed, whereas life itself is the product of small ac-

cumulative changes in which the generation is the shortest interval in which

genetic changes may occur. Therefore, small animals like flies, and bacteria
and viruses that reproduce very fast, can evolve adaptations to the
environment in very short time periods. Worldwide resistance to DDT by
flies and mosquitoes is one of the best-known examples of this sort of
adaptation.

If human beings had had to evolve culture genetically, it is doubtful if we

would have progressed beyond the Stone Age. To speed up evolution and
achieve flexibility in meeting environmental challenges, humankind began
to evolve its extensions. The human species, however, paid a price when it
chose the extension route. Extensions are a particular kind of tool that not
only speed up work and make it easier but also separate people from their
work. Extensions are a special kind of amplifier, and in the process of
amplification, important details are frequently left out. What gets left out is
largely a matter of chance and sometimes what is left out may be more
important than what is amplified.

One of the most important central issues to be understood about extensions

is that they are rooted in specific biological and physiological functions.
They originate in us! Properly read, one can tell an incredible amount about
human beings by studying their extensions. In fact, there is little that can't
be discovered. Extensions can be viewed as externalized manifestations of
human drives, needs, and knowledge, and they even reflect our unconscious
drives. Given the current state of the world, this is sometimes difficult to
envision, but no one else made our extensions—we did. Examples of
extensions are: the telephone extending the human voice, television
extending both the eye and the ear, cranes extending the hand and the arm
and the back, computers extending the memory and some of the arithmetic
parts of the central nervous system, telescopes and microscopes extending
the lens of the eye, cameras extending the visual memory, knives extending
the cutting and biting capabilities of the teeth and fingernails, and
automobiles extending our legs and feet.
There is one more point to be made, and that is that whenever something is
extended, the extension begins to take on a life of

its own and quickly becomes confused with the reahty it replaces. Language
is an excellent example. The process was best described by Count Alfred
Korzybski when he fomiulated the principles of general semantics.^''
Korzybski stressed that the word is not the thing, it is only a symbol. This is
one of the most difficult concepts for humans to grasp. It would seem that
human beings must learn over and over again that the map is not the terrain.
In another work, I formulated the principle of extension transference, which
holds that any extension not only can but usually does eventually take the
place of the process which has been extended.^ This principle is illustrated
by the way in which we have taken our own biological clocks, moved them
outside ourselves, and then treated the extensions as though they
represented the only reality. In fact, it is tlie tension between the internal
clocks and the clock on the waU that causes so much of the stress in today's
world. We have now constructed an entire complex system of schedules,
manners, and expectations to which we are trying to adjust ourselves, when,
in reality, it should be the other way around. The culprit is extension
transference. Because of extension transference, the schedule is the reality
and people and their needs are not considered.

Time Passing and Time Dragging

Time "drags" when the body clock and the clock on the wall are out of
sync. Time diagging is a synonym for not having a good time. The message
that time is dragging can be used to alert individuals to find out what it is
that makes them feel that way. Recognizing these little cues—like time
dragging—is important, because it is becoming increasingly clear that our
unconscious is where the organizing, synthesizing core of our personality is
located. Many, if not all of us, attempt to reduce alienation and try to bring
the conscious part of ourselves in line with our unconscious. The gap
between the unconscious and the conscious is not inconsiderable. After a
certain point, when this gap is too wide, people's lives are diminished. The
strain of trying to bring the two parts together makes them less productive
and less happy. A sense that time is dragging should be a cue to take a
closer look at the state of one's psyche.
Maggie Scarf in her book about female depression, Unfinished Business,
states that depression has a considerable biochemical component. That is, it
can be treated with drugs or with a combination of drugs and
psychotherapy. It doesn't matter to the individuals suflFering from
depression whether their troubles are due to an imbalance of the chemistry
of the body or whether they are of psychogenetic origin. The hurt, the
sufiFering, and the debilitating paralysis are the same. What makes
depression doubly unbearable is that time oozes at a snail's pace. One of
Scarf's subjects, Diana, a woman who had just tried to kill herself, speaks of
the "molasses-like feeling of being stuck in endless time" (p. 347). Scarf
also states that "Menopausal depression is a biological time bomb that can
explode in those years in a woman's life . . . when fertility is . . . ending."

As a young man working on Indian reservations, I often saw Navajos and

Hopis patiently waiting around trading posts at the agency in Keams
Canyon, Arizona, or at the hospitals in Keams and in Winslow. I realized
that it was not possible to imagine myself in their shoes. There was a
different quality to the Indian's waiting from my own. In this respect I was
no different from other white men. We were all impatient, always looking at
our watches or the clock on the wall, muttering or fidgeting. Yet an Indian
might come into the agency in the morning and still be sitting patiently
outside the superintendent's office in the afternoon. Nothing in his bearing
or demeanor would change in the intervening hours. How could that be? As
a child I had encountered the same phenomenon in Indian pueblos in
northern New Mexico, in the houses of Indian friends, and in the towns of
Santa Fe and Taos. The Indians would exchange visits with my family, as
well as with many of the artists in the area. As it happened, white men's
hours and days for visiting never seemed to mesh with those of our Indian
friends, with the result that whoever did the visiting would find themselves
waiting. A strain gauge attached to the bottom of a bench would have
recorded the difference in waiting behavior quite graphically. We whites
squirmed, got up, sat down, went outside and looked toward the fields
where our friends were working, yawned and stretched our legs, and made
innumerable other signs of im-

patience. When the roles were reversed, the Indians simply sat there,
occasionally passing a word to one another.
Later, as a grown man working and visiting in other countries, I
encountered this same difference. It was quite evident that my time was not
their time. Arab men who spend hours on end— in fact, all day—talking to
their friends in coffeehouses still amaze me. Even people in Paris cafes
exuded a different air from what I had experienced at home. In Paris the
same people could be seen sitting day after day watching the world go by.
The restaurateurs were tolerant of Bohemians. Everyone knew that artists
didn't have much money and therefore couldn't afford to heat their studios,
so they would sit in cafes and soak up the heat. Furthermore, the experience
of time varies in detail from class to class, by occupation, and sex and age
within our own culture. Did you ever notice how impatient young children
are in our culture? "Mommy, how much longer are we going to have to
wait? I'm getting tired." One would never hear a whimper from Indian
children. Occasionally there was an almost imperceptible tug and the
mother would reposition the child or uncover a breast so her child could
nurse. The whole process would happen with no break in rhythm and so
naturally that I almost missed it. Clearly culture patterns such as these must
begin very early in life and be in place at the time of birth.

In the United States and in AE cultures generally, people seem to assume

that time is a given (as it was in the Newtonian sense), that it is the same
wherever one goes in the world. Clearly this is not true, but in order to gain
insight into the time systems of others, we must know more about our own.
How does one gain such knowledge?

What Literature Can Teach Us

I have grown to depend on literature as a source of discovering people's

preoccupations. The novelist and the poet reflect the principal
preoccupations of people and their times.^ Henri Bergson was obsessed
with time and considered it an enemy. Proust, like his fellow countrymen,
was preoccupied with time and felt that time and memory were inseparable.
What is fascinating

about these two men is how characteristic of AE culture they are.

Clearly, the novelist must come to grips with time, and how he or she
handles it is a good index to mastery of his craft. James Joyce sees us
imprisoned by the "narrow confines of linear time." Joyce's protagonist
Stephen Dedalus thought it was impossible to separate the clock from the
experience of the viewer. And in a way he was right. For Bergson,
"becoming" was the essence of time. All these writers are conscious of
being conscious. Hurdling the barriers of language, they land right in the
middle of time. Time to them was the equivalent, in fact the quintessence,
of consciousness. What most of these writers really did was use time as a
tool to pin down consciousness.

Time is, of course, a major device in the works of Virginia Woolf, Aldous
Huxley, Franz Kafka, Thomas Mann, Thomas Wolfe, and William Faulkner,
to mention only a few writers. Clock time and mind time as two distinct and
separate forms are recognized by all of them. Bergson saw duration as the
meaning of life itself, while Kafka made inner time real. Yet Kafka
annihilates time by turning reality into a dream, which is what gives his
work its surreal quality.

All of these authors implicitly and explicitly accept duality as axiomatic in

nature; individual and universal, will and idea, concrete and abstract, artistic
and materialistic, separation and merging, present and past, past and future,
present and future, outside looking in and inside looking out, hfe and art,
time and eternity, sympathy and detachment, mysticism vs. humanism,
instantaneity and eternity, and symbolic and allegorical. Yet duality is
nothing more or less than the way in which AE cultures categorize virtually
eveiything. Physics and anthropology tell quite a diflFerent story. But the
reader should know that duality is, as Einstein put it, something which one
"imbibes with one's mother's milk." We all come by it naturally, which
diverts our attention from multiple causation. Stimulus response expresses
the duality pattern, cause and effect. The reader should know that duality
comes naturally if one is an American of Noith European heritage and that
it will be less natural for him or her to look for multiple causes than for
people brought up in cultures that take a pluralistic view.

Time Compression and Time Expansion

Time compression and time expansion are two subjects of continuing

fascination for AE peoples. Time compresses when it speeds up. This is
evident in emergency situations when one thinks one is about to die ("My
whole life flashed before my eyes") or when there is extreme pressure in
order to survive. An example would be the case of Major Russ Stromberg,
Navy test pilot, testing the CaiTier AV-8C.^ Stromberg had just been
catapulted from the deck of the aircraft carrier Tarawa and he realized that
his plane was not developing power. This eight-second scenario of how he
dealt with the emergency and survived took forty-five minutes to describe.
"I was very surprised by the whole evolution of the thing. Everything went
into slow motion. After about one second, about seventy-five feet after I
started rolling, I knew I was in deep trouble" (italics added). First,
Stromberg had to see if the engine could be brought up to power by
switching oflF mechanisms limiting takeoff power. That didn't work. There
was no way to get the engine up to power in the five seconds remaining
before the plane would hit the water at over a hundred miles an hour and
disintegrate. Ejection was the second option. However, to eject at the wrong
moment would also have meant certain death. Even with only two or three
seconds, he had the time to look around so that he could pull the ejection
handle at just the right moment: thirty feet above the water. Stromberg
ejected and fortunately avoided the crash site by only a few feet. This
meager description cannot possibly cover all the possible alternatives to
decisions that Stromberg ultimately had to make—at the right time, in the
right order, and without panic. If he had been on normal time, none of this
would have been possible. If that capacity to expand time—in this instance
to about 300 percent of normal time—had not been built into the human
species, it is doubtful that the human race would have survived.

I once had a similar—although not as dangerous—experience when I found

myself involuntarily sharing, with a mountain lion, quarters from which
there was no exit. I had had some dealings with a naturalist of sorts who
had cheated me. To distract me from trying to collect my debt and
suspecting that

I might be a sucker for animals (I had shown great interest in a chipmunk he

carried in his pocket), he asked if I would like to see his new mountain lion.
While in the process of looking at the lion, I discovered to my horror that
this man had inadvertently (?) left the door of the cage unlatched so that the
mountain lion escaped into the narrow passageway where the two of us
were standing. My first awareness of what had happened was when I felt
something brush by the calf of my right leg. Then as I watched the lion lick
a spot of grease next to my toe, time slowed down. The experiences of
others with wild animals flashed through my mind: "If you are afraid, the
animal will sense it and kill you." I was not afraid; that came later when I
was safe again. But what to do? How to get out of this mess? Putting years
of experience with animals to work, while I mentally alternately reviewed
and rejected a half dozen options and their scenarios, the only workable
solution seemed to be to make friends. This mountain lion, I discovered,
could be approached, and it even purred like a model-T Ford. Having
assured myself that I wasn't going to die just yet, I didn't push the
relationship, either. Eventually the mountain lion (his name was Jim) was
back in his cage and I departed, having completely forgotten my reason for
being there in the first place. How many times events of this sort have
happened in the his-toiy of the species of course is not known, but having
lived an active, outdoor ranch life in the wilds of New Mexico and Arizona
as a young man, I do know that emergencies are legion and that this
capacity to slow down time in an emergency has saved me more than once.

For city dwellers, living a life cut off from nature, swaddled in technology
and creature comforts, it is difficult if not impossible to visualize what it
would have been like to live the life of our forebears. As anyone who has
spent much time in the open knows, a built-in, variable time sensor is
necessary for survival. Perhaps it is still necessary today to confront a new
set of dangers, those of urban life.

Concentration and Time Perception

The degree of concentration required to complete a task is related to how

fast time is perceived as passing. The events

that cause a particular person or group to concentrate so hard that they 'lose
all sense of time" can be attributed to multiple causes. Top athletes are
known for being able to concentrate, and frequently when they fail to do as
well as they hoped, they put the blame for their failure on a slackening of
concentration.

Concentration of any sort obliterates time. Some of the most impressive and
well-documented examples of this come from the new field of
microsurgery.* Microsurgeons work with a microscope to reattach parts of
the body: arms, legs, fingers, hands, toes, and eyes. Microsurgeons work as
part of a team— teamwork not only makes these incredibly difficult,
demanding operations possible, but also seems to have a supporting effect
on the surgeon, giving him energy and assurance when his vital forces are
running low. In one operation, the team literally worked around the clock
(twenty-four hours and twenty minutes) to reattach the four fingers of an
eighteen-year-old girl who had caught her hand in a printing press. This
meant sewing together nerve ends, muscles, tendons, blood vessels, and
skin, and working out procedures so that the fractured bones could knit. The
doctor said, "I wasn't conscious of time." It is also interesting to note that
surgeons of this type have to keep themselves in superb physical condition
and avoid caffeine for twenty-four hours before the operation, and none of
them smokes!

One does not need to be a surgeon to concentrate; almost anything that is

sufficiently involving will suffice to make a normal person concentrate. A
talented young filmmaker from Switzerland experiences the time between
meals when she is working as mere minutes. Suddenly she will feel hungry
and realize hours have gone by. Only when other people are involved is she
conscious of time.

Imagery and Time

Another instance of time perception which is virtually impossible to

replicate in the laboratory is what went on inside Mozart's head when he
was composing music. It is only possible to look at his extraordinarily
productive capacity and take his word for what he experienced when he
composed. To put this discussion of Mozart in context, one has to know that
there are

two ways of doing virtually anything creative.^^ As children, most of us

learned early that there are some persons who can do their arithmetic in
their heads, while others solve the same problems outside their bodies with
the aid of pencil and paper, or chalk and blackboard. This same process can
be obsei'ved in any field: choreography, architecture, industrial design,
sculpture, painting, writing and composing, even skiing and dancing.
Teachers happen to prefer the second method because they can see what is
going on and correct "mistakes." It makes them feel useful and in control.
The first method, however, is faster and more creative.

Both Mozart and Beethoven could compose in their heads. Beethoven could
compose for the strings, listen to the results, and then feed in the brasses to
see how it sounded. But insofar as I have been able to learn, he did this
sequentially; that is, he listened to his own music just as we do when it is
played in a symphony hall by a live orchestra, with head time and real time
reasonably in sync. Mozart was different. Something about the way in
which his central nervous system was organized enabled him to experience
his music all at once. It is possible, of course, that Beethoven was a left
brain genius, and Mozart a right brain holistic composer. But intuition leads
me to believe there was more to it than that. The brain is organized very
much like a hologram.^^ That is, the information is stored everywhere at
once so that it is impossible to fix a memory in a specific location in the
brain.^2 It also seems to be stored in layers, so that an individual who has a
stroke may lose one language but retain another. Mozart's experience
provides us with a small clue as to how certain individuals frequently have
the capacity to span time—in effect to see into the future. In large groups,
for example, once music starts, there will be those who will know what's
coming, because like Mozart they experience what is going on in the
present as a portion of a unified entity that is played out in a sequential
manner. Clearly, when Mozart was composing, the experience of time must
have been a totally different process than it was for his colleague
Beethoven.

Howard Gardner, a psychologist writing about the two men in Psychology

Today, could not bring himself to believe that

Mozart could experience something as complex as a symphony all at once.

Beethoven apparently could hear music in his head, but he did not hear the
details, which Mozart did. Beethoven had to translate his music onto the
page, and then work to get the written score to conform to the mental image
(just as Einstein had to translate his visual and physical images into words
and then into mathematics). Mozart, however, apparently not only had an
incredible creative capability, but was also a simultaneous translator.
Remember that all notation systems and all extensions by their very nature
leave some things out, so Beethoven's difficulty in writing down his music
was in part traceable to the fact that the written music seldom achieves the
perfection and congiiience of what one hears in the head. Beethoven was
famous for working over his manuscripts. Being unusually sensitive to
congruence, he would work and work until he found just the right note.

The diflEerence between creating inside oneself and creating outside by

means of an extension is basic and crucial. The two processes are entirely
different. It takes ten to fifty times longer to do things outside the body than
inside. Several designs can be considered and rejected in the same time that
one is putting ideas on paper. Extensions speed up change, but slow down
productivity, particularly of an integrative, complex type. The other
essential distinction is between experiencing things sequentially or as
discrete units. Again, the external sequential mode is much slower. The
artist or scientist who sees a complex form all at once will have fewer
problems externalizing or translating into symbols than the individual who
has to tease his product out in bits and pieces, externalizing something
virtually without form from his unconscious which he then assembles
outside his body on paper, canvas, clay, or a dance floor.

Age and Time

Age affects how people experience time. The observations on this are well
known, so it is only necessary to outline briefly what has been the
experience of everyone I have ever talked to or read about: the years go
faster as one grows older. At

the age of four or six, a year seems interminable; at sixty, the years begin to
blend and are frequently hard to separate from each other because they
move so fasti There are, of course, a number of common-sense explanations
for this sort of thing. If you have only lived five years, a year represents 20
percent of your life; if you have lived fifty years, that same year represents
only 2 percent of your life, and since lives are lived as wholes, this
logarithmic element would make it difiBcult to maintain the same
perspective on the experience of a year's passage throughout a lifetime.
There is a cultural factor as well. In cultures like our own where the group
past becomes dim as it recedes and where something that happened twenty
years ago is considered "ancient history," the total efiFect leads to a deep
impression of time speeding up. The more that one has buried in the past,
the faster the present will appear to move. This is in contrast with cultures
where the past is kept alive, as it is in the Near East, where virtually
everything in today's world is seen as having been rooted in the past.^^

Time in Relation to the Size of the Job Ahead

There is also the matter of how much is stored in the memoiy in relation to
new things learned. A twelve-year-old or even a graduate student looking at
all there is to be learned has a very different view than someone who has
had a Ph.D. for twenty-five years. I had an oppoitunity to test this once in
my late fifties when I learned to fly. The amount that one has to learn to
perform in a creditable and safe manner is on the order of that required
when taking an advanced degree. The difference is that in a plane it is
difiBcult to go much more than a few minutes or even seconds without
being tested. During landings, time compresses. There you are, up in the air
with the landing field on your left. Having already contacted the control
tower several miles out and entered the traffic pattern, you must perform a
wide range of tasks with skill before you are safely on the ground again.
You must slow down to the proper speed, maintain your designated altitude
until you make your next to last turn toward the field, keep your engine at
the right speed and temperature, turn on carburetor heat if the engine is not

fuel injected, lower your landing gear, set your flaps, and when on final
approach, maintain a uniform rate of descent while keeping the proper
angle of descent so that you land neither long nor short, maintain a safe
flying speed so you won't stall, all the time maintaining contact with the
tower, watching for other planes (they are always there), eyes on the wind
sock for wind shifts and, in the Southwest, for dust devils. All these things
require constant adjustment so that the entire process unfolds in a
coordinated, integrated, rhythmic manner. As you watch the numbers at the
end of the runway get larger and larger you mentally remind yourself that,
while your approach has been good so far, you haven't even landed the
plane yet and that in a few seconds you are going to have to shift gears and
begin a whole new series of maneuvers in which things will start happening
very fast and where there is little leeway for error. For me, learning to fly
was, in many ways, like being a child again. After I had learned enough to
know what I didn't know, time slowed down and I was overwhelmed by a
feeling that I would never master the complex interrelationships necessary
to be both skilled and safe in the air. In due course I mastered what had to
be mastered and was duly licensed. In the process I also learned a great
many other things, such as the fact that the experience of time is tied in
some mysterious way to the perceived size of the job ahead. As one works
one's way from the outside into the select membership of a group one
aspires to join, one's perception of time changes. Ask any academician how
he experienced the time before he was tenured and after he was tenured.

Piaget

Jean Piaget was one of Europe*s most gifted and innovative intellectuals—
a giant of a man, who never lost interest in learning, nor the "scientist's
capacity for surprise."^"* There are so many things he was right about, and
he added so much to our knowledge about child development that one feels
almost guilty criticizing even a smaU portion of his work. Piaget had a
great capacity for putting his finger on the very thing that made a
difference. Nevertheless, like all of us, Piaget was a product of his times
and the preoccupations of those times. Not being well

acquainted with the basics of primary level culture, Piaget assumed that
"logical thought" was natural—that the potential for logical thought was
built-in and emerged as a function of maturation. Piaget was mesmerized
with the process of logic as it "emerged" in the developing child. His
analysis^^ begins with a discussion of Newton, Einstein, Descartes, Kant,
and other leaders in the Western philosophical and scientific tradition and
the world that they have created. Piaget then proceeds to develop some
terribly ingenious ways of testing rather precisely just where a child is in
the mastery of this world—including its underlying assumptions, such as,
that perception is a logical process (which most definitely it is not). There is
a nod in the direction of informal time and some recognition that duration is
not necessarily perceived as a constant by the child. However, there is not
even a hint that the entire perceptual process is not only learned and
modified by culture but is constantly influenced by context—that the
perceived world is a transaction!^^ What Piaget's work does tell us is a
great deal about acculturation in the West and the principal preoccupations
of our own culture. His generalizations should not, however, be applied to
the development of children in other parts of the world. When Piaget
studied the child learning the basics of time and space, he did not realize
that the child was also learning our own system of logic. There must be
hundreds of difiFerent systems of logic in the world, some of them high
context, some of them low, some in between. Most of them aie learned.
Like all extensions, these logic systems leave things out. Our system in its
most developed form leaves out context, and that is a very significant
omission, indeed.

Piaget has much to say about the child's perception of time.^'^

Nevertheless, Piaget's methodology, though satisfying AE demands for
linearity, is still culture-bound. I say culture-bound because the child has
not yet been taught to distrust his senses, nor has he learned that one of the
things that one must deal with as an adult in the Western world is to expect
to be deceived by containers of different sizes and shapes. While Piaget
quite correctly identifies time with space,^^ his failure to distinguish
physical time (see chapter 1) from core culture time, from profane time,
does not provide a clear picture of how the child is

either experiencing or structuring time at different stages in his

development. In The Silent Language, which dealt with informal time—the
time which is not explicit—I reported on how children attempt to learn the
meaning of terms such as "a while" and "later." Both of these are highly
dependent on context. A particular mother means one thing when she says,
"I will only be gone a little while, dear," whereas another mother, next door,
means something quite different when she utters these same words. This is
the sort of thing children have to cope with when growing up, which has
little to do with philosophical discussions of the "meaning of time." But
what the child really wants to know is how much perceived time will
transpire before his mother gets back and how he is going to feel about that
period when he is alone. Attempts on the part of mothers to allay their own
guilt and anxiety usually don't tell him what he needs to know. They do tell
him, however, that there is a kind of time that is measured with a "rubber
yardstick" and the length of that stick is a function of events over which he
has little or no control. Mood and psychological states have an incredible
effect upon the experience of the passage of time. This may explain part of
the child's difficulty in learning the informal time system. When the mother
is away, time drags, because he only feels reassured, happy, and safe when
the mother is nearby.

Mood and Time

Almost from the beginning, there has been great interest as well as
considerable speculation among AE peoples concerning the effect of mood
on how people estimate time—is it flying or crawling? Is there anyone who
has not had the experience of being deeply involved in a happy transaction
and suddenly realized: "Oh, my goodness! I was having such a good time. I
had no idea it was getting so late"?

Since remarks of this nature would seldom be made in a polychronic culture

such as Lebanon or Syria, the whole matter of mood as a factor in the
perception of time must be looked at anew. It works that way in our culture,
but in how many others? Sometimes mood is a secondary factor in the
psychological environment. Other factors, such as depression, which has

already been mentioned, or even body temperature, may be deteiTTiinants.

Professor Hudson Hoagland, a famous physiologist who taught for years at
Clark University, discovered that body temperature affects tlie perception of
time—a fact that is not suiprising if one thinks about it. The higher
temperatures speed up the body clocks along with everything else. Lower
temperatures slow them down. Diabetics, for example, frequently have
subnormal temperatures, which would make time appear to move faster.
Liquor works on two levels: because of the sense of stimulation and
conviviality, time initially moves faster, but since liquor is a depressant, the
ultimate effect is for time to drag. Hangovers can seem eternal 1

Anniversaries

Anniversaries are a cyclic manifestation of time. Yet, because of the subtle

and ubiquitous nature of our own internal timing mechanisms, many of us
react to anniversaries of which we are not even aware. A logic of a different
type is at work here. This writer has been aflBicted with a springtime
depression for years. This depression was a mystery until he finally realized
that his parents had been divorced in the spring and that the world had
collapsed when his mother, whom he dearly loved, left the family. One
reason he eventually was able to sort this out was because he lived in many
places where there were different associations with spring. That lingering
depression, however, had to be dealt with independent of the surroundings.
Some internal clock kept tabs on time alone. By the time people reach the
age of sixty, there are so many of these hidden anniversaries—
anniversaries of triumph or of failure and disappointment—we sometimes
don't know whether it is an immediate situation or something we have
forgotten in the past that causes us to feel cheerful or depressed, or is
causing time to speed up or slow down.

Emotions, Psychic State, and Time

Time away from a loved one moves at a snail's pace, while a rendezvous is
over before you know it. Not too much is known

technically about the eflFect of the different emotions on the passage of

time. One could assume that, in general, the positive emotions would cause
time to speed up, while the negative ones would make it crawl. But perhaps
not. Since many of the hormones associated with emotions have been
identified and are available for experimental purposes, it should now be
possible to develop double-blind experiments on the efiFects of these
hormones on perceived time.

In the last few years, an increasing number of Americans have been

meditating and the interest in meditation has been very great. ^^ A number
of psychologists interested in the efiFects of meditation on people have
developed tests trying to discover what meditation is all about—the
physiological, psychological, and neurological accompaniments of
meditation. This voluminous research has demonstrated that meditation
alters the heartbeat, blood pressure, respiration rate, galvanic skin response
(GSR), and brain waves. Meditation is also a great antidote for stress. Since
one of the leading causes of stress in the Western world is associated with
the pressures of time, one would expect to find that meditation alters
perceived time. These expectations are well founded. In an interesting,
insightful article on the subject, Keith Floyd^'' describes situations in which
time first slows down then stops altogether. Awareness of time ceases when
the meditative state is very deep. Apparently, this is a diflFerent state from
that of the artist who is working in his studio or the scientist in the lab who
"loses track" of time. It would be interesting to know whether these two
really are different. One approach would be to select scientists and artists
who also meditate and have done so for a long-enough period to have
gained the proper level of proficiency and simply ask them to describe how
the two states are alike or different. Another way would be to replicate the
brain wave respiration and heart rate studies conducted earlier on
meditating subjects, but this time concentrating on scientists and artists. It
would be necessary to use telemetering instruments, since no scientist or
artist could work with all those wires and recording instruments
immobilizing him.

One is compelled to assume that these diflFerent states are functionally

advantageous in humans and may be one of the

most important of the many feedback mechanisms that tell people how they
are doing. It is extraordinary and paradoxical that the very activities that are
most rewarding and satisfying are those in which time is experienced as
passing with extreme rapidity or in which the sense of time has been lost
completely. Being able to accomplish all the things that must be done to
save one's life in an emergency is a far cry from annihilating time during
meditation. One has the feeling that here is an instrument which man has
used much too casually, and about which not nearly enough is known.

The Perception of Time as Mediated by Space

Since 1976, a psychologist and professor of architecture at the University of

Tennessee, Alton De Long, has been conducting precise observations under
carefully controlled conditions on how different people experience the
passage of time when they are interacting with environments of difiFerent
scales. De Long demonstrates once and for all that time and space are
functionally interrelated. The perception of time is not only influenced by
the multiple factors mentioned earlier, but by the scale of the environment
as well.

The process is truly remarkable and, among other things, illustrates the
inherent logic of the central nervous system.^^ Apparently, this type of
logic is something all normal human beings have. It is altered on the
conscious level by culture, but retained on the unconscious level. Whether
or not we are aware of the process, if one part of the system is changed, the
central nervous system tries to make accommodating alterations.-^ I have
discussed the capacity of the human central nervous system to keep things
in balance in an earlier work.^^ This principle applies even when the person
suflFers from psychosis. When the schizophrenic suffers from perceptual
distortions of body boundaries, the human brain will still try to maintain a
logical balance. Anyone with a perceptual distortion of this sort is, of
course, under a dreadful strain. Everything changes—all relationships to the
physical world, and to people as well—simply by virtue of this single
aberration in perception. Discussing this with a psychiatrist colleague. Dr.
Harold Searles, I said, "These patients

of yours who experience their body boundaries as expanding should—if my

previous observations are correct—experience that they are hght, hke a
balloon." Searles then told me that on that very day a patient had brought
him a crayon drawing of an object that looked like a blimp with short
appendages. It was a self-portrait! The patient had drawn in lead shoes on
her feet to keep from being blown away because she felt so light.-^

It would be expected, therefore, that the brain could and would make
comparable compensating adjustments in time, and that is actually what
happens. Under proper conditions, subjects will increase interaction rates in
an environment to stay in agreement with the scale of that environment. An
environment reduced to Yq of normal size can actually program the central
nervous system in such a way that subjects who project themselves into that
environment will hold their own internal time perception constant. This
adjustment process results in a compensating speedup in the processing of
information by a factor of six. What is experienced as one hour's work in
the model is actually only ten minutes by the clock. Using a i: 12 scale, the
experience of an hour's work takes five minutes of "real time."-^
Furthermore, EEG (brain-wave) studies conducted as part of De Long's
research seem to indicate that the mediating mechanism is the brain itself.
The brain speeds up in direct proportion to environmental scale.-^ It should
be noted that beyond 1:12, environmental effects begin to fall off and the
test environment is simply coded differently in the brain. Why the break-off
point is at 1:12 instead of 1:20 or 1:50 we do not know. This ratio is,
however, apparently one of the basic ratios for the average AE individual.
People who can work at greater ratios must have an unusual and unexplored
advantage over the rest of us.

How did De Long set up his experiments to get such remarkable results?
The procedure he used was somewhat like playing with a furnished
dollhouse. Those who have done so as children will remember the time
warp that occurred when they were really deep into their play. De Long's
environments were selected for four different scales: ^4, %2» Ye, and full
scale.-^

Subjects were given masks that screened off peripheral views of full-size
objects and asked to project themselves into the environment by identifying
with one of the human figures that had

been placed there by the experimenters. Subjects were not allowed to touch
the figures but were told to participate in some imaginary activity of their
own choosing and to indicate when thirty minutes had elapsed. The
investigator told them when to start. The subjects signaled when they felt
thirty minutes had passed. The experimenter timed the interval with a
stopwatch. De Long took particular pains to be sure that his subjects did not
think they were being tested on their ability to judge time. They were asked
to be as subjective as possible (just as you would be if you had been waiting
for the doctor for an hour). Their feelings were to determine at what point
the thirty minutes had elapsed.^^

What does this mean? Simply that, provided these studies can be
suflBciently refined so that they can be replicated, for selected situations we
should be able to look forward to a time when some kinds of decision-
making tasks can be accomplished in Ve to /42 the normal time. After
familiarizing people with the effect of environmental variables, it should be
possible to give an individual up to 12 hours' experience in the course of an
hour. De Long stresses, however, that people should not be subjected to
miniaturized environments for periods in excess of those they work in
normally. For someone used to working an 8-hour day, the maximum
immersion in a %2 scale environment would be 40 minutes. How many
simulated (1:12) days people could work in such environments at such
increased rates of speed is not known. My intuition tells me that the human
species should use extreme caution in matters of this sort where so little is
known and where the field is unexplored. Our interest in this chapter is, of
course, the experience of time and the factors influencing that experience.
De Long's study remains one of the few that relates the perception of the
passage of time to the environment context under controlled conditions.

Estimating Real Time

The perception of time is certainly deeply embedded in context as well as

dependent on situation. But what about the other side of the coin? We have
been describing how people in different situations, moods, and conditions
perceive time as speed-

ing or dragging. How well do human beings do when it comes to judging

time in real-life situations where performance is timed to the split second,
such as downhill races with toboggans, skiing, and automobile racing? As it
turns out, people do extraordinarily well. Within the past five years it has
become generally known that humans can "image" time quite accurately in
their heads, if they are asked to do so in specific, real-life situations, such as
traversing a familiar downhill ski course. Coaches in all sorts of fields have
begun to ask the members of their teams to time themselves with
stopwatches while imagining a run over a particular course on which they
will later be competing. Contestants try to image every part of the course—
each curve, each soft spot, all of the straightaways—running the course in
their head in exactly the same way that they would when actually covering
the course in competition. Drivers and athletes not only come within
seconds and hundredths of seconds of their actual performances, but also
have been able to get valid practice in this way. It is safer, saves wear and
tear, saves course and pit stop fees as well as fuel costs. Both coaches and
participants feel that the practice obtained in this way is vahd. Dancers and
acrobats will recognize parallels with the kind of mental practice they are
used to doing. It is extraordinary how accurate people can be in their timing
of these simulated runs.^^

How time is experienced is then a function of many things. It is situation- as

well as culture-dependent. Once more I find myself being simply
dumbfounded by the extraordinary variety as well as the tremendous range
of capabilities of our species. However, hunians are subject to getting stuck
in a rut. Time ruts are no exception.

It might be helpful if there were wider understanding that in virtually any

situation it is possible to be both positive and creative about one's life and
that few things are more crucial to life than the use and experience of time.
For as we shall see in chapters 9 and 10, it is the balance wheel of culture's
synchrony which keeps us in phase with one another.

It can now be said with assurance that individuals are dominated in their
behavior by complex hierarchies of interlocking rhythms. Furthermore,
these same interlocking rhythms are comparable to fundamental themes in a
symphonic score, a keystone in the interpersonal processes between mates,
co-workers, and organizations of all types on the interpersonid level within
as well as across cultural boundaries. I am convinced that it will ultimately
be proved that almost every facet of human behavior is involved in the
rhythmic process.

Since our topic is quite new, it is not surprising to discover that, unlike
astronomers studying the universe or scientists searching for a cure for
cancer, there are very few people involved in the study of rhythm.^ Rhythm
is, of course, the very essence of time, since equal intervals of time define a
sequence of events as rhythmic. In the sense that rhythm is used here, it
includes much more than the productions of musicians and dancers,
although they are part of this process too.

First, let us begin by thinking small. Almost thirty years ago, when I
seriously began studying proxemics (the use of space and man's spatial
behavior),2 it wasn't enough to simply observe

that AE Americans did not like to be approached too closely during

conversations and were, for the most part, averse to extensive touching or
sensory involvement with people whom they did not know well. The fact
that many Americans commented on their proxemic relations with Arabs
and other Mediterranean peoples was interesting and relevant, but we
needed to know more about what was actually happening. For example,
how did people know when others were too close? What kind of measuring
rods were they using? What was the physiologic-sensory base in which
proxemic behavior was rooted? To answer these questions, a wide variety of
observations and recording techniques were developed. One of the best,
most effective, and reliable methods was cinematography.

Film after film of people interacting in normal situations was made. I filmed
people in public spaces, in parks, on the streets, at festivals and fiestas, and
in the laboratory under controlled conditions. Film provided us with not
only a wealth of data to study but also a relatively permanent record to
which we could refer time after time. There are many different methods for
analyzing human interaction on film, as well as on video tape, but I will not
attempt to describe the many techniques, because this is a technical matter
for the specialist.^

Three things were apparent from the beginning in kinesic (the study of body
motion) and proxemic research films: i) Conversational distances were
maintained with incredible accuracy (to tolerances as small as a fraction of
an inch); 2) the process was rhythmic; and 3) human beings were locked
together in a dance which functioned almost totally outside awareness. The
out-of-awareness chai"acter of this behavior was particularly true of AE
cultures and somewhat less true of African cultures, where the people are
more conscious of the microdetails of human transactions.

Not only did we record that regular proxemic dance on film, but small
experiments in the living laboratoiy had produced similar results.
Experimentally I have backed people across a room, maneuvering them into
corners by advancing a fraction of an inch at a time while we were
conversing. My subjects were oblivious to the fact that they were adjusting
their own conversational distance approximately every 30 seconds. To
main-

tain a distance that was comfortable, they had to move. It didn't seem to
matter who the individual was, trained observer, scientist, businessman, or a
clerk in a store. The sample included people of all descriptions and classes.

I discovered a system of behavior going on under our very noses about

which virtually nothing was known. It was known, however, that people
respond proxemically in all cultures. Whenever the proxemic patterns and
mores were violated, people reacted in readily observable and predictable
ways.

If behavior of this sort could be identified through the study of man's use of
space, what might we expect to find in the study of time? As a matter of
fact, one finds behavior just as remarkable, possibly even more so, which
parallels the results obtained from proxemic studies. A person's structuring
of his or her own rhythm is an extraordinary process in which only a
fraction of the possible implications have yet been gleaned.

OceanofPDF.com
In 1968 I initiated a program of interethnic research in north-em New
Mexico,* where there is a mix of three cultures: the Native American-
Pueblo, the Spanish American, and the Anglo American. Each maintains its
own identity, but people meet, do business, attend ceremonies and
celebrations, make love and fight, as well as mix in various proportions on
the streets and in public places like the plaza in Santa Fe. The dances
performed by the Pueblo Indians as public exhibitions of what in other
circumstances are sacred dramas are ideal for cinematographic research.
Everyone photographs everyone else, so one more camera makes no
difference. Having grown up in northern New Mexico, I realized that I was
already programmed to much of what was being recorded on film.
However, I was not prepared for the richness and the detail of those visual
records when they were subjected to the frame-by-frame analysis of a time-
motion analyzer. Unfolding before my very eyes was a perpetual ballet.
Each culture, of course, was choreographed in its own way, with its own
beat, tempo, and rhythm. Beyond this there were individual performances,
pairs dancing out their own dramas, and beneath all this was the truth of
interpersonal encounters— particularly those of the interethnic variety—the
specifics of behavior that may engender misunderstanding, prejudice, and
even hate. Life unfolded in that step-by-step, frame-by-frame film

analysis. Events that occurred in fractions of seconds (too fast for people to
notice and analyze under normal ciicumstances) could be seen and studied
for the first time. Fa9ades fell away and dissolved in front of my eyes.

This happened when I first began studying the interaction patterns of the
three groups who inhabit the Southwest United States (AE whites, Spanish
Americans, and Native Americans). To be certain that I wasn't just "seeing"
things, I took the precaution of asking John Collier, Jr.—one of the most
talented and insightful individuals in the field of visual presentation of
cross-cultural data—to review my raw footage. Collier grew up in the
Southwest and spent part of his childhood in Taos Pueblo. An accident in
his youth (he was run over by a car) destroyed much of the auditory part of
his brain, which may have been a blessing in disguise, because it forced him
to rely on visual information in a way in which most of us are incapable of
perceiving. Collier has produced truly remarkable still photographs of
native peoples in North and South America, and he was so talented that I
thought he might be permanently wedded to the still-camera format.
However, using my time-motion analyzer to review my movies, he saw
precisely what I had seen and more. Impressed by what a simple, hand-held,
super-8 movie camera could do. Collier soon began to record on moving
film the events that he could not capture with stills. Along with his gifted
son, Malcolm, he has produced some remarkable books describing the
recording of what was actually going on in Native American classrooms
being taught by AE whites, by Indians trained in white schools, and by
Indians and Eskimos who had no formal training. These studies covered a
wide range of groups from the Indians of the Southwest to Eskimos in
Alaska.^ Again, the CoUiers found rhythms. A quite remarkable but not
unexpected discoveiy was that the teacher determined the rhythm of the
classroom. Classes taught by Native Americans who had not been trained
by white educators had a rhythm close to that of natural, relaxed breathing
and ocean breakers (i.e., about 5 to 8 seconds per cycle). That is much
slower than the frantic quality of a white or black classroom in the urban
settings which most American schoolchildren encounter today. Native
Americans who had been through U.S. educational mills produced rhythms
that were in be-

tween. The Colliers' material made me realize that it was only when the
Indian children were immersed in their own familiar rhythm that they felt
comfortable enough to settle down and learn.

To return to my own film footage, consider one scene from an Indian

market: An AE woman from the American Midwest wearing a cotton print
dress and straight-brimmed straw hat was trying to be polite and nice to
people she had been brought up to look down upon. She had just
approached a table full of pottery. Behind the table sat a woman from Santa
Clara Pueblo. Watching the white tourist enter the scene, I had to remind
myself that what she was doing might not be her fault. She looked at the
Pueblo woman and smiled condescendingly. Before my eyes, on the movie
screen, the microdrama began to unfold. Holding herself in, the woman
began bending forward from the hips to help bridge the gap made by the
table, then her arm rose and slowly straightened at shoulder height. My
God! It was like a rapier! The extended finger came to rest only inches from
the Indian woman's nose and then it stayed there, suspended in midair.
Would it never come down? The mouth moved continuously throughout the
transaction: Questions? Statements? There is no way of knowing, for this
was an unobtrusive record— there were no booms or shotgun microphones,
no sync sound. After a while the Indian woman's head slowly rotated away
from the oflFending finger deep inside her personal space and an expression
of unmistakable disgust covered her face. Only then did the arm come
down. The tourist's body rotated and she slowly moved away, with a smug,
superior look on the face. Total time thirty seconds.

Analyzing this encounter, I realized that part of the communication—the

real impact of the woman's unspoken feelings— wasn't just in the pointed
finger but in that extended time interval that the accusing finger was held in
place—the fact that she wouldn't let go but held on almost as though she
were pinning an insect to a sheet of paper.

There were more encounters, fortunately none with quite the extended
intense effect of the one just described. Another tourist approached a table
which was apparently unattended at the time. I watched while territorial
markers emerged and were

played out on the screen. The tourist got too close; it was evident that he
was not well coordinated and that he might rock the card table, which was
tightly packed with fragile, expensive pottery. A handsome young Pueblo
matron sitting a few feet away rose from her chair, straightened her spine,
slowly walked to the table and placed the extended fingertips of both hands
on the table's edge. There it is: "This table is mine"—said in movement and
gesture. The tourist backed away and continued his conversation. I could
tell from the context that not a word had been said about what really
happened in that transaction. It is doubtful that either party was aware of
more than a fraction of what had transpired, or that communication was
occurring on multiple levels.

The question, then, was: Could other people see these things? Could people
who have not been to the Southwest or lived there for years see them too? I
decided to find out by repeating an adaptation of a procedure used in
various research programs in which it had been demonstrated that what
people see is very much a function of what they have been trained or have
learned to see in the course of growing up. Each person sees a slightly
different world than everyone else, and if the people are from different
cultures, the worlds can be very, very different. The question was, could
students overcome their earlier conditioning and leani to see differently if
subjected to a prolonged and repeated exposure of short segments of film?

In those days at Northwestern University, it was possible to hire students

through one of the government's student aid programs for a percentage of
what the student was actually paid. This aid made it possible for me to risk
a limited amount of money on something that had not to my knowledge
ever been done before. I asked the personnel office to send me the next
student who came in looking for work. Of course, the people in personnel
wanted to know what the student would be expected to do and what skills
he or she had to have. I explained that it was more important for me to have
the next student than one who had a particular skill. Actually, what I needed
to know was whether students who were not trained in visual analysis and
who were uninformed as to the subtleties of interethnic encounters in the
Southwest could on their own, and without prompting

from anyone, see what I had seen and make the same interpretations I had
made.

The first student, Sheila, was an EngHsh major. I showed her the time-
motion analyzer, demonstrated how it worked and, having assured myself
that she knew how to run the machine, said, "I want you to look at these
films and keep on looking until you begin to see things in the films that
were not obvious to you at first." Sheila, of course, wanted to know what
she was supposed to see and I told her that I had no idea what she would
see, but my only condition was that she keep looking even if she thought
she was going to go out of her mind from boredom. In the process, I began
to feel like the worst kind of tyrannical taskmaster. Two days went by and
Sheila, with a worried expression on her face, stuck her head in my office.
"Dr. HaU, I don't see anything; just a bunch of white people wandering
around and talking to those Indians." I said, "Sheila, just keep at it. You
haven't been looking long enough. I know it's not easy, but trust me." Sheila
tried every dodge in the book; she even went into my files and got out films
she had not been told to review. This was all right, because I knew that she
would need a break from time to time. Her verbal skills were no use at all;
she was learning to see things in a new way and would return to her
assigned task when she felt up to it. This process of walking into that
darkened room, turning on the projector, and going over and over that fifty-
foot film clip until she felt she couldn't stand one more look at Indians and
white people sauntering around in the New Mexico sun lasted about three
weeks. But one day, just when I was about to despair that she would ever
see anything at all. Sheila burst into my office in an obvious state of
excitement: "Dr. Hall, please come in here and look at this film." Clearly,
she had found something. The frozen image of the woman in the print dress
was on the screen. There she was in her cotton dress and straight-rimmed
straw hat right out of the middle of the nation's breadbasket. Starting the
projector, Sheila began to speak: "Look at that woman! She's using her
finger like a sword as though she is going to push it right through that
Indian woman's face. Just look at that finger— the way she uses it. Did you
ever see anything like it? Did you see the way that Indian woman turned her
face away as though

she had just seen something unpleasant?" Every day from then on Sheila
found something she hadn't seen before in the film. At first it was difficult
for her to accept the fact that what she was seeing had been there all along;
that what she hadn't seen at first and what she was able to see now were the
same. The film hadn't changed; she had changed.

With each succeeding student, the scenario was repeated: irritation,

puzzlement, boredom, searching the files for something interesting, and
then suddenly when I was about to give up, a flash: "Did you see that?"
Over a two-year period all students saw the same things, and in very much
the same order.

Later in New Mexico I decided to use this same procedure as a sort of

interethnic test. My question was: Would Spanish Americans in New
Mexico, with their polychronic time system and their related deep
involvement with each other, take as long to learn to read film as the
monochronic, less-involved Anglos? I was not particularly surprised when
the person-oriented Spanish Americans with whom I was then working
proved to be remarkably adept at reading nonverbal behavior, quickly
learning that film was layered information in depth. Attuned as they were to
each other's mood shifts and subtle nonverbal communication, the Hispanic
subjects mastered film reading in a fraction of the time required by Anglo
undergraduates. Normally a weekend was enough.^

Ehiring an earlier research project on the subject of nonverbal

communication as a factor in interethnic encounters, we discovered that
ethnic blacks are even more attuned to the significance of subtle body cues
than the New Mexico Spanish. It must come as somewhat of a surprise to
people raised in a word culture to discover the great differences in the
ability of ethnic groups to read nonverbal cues. How unfortunate that these
skills are never tested in standard intelligence tests.

In a culture such as our own, with a time system like ours, people are
conditioned—with rare exceptions (teenagers who see a movie twenty
times)—to viewing a single performance. Even reruns on TV are avoided
and only viewed if there is nothing better to do or if the movie is a classic
revival. We demand variety and shun what we have already seen. This
introduces a certain superficiality, a certain lack of depth that

leads to dissatisfaction with the simple things of life. It was this pattern that
had to be overcome in Sheila and my other students. Repetition is
something few Americans are trained to appreciate. Perhaps this is why the
invisible rhythm is not widely recognized in our culture, because if there is
one thing that is the essence of rhythm it is that the intervals are repeated.
Our real rhythms are therefore buried and must operate out of awareness.
They can only be seen on stage and screen when conveyed by talented
performers, or in microanalysis using a time-motion film analyzer.

Interpersonal Synchrony

It is hard to write about rhythms in English. We don't have the vocabulary,

and the concepts aren't in the culture. We in the West have this notion that
each of us is all by himself in this world—that behavior is something that
originates inside the skin, isolated from the outside world and from other
human beings. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Have you ever had the feeling that, under certain circumstances, particular
people have a good or bad effect on what you are doing? The chances are
that you are right, and that you should pay attention to this feeling.
Discussing this rhythmic web with a friend, I found myself listening
attentively as he described an example from his own experience: "Our
family was at breakfast, and my daughter, who is very bright and unusually
sensitive to mood and the microcosm of human transactions, was sitting
diagonally across the table from me. Back against an adobe wall, I reached
out to pour myself a cup of cofiFee. My fingers, without warning, simply
let go of the half-full cup. Before I even had a chance to become annoyed
with myself for being so clumsy, my daughter said: 'Did I do that?'
Somehow, without realizing how, she had managed to disrupt a rhythm.
How she knew she had done this I do not know except that we are
unusually attuned to each other." William Condon, whose work will be
discussed shortly, might provide some clues. It had to do with the delicate
web of body rhythm that ties us together—a break of some sort, the short-
circuiting of an action

chain at a crucial point. The implications are almost beyond belief—both

for good and for evil.

Condon says that when people are talking, the two central nervous systems
drive each other. Of course, there are certain people who have a talent for
breaking or interrupting other people's rhythms. In most cases they don't
even know it, and how could they? After all, it's other people who are
having the accidents, breaking and dropping things, stumbling and falling.
Fortunately, there is the other kind of person: the one who is always in sync,
who is such a joy, who seems to sense what move you will make next.
Anything you do with him or her is like a dance; even making the bed can
be fun. I know of no way to teach people how to sync with each other, but I
do know that whether they do or not can make a world of difference in a
relationship.

While personality is undoubtedly a factor in interpersonal synchrony,

culture is also a powerful determinant. Polychronic people must stay in
sync because if they don't the kind of dissonance alluded to earlier is bound
to occur. I discovered this with my Spanish friends and neighbors in Santa
Fe a number of years ago. While we were building a house and were all
working in close proximity, it became clear how much faster and more
adept the Spanish were. It was as though our small work crew was a single
organism with multiple arms and legs that never got in each other's way.
Synchrony of this sort can make a difference in life or death situations or in
whether or not people get hurt on the job. If two or more men are lifting a
heavy roof beam while standing on a wall, they must move as a unit. If they
don't, one of them ends up supporting the whole load and is pushed off the
wall. What I am describing is a simplified, slower-moving version of what
one sees on the basketball court during championship games or when a
good American jazz combo really begins to "groove," with the players
constituting a single, living, breathing body.

One can observe coordination of this sort in Japan, where people work in
close proximity to each other and live and breathe as a group. Even vice-
presidents of large firms such as Toyota'^ frequently share oflBces to
facilitate decision-making via

consensus and remain clued into each other at all times. The end result has
made a major contribution to Japanese dominance in the world's industrial
and product line markets. In the AE pattern, the oflBce is part of the symbol
system in the prestige and ranking hierarchy, American executives seal
themselves o£F from each other—to compete better. Corporate vice-
presidents in the United States have to make a real eflPort to get together
because the American system is one in which the status of the individual is
closely tied to the space which he occupies. It is no accident that we refer to
such things as a "badge of ofiBce"!

Status is important. However, in Japan, the markers are different. The group
is more important than the individual; Japanese groups live and work and
play as a unit. Toyota's assembly line teams start the day doing exercises
together, then they work together, take their breaks together, eat together,
live next to each other in a company compound, and even vacation together.
In the past, I have watched them work in incredibly small places. I have
been impressed by how they move in synchrony, a necessity in cramped
quarters. I would predict that when faster methods are developed for
studying synchrony, the close relationship between cultural homogeneity,
polychronic decisionmaking, and close proximity of the members of
working groups to each other will be clearly demonstrated. Actually the
means are already available for studies of this sort, using the relatively
simple methods described earlier. Even without these studies there is no
doubt in my mind as an experienced observer of synchrony that the
Japanese are more in sync on the job than Americans or Europeans. One
clue is that the Japanese are more aware of synchrony than the average
Westerner. Those tremendous Sumo wrestlers, for example, must
synchronize their breathing before the referee will allow the match to begin,
and the audience is fully aware of what is happening. In this same vein,
Japanese who are conversing will frequently monitor their own breathing in
order to stay in sync with their interlocutor!

Love, Identification, Synchrony, and Level of Performance

George Leonard, who has studied the rhythms of people, is convinced that
nothing happens between human beings that is

not reflected at some point in a rhythm hierarchy.^ John Dewey was also
interested in rhythms. In his book Art as Experience he states, "a common
interest in rhythm is still the tie which holds science and art in kinship."
Dewey believed that rhythms pervade all the arts: painting and sculpture,
architecture, music, literature, and dance.

I once had an American friend and colleague—Dr. Gordon Bowles—who

was both bilingual and bicultural in Japanese and American, with a slight
edge in the direction of Japanese. Gordon loved Japan and the Japanese.
The two of us worked together one summer in northern New York State
preparing students for study and research in Japan. Every so often Gordon
would disappear for a few days and when he would return, I would say,
"Gordon, you've been with the Japanese again." He would reply, "Yes, I
have. Some friends came through from Kyoto and I met them in Detroit.
We had a wonderful time. But how did you know?" "It has something to do
with the way you move—your rhythm. For a few days you move to a
different beat. Then it begins to switch around to the American pattern
again. It affects your entire being!"
As one might suspect, there is a relationship between rhythm and love: they
are closely linked. In fact, rhythm and love may be viewed as part of the
same process. People in general don't sync well with those they don't like
and they do with those they love. Both love and rhythm have so many
dimensions that the rhythmic relationship to love might be easily
misinterpreted.

After many years in the classroom, I noticed that if I couldn't love my

students, the class didn't do well, and that the rhythm of the class refused to
settle down and was constantly changing. There would be good days when
a rhythm seemed to be present and others when it was not, when there were
several competing rhythms. A class that is going weU develops its own
rhythm, and it is that rhythm that pulls both the students and the professor
to each meeting. What does it mean to love one's students? It sounds out of
place in a university classroom, doesn't it? I am not sure it is even possible
for me to unravel and identify the multiple strands that make up this
particular tapestry. The classroom can be an extension of the home. It is
therefore necessary for the professor to discourage any impulses on the part
of

the students to cast him in the parental role. Somehow the idea must be
accepted that the greatest pleasure and real expression of love on the part of
a teacher is to be able to watch and occasionally encourage the talent of
each member of the group to grow. Also needed is the trust to permit each
to do his or her own thinking. This means that we strive to bring out the
best in each other and to somehow allow the rhythm of the group to
establish itself and avoid at all costs the imposition of the artificial rhythm
of a fixed agenda.

On the inteq^ersonal level, observations have been made that when a mate
becomes involved with someone else, there is a shift in his or her rhythm.
It's as though a third person were in the house, and in a way they are,
because their rhythm is there.

Individuals repeatedly demonstrate that there are very great diflFerences in

regard to their basic rhythms. There is "fast Jane" and "slow John." They
should never marry or work together. These are people who
temperamentally are so far above or below the average that while they can
manage with some effort to synchronize with the average person, they are
not able to approach the extremes of the rhythm spectrum. Most people
seem to have the capacity to get up to speed, as it were, so we don't notice
them, and it is not known how much this speeding up— or slowing down—
process contributes to stress. These points are common experiences shared
by practically everyone. Is there a person alive who has not been either held
back or tailgated by others?

As any athlete knows, after strength and endurance, success in sports is

largely a matter of rhythm. The super athletes are those who "have rhythm,"
which is why they look so beautiful and graceful when they are performing.
Motorcycle riding can hardly be considered an aesthetic, to say nothing of a
rhythmic, sport. Yet the all-time motocross champion, Malcolm Smith, had
rhythm and won every major award in the motocross class. It didn't seem to
matter whether it was desert sand, arroyos and bi-ush, mud, rocky mountain
trails, or rough desert terrain. AU the other riders were yanking on their
handlebars, manhandling the machines around stones, logs, shrubbery, and
bad nits. Yet a film of Smith ( On Any Sunday, with Steve McQueen)
reveals a symphony of effortless ease. He would estabHsh his rhythm at

the beginning of the race and never deviate from it. Most remarkable was
that this man who was passing eveiyone else did not seem to be going very
fast. In fact, the other contestants, when looked at individually, actually
gave the appearance of going faster than Smith. It was mind-boggling to
watch a man traveling at such a leisurely pace consistently pass the furious
speed demons.

George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright who knew so much about
human nature, captured this point in an essay, "Cashel Byron's Profession,"
the story of a public school boy with eflFortless rhythm who defeated his
strongest schoolmates in boxing. He went on to become a champion boxer
and then a respected Member of Parliament by using effortless, faultlessly
timed attacks in Parliamentary debates. An even more dramatic case is
reported by George Leonard,® who describes the extraordinary
performance of a friend going for his black belt in Aikido: "So gentle and
coherent were his movements that they seemed to capture time itself and to
slow it to a more stately pace ... As the exam continued, the speed and
intensity of the attacks increased, and yet there was still a sense of time's
moving slowly, at an unhurried dreamlike pace." This rhythmic coherent
defense was maintained by the candidate while he was being
simultaneously attacked by several other students. It is paradoxical that
velocity, which under ordinaiy circumstances would be unmanageable,
appears to slow down and become manageable when the right rhythm is
established.

In fact, it is a fundamental truth of Zen that straining is the enemy of

rhythm. Also, whatever the performance, the more perfect the rhythm, the
easier it is for another person to perceive the details of what is taking place
before his eyes.

Did you ever see an unusually graceful person who lacked a natural sense
of self or basic confidence? The key is in the rhythm. For those interested in
confidence building, or improving performance and grace, it should come
as no surprise to learn that one of the most eflFective and rewarding
combinations is gymnastics and speech training. Gymnastics—done under
the watchful eye of a true professional—is the most important element and
should be given the first priority. For those who are either less confident or
less energetic (apparently age is not a

barrier), dancing, choral singing, playing musical instruments, even

marching, contribute to body synchrony, confidence, and a general sense of
well-being.

The above foreshadows possibilities for progress when enough is known

about synchrony so that it can be used both diagnos-tically and
therapeutically to improve a wide variety of disorders. My intuition tells me
that depression, which is so common in today's world, may have its roots in
the person who is out-of-sync in deep and basic ways. Certainly,
compatibility has much to do with the degree to which individuals sync
with each other.

Synchrony and Group Cohesion

It should be clear by now that it is impossible to synchronize two events

unless a rhythm is present. Rhythm is basic to synchrony. This principle is
illustrated by a film of children on a playground. Who would think that
widely scattered groups of children in a school playground could be in
sync? Yet this is precisely the case (reported here in slightly revised form
from Beyond Culture). One of my students selected as a project an exercise
in what can be learned from film. Hiding in an abandoned automobile,
which he used as blind, he filmed children playing in an adjacent school
yard during recess. As he viewed the film, his first impression was the
obvious one: a film of children playing in difiFerent parts of the school
playground. Then watching the film several times at different speeds—a
practice I urge all my students to use—he began to notice one veiy active
little girl who seemed to stand out from the rest. She was all over the place.
Concentrating on that girl, my student noticed that whenever she was near a
cluster of children the members of that group were in sync not only with
each other but with her. Many vie wings later, he realized that this girl, with
her skipping and dancing and twirling, was actually orchestrating
movements of the entire playground! There was something about the
pattern of movement which translated into a beat—^like a silent movie of
people dancing. Furthermore, the beat of this playground was familiar!
There was a rhythm he had encountered before. He

went to a friend who was a rock music aficionado, and the two of them
began to search for the beat. It wasn't long until the friend reached out to a
nearby shelf, took down a cassette and slipped it into a tape deck. That was
it! It took a while to synchronize the beginning of the film with the
recording—a piece of contemporary rock music—but once started, the
entire three and a half minutes of the film clip stayed in sync with the taped
music! Not a beat or a frame of the film was out of sync.

How does one explain something like this? It does not fit most people's
notions of either playground activity or where music comes from.
Discussing composers and where they get their music with a fellow faculty
member at Northwestern University, I was not surprised to learn that for
him, and for many other musicians, music represents a sort of rhythmic
consensus, a consensus of the core culture. It was clear that the children
weren't playing and moving in tune to a particular piece of music. They
were moving to a basic beat which they shared at the time. They also shared
it with the composer, who must have plucked it out of the sea of rhythm in
which he too was immersed. He couldn't have composed that piece if he
hadn't been in tune with the core culture.

Things like this are puzzling and difficult to explain because so little is
known technically about human synchrony. However, I have noted similar
synchrony in my own films of people in public who had no relationship
with each other. Yet, they were syncing in subtle ways. The extraordinary
thing is that my student was able to identify that beat. When he showed his
film to our seminar, however, even though his explanation of what he had
done was perfectly lucid, the members of the seminar had difficulty
understanding what had actually happened. One school superintendent
spoke of the children as "dancing to the music"; another wanted to know if
the children were "humming the tune." They were voicing the commonly
held belief that music is something that is "made up" by a composer, who
then passes on his "creation" to others, who, in turn, diffuse it to the larger
society. The children were moving together, but as with the symphony
orchestra, some participants' parts were at times silent. Eventually all
participated and all stayed in sync, but the music

was in them. They brought it with them to the playground as a part of

shared culture. They had been doing that sort of thing all their lives,
beginning with the time they synchronized their movements to their
mother's voice even before they were born.^^ This brings us to the real
pioneer in this fascinating field of rhythm.

Before the Renaissance, God was conceived of as sound or vibration. ^^

This is understandable because the rhythm of a people may yet prove to be
the most binding of all the forces that hold human beings together. As a
matter of fact, I have come to the conclusion that the human species lives in
a sea of rhythm, ineflFable to some, but quite tangible to others. This
explains why some composers really do seem to be able to tap into that sea
and express for the people the rhythms that are felt but not yet expressed as
music. Poets do this too, though at a different level.

Tedlock^^ reports something very similar for the Indians of Zuni Pueblo.
Zuni songs are composed for each year's ceremonies. A single composer
will bring a song to the kiva before a dance. He will talk about the song,
sing the introductory part, and then recite some of the body of the song (the
"talking about" part). If the song has possibilities, his clan brothers will go
to work, editing it, cutting words, changing some and, most important,
matching the lyrics with the melody. It all has to fit: the words, the melody,
and the message of the song. Everything has to be right. Of the 116 songs
which she recorded, Tedlock reports that less than 4 percent were
considered co'ya or beautiful, while 26 percent were k'oksi or good. When
songs are really beautiful or good and the audience likes them, they will ask
the dancers to do them again. Like good jazz—which also springs from the
hearts of people—Zuni music is judged according to how closely it
approximates the living reahty of the different currents in the sea of rhythm
in which people are immersed. The songs perform multiple functions:
religious and ceremonial, social feedback, and social control, because they
frequently describe in recognizable, unmistakable detail the actions of
members of the community. In Western thought, religion is one thing and
social control is another. Not so for the Zufii (or any other Native American
group I know). Theirs is a comprehensive

philosophy. ReHgion encompasses everything and is neither set aside from

life nor compartmentalized. The songs, therefore, perform an emergent,
formulative function because they come from that unconscious, previously
unverbalized layer representing group sentiments and beliefs. That is why
the very good songs are co'ya {co'ya is congruence on all levels).

One of the differences between white Americans and Native Americans, as

well as blacks, is that the latter two are closer to their music. Most blacks
know where their music comes from— it comes from them. The Pueblo
peoples, as well as the Navajo and other American Indian groups, recognize
that a people's music is inseparable from their lives and that the songs
represent an important part of their identity. This is one of the reasons they
don't want strangers recording sacred songs during the public part of
ceremonies. Another reason is that during a dance the audience has a
function to perform. That function is to be there with good thoughts and
prayers! The audience's role is to add to the dance, not to take things away.

Not only do Native Americans have a beat and rhythm all their own which
is reflected in their music, but each region and town in the United States has
its own rhythm as well as music. An excellent example was recently
provided in the opening scene of the movie ISline to Five, starring Lily
Tomlin, Jane Fonda, and Dolly Parton. The talented Miss Parton sings the
music with ground-level shots of people's legs and feet as they walk down
the street. One fantastic shot zeros in on feet and ankles, in beat, cutting to a
shot of three metronomes—in sync with each other and with the beat of the
city. It's only a short shot, but it sent shivers up my spine. The late Goddard
Lieberson experienced the power of what I am expressing so strongly that
he was motivated to spend the last two years of his life producing a two-
hour CBS special, "They Said It with Music," with Jason Robards and
Bernadette Peters. This was the history of our country in music, beginning
with "Yankee Doodle" and the Revolution and ending with World War I and
"Over There." According to Lieberson, no one had ever done this before,
and I can't imagine why not. Perhaps it's because we no longer think of God
as sound or vibration.

Differences in Frequency, Adumbration, and Feedback Rhythm

Feedback is a terai derived from the field of cybernetics, a technical word

coined by Norbert Wiener.^^ Cybernetics is the study of conti'ols. If we
consider the problems of steering a ship, both the pilot and the automatic
pHot work on the principle of correcting the natural tendency of the ship to
drift away from a course established for a given voyage. Various devices
and aids, such as compasses, star chaits, and ineilial systems, are used by
the pilot to stay on course; the wind, the ocean swells and currents, as well
as irregularities in the ship's hull, work to push the ship oflF course. The
link between the forces pushing tlie ship off course and holding the ship on
course is feedback—"information" concerning how far the ship has
deviated and how much coiTection will be needed to bring it back on
course. Human beings—in fact, all living organisms—depend on feedback
from the envii'onment—human and physical—to maintain the necessary
stability in Hfe. Part of the strategy in any feedback mechanism is to know
the proper interval for corrective action. If the correction is too fast, the
system becomes unstable; if it is too slow, the ship wanders wide of the
mark, is brought back toward the course line, crosses it, and so forth. As a
consequence, the distance traveled is longer than necessary and resembles a
snake or a meandering stream. This critical correction interval, which I have
termed the feedback rhythm, is a function of many things, but in humans
this rhythm is culturally determined at the primary level. A little-known
source of communicative dysfunction is failure to match feedback rhythms
with corrective action.

In an earlier work. Beyond Culture, I described how the polychronic

Spanish people of New Mexico kept very close tabs on each other's
emotions so that even slight variations in mood were detected immediately
and commented on: "Theresa, what's the matter? A few moments ago you
were cheerful. Now you are sad. Is anything wrong?" This sort of quick
reading can be good for group morale, particularly if the group is made up
of people who get along well, but it can also lead to disastrous
confrontations between younger males. The same sensitivity

and quick reading of low-level, nonverbal cues coupled with hair-trigger

machismo, alcohol, fast cars, and guns make for real trouble. While the
Hispanics are generally more tuned into each other than are the Anglos,
their short-cycle feedback on the interpersonal level makes for greater
volatility, A concomitant pattern is their lack of interest in long-term
planning, which is always difficult to achieve in polychrome cultures unless
other critical elements are present. Things happen quickly and the
consequences are commonly not considered.

The Japanese have built-in systems for keeping in touch on the emotional
level. This is particularly important for teams that are working together on a
daily basis. The basic patterns seem to apply no matter where one taps into
the Japanese hierarchy. In the morning, the Japanese start off being formal,
and as the day progresses, if things are going well, the language used
becomes less formal. Dropping the honorifics (suffixes which mark status
signaling where each person is in relation to the other) proceeds at a steady
pace. This means that everyone is up to the minute on how things are going.
Unlike the Spanish of New Mexico, the Japanese do not get technical about
what is wrong because they depend a great deal on context, and people are
supposed to know what is wrong. In this instance we have short-term
feedback—a daily rhythm broken down into interaction segments—which
keeps the members of the working and living group in tune with each other
and which synchronizes the emotional tone of the group. I do not want to
give the idea that all groups and all Japanese work in complete harmony;
they don't. It's just that they have an ideal, a method, an appropriate rhythm,
a strong drive that motivates them to move from one pole (formality) in
their daily transactions to the opposite (informality), which is warm and
comfortable.

What type of feedback rhythm do we find on the interpersonal level in the

United States? Depending on one's class and ethnic background, there is
considerable variation. Even in a diverse society such as our own there are
norms, because without norms it is difficult to get enough synchrony for
anything to work. This kind of behavior is not the technical, verbal,
manifest, explicit type found in books or in directives from management,
but rather in the collective unconscious of people across the nation.

In general, Anglos, when compared to Spanish Americans, have a very

long-term interpersonal feedback rhythm. They take it for granted that there
will be mood shifts. At the office, when something is wrong, it is attributed
to trouble at home and vice versa. Anglos tend to avoid interfering or
intervening in the lives of others. This is in part a function of the
monochronic, compartmentalized time system and the reinforcing eflFect it
has on our highly individualistic culture. People frequently feel that they are
alone in the world, and that it is right and proper that they should be able to
solve their own problems. Any failure to do so is a sign of weakness or lack
of moral fiber. What happens when things do go wrong? At first nobody
says anything, and if they do it is only after it is obvious to everyone that
matters are completely out of hand. A young friend who recently quit her
part-time job with a professional man who had a habit of exploiting his
female help could only tell him that she resented what he did and how he
ran his office and that she was going to quit. He, in turn, then felt he could
vent some of his feelings about her performance. It is too bad they couldn't
have conveyed their feelings sooner. In marriages, individuals can go for
years before they say anything about things that have been bothering them.
Occasionally, one runs into a marriage or an office relationship where
feedback is reliable and quick, but my own experience, as well as my
reading in the folk literature on the subject (advice columns, comic strips,
and letters to trouble-shooters in the press), is that three to six months is the
normal interval, but that it can take up to five years before grievances are
aired. This is quite different from the Japanese and the Spanish American.
Spanish feedback intervals are shorter than the Japanese, while Japanese
intervals are much shorter than those for white Americans.

10 Entrainment

Entraimnent is the term coined by William Condon for the process that
occurs when two or more people become engaged in each other's rhythms,
when they synchronize. Both Condon and I beHeve that it will ultimately be
demonstrated that synchrony begins with the myelination of the auditory
nei"ve about six months after conception. It is at this point that the infant
can begin to hear in the womb. Immediately following bii-th, the newborn
infant wiU move rhythmically with its mother's voice and will also
synchronize with the voice of other people, speaking any language! The
tendency to synchronize with surrounding voices can therefore be
characterized as innate. Which rhythm one uses, however, is a function of
the culture of the people who are around when these patterns are being
learned. It can be said with some assurance that normal human beings are
capable of learning to synchronize with any human rhythm, provided they
start eai'ly enough.

Clearly, something so thoroughly learned early in life, rooted in the

organism's imiate behavior program and shared by all mankind, must be not
only important, but also a key contributor to the survival of our species. In
the future, it is entirely possible

that synchrony and entrainment^ will be discovered to be even more basic

to human survival than sex on the individual level and as basic to survival
as sex on the group level. Without the ability to entrain with others—which
is what happens with certain types of aphasia—life becomes almost
unmanageable. Boston pediatrician Dr. Barry Brazelton, who has spent
years studying the interaction between parents and children from the
moment of birth, describes the subtle, multilevel synchrony in normal
relations and then states that parents who batter their children have never
learned to sync with their babies. Rhythm is so much a part of everyone's
life that it occurs virtually without notice. Somewhere in the process of
synchrony there is a link between the normal experience on the conscious
level and the so-called metaphysical. Only a short step separates the
rhythmic sea in which all people are entrained and some of the more
contemporary theories concerning precognition.

To return for a moment to the role of rhythm in our lives and why it may be
so necessary to be able to entrain with others: at present, possibly because
there are so few people working in the field, there are no great widely
accepted theories of synchrony.^ The familiar, middle-frequency range
rhythms are those that can be consciously attended, like those of music and
dance, which are universal. No matter where one looks on the face of this
earth, wherever there are people, they can be observed syncing when music
is played. There is a popular misconception about music. Because there is a
beat to music, the generally accepted belief is that the rhythm originates in
the music, not that music is a highly specialized releaser of rhythms already
in the individual. Otherwise, how does one explain the close fit between
ethnicity and music? Music can also be viewed as a rather remarkable
extension of the rhythms generated in human beings.

In addition to music, human rhythm systems can be viewed as covering a

broad spectrum, ranging from the .02 second (beta I brain waves) at the
short end to hundreds or possibly thousands of years at the long end. The
ultra-long rhythms with which the classical historian and theorist Arnold
Toynbee was so preoccupied require hundreds of years before they are
played out, and we see their patterns take shape in the rise and fall of
civilizations.

Toynbee's theory is derived from thoughtful observation of successions of

civilizations where highs are followed regularly by periodic lows. While
proving Toynbee's theories is not yet feasible, it does appear that the
rhythmic tempo of contemporary mass culture may be speeding up. At least
there is popular consensus that this is the case. If there are such rhythms and
if they are really speeding up, there may be less time than in the past to
adjust to the changes that are already on us.

There has always been great coherence in nature and it would be valuable to
know more about the rhythmic interrelationships. Human beings are just
beginning to recognize that there may be an underlying unity. It is necessary
for us to understand that "rhythm is nature's way," and it is up to our species
to learn as much as possible about how these remarkable processes a£Fect
our lives.

Condon comes closer than most to the root of the matter: "There is a
genuine coherence among the things we perceive and think about, and this
coherence is not something we create, but something we discover . . . Ideas
and hypotheses are derived from and clarified by arduous observation ... By
making or finding distinctions within the world, however, we do not break
it into fragments which can never again be brought together . . . The
temporal is basic and involves history. Processes have their histories. There
are many histories, so that while history is pluralistic, it is not therefore
discontinuous."^

Condon believes, as I do, that all nature (hfe) paradoxically is both discrete
and continuous—simultaneously and without contradiction. I also maintain
that nature is not restricted to the physical world, but includes man and
man's productions. Nothing is excluded from nature, particularly the
microrhythms that tie people to each other.

Condon, a philosopher interested in phenomenology, was originally trained

in kinesics at the University of Pennsylvania by Professor Raymond
Birdwhistell and later by an associate, the late Albert Scheflen, a
psychiatrist. Condon quickly discovered two things: first, that he had tapped
into an unpredictably rich field of study; second, that no one else at that
time was willing to make the commitment or had the patience to really
develop the field. The temporal logistics in research of

this sort are impressive. Condon spent a year and a half (four to five hours a
day) studying 4'/^ seconds of Professor Gregory Bateson's films of a family
eating dinner. He wore out 130 copies of this 4'/^-second sequence. Each
copy lasted 100,000 viewings. There has to be a lot going on at a family
dinner to hold someone's attention for a year and a half. And there is a lot
going on, perhaps more than we will ever know.

Condon knew that if he were to follow such a painstaking procedure, it

would be necessary to develop special sync-sound 16mm movies in which
each frame is numbered, a multilevel notation system to enable the observer
to record movement of any body part and the accompanying language, as
well as specially designed time-motion analyzers that could be run forward
or backward a single frame at a time. All this had to be set up in such a way
that behavior could be recorded as a continuum. One of the features that
differentiated Condon's work from other behavioral research was that there
was a continuous running record—synchronous record—of what was
happening through time to the entire body, including the words that were
being spoken. What Condon really accomplished was to identify the
building blocks used in the organization of behavior. In this sense, his
research objectives and mine have paralleled each other over the years.
Viewed in the context of human behavior, time is organization. However,
Condon's insights include much more. For example, the definition of the
self is deeply embedded in the rhythmic synchronic process. This is because
rhythm is inherent in organization, and therefore has a basic design function
in the organization of the personality. Rhythm cannot be separated from
process and structure; in fact, one can question whether there is such a thing
as an eventless rhythm. Rhythmic patterns may turn out to be one of the
most important basic personality traits that diflFer-entiates one individual
from the next.

All human rhythms begin in the center of the self; that is, with self-
synchrony.* Even brain rhythms are rehable indicators associated with
practically everything that people do: they change in sleep, indicate the kind
of sleep that one is having and even whether one is dreaming or not.^ It
should not come as a surprise, therefore, to learn that Condon has
established

that each of the six diflFerent brain wave frequencies is linked to specific
parts of the self-synchrony rhythm spectrum. Brain wave frequencies are
associated with speech in the following way:

Delta Utterances 1—3 per second

Theta Words 4—7 per second

Alpha Short words 8-13 per second

and phones
(sounds) Beta I Short phones

Beta II Phones

14-24 per second 25—40 per second

The one-second-frequency delta wave is apparently a basic rhythm of

human behavior. According to Condon, the spoken (master) phrases fall
into this one-second interval which bridges precisely three shorter phrases.
These three phrases in turn encompass two to three words each (a total of
nine words) which are made of twenty-five phones (sounds) (see diagram
below). Each body movement is precisely synchronized with this four-level
hierarchical series of rhythms.

1 second

DELTA

THETA

ALPHA

HH--hK-hH-+H^'-h^4-HHS-H-HHH'^ beta

"andsol'dgetputbackinthatway"

This fragment of speech recorded on film at 94 frames per second (almost

four times normal speed) lasts for only one second. During this second the
subject's arm is precisely coordinated with the theta wave pattern; her eye
blinks are in sync with the beta wave pattern; the alpha rhythm is in sync
with the words or vice versa.^ Condon states: "These basic
rhythms seem to become part of the very being of the person . . . His whole
body participates in that rhythm and its hierarchic complexities." In fact,
"The oneness and unity between speech and body motion in normal
behavior is truly awesome" (emphasis added). Keep in mind that these are
the words of a man who has spent the major portion of each day for the past
eighteen years immersed in the observation and recording of these
incredible patterns.

George Leonard's theory is that rhythms can account for all sorts of psychic
phenomena, and it is possible that Condon's work may ultimately explain
some of what is now seen as psychic. This is because some form of
"entrainment" is taking place whenever two central nervous systems
become engaged. It is not too farfetched, therefore, to think that some form
of entrainment can occur at a distance. Condon has demonstrated
repeatedly"^ that, when people converse, not only is there self synchrony as
well as interpersonal synchrony, but that their brain waves even lock into a
single unified sequence. When we talk to each other our central nervous
systems mesh like two gears in a transmission.

All of this is relevant to the diagnosis and treatment of schizophrenia and is

related to studies reported earlier® discussing the perceptual aberrations of
a type of schizophrenic where the body boundary is perceived by the patient
as expanding until it fills an entire room. Perceptual distortions of this sort
can be terrifying to patients because anyone entering the room has
automatically inserted himself into the patient's personal envelope!
Condon's work reveals another sort of dis-rhythmia—particularly
frightening—in schizophrenic and autistic children, as well as dyslexics.
These unfortunate children are forced to cope with not only spatial
aberrations, but also temporal ones. In schizophrenics studied by Condon,
the two sides of the body were sometimes out of sync. One eye of a
schizophrenic patient might be looking at the camera, while the other was
fixed on the therapist. Then the eyes would switch, one eyelid closing,
while the other opened.^

Without modem time-motion analyzers it would be impossible to isolate,

identify, and examine movements of the body occurring at fractions of
seconds and below the threshold of motions normally noticeable to the
unaided eye. What was noticeable,

however, was the strain on others, when those children interacted with
them. It was impossible for many of the children studied by Condon, and
presumably other children like them, to entrain properly. If you can't entrain
with yourself, it is impossible to entrain with others, and if you can't
entrain, you can't relate.

In light of the binding nature of entrainment and given the observations in

the previous chapter about the girl directing and coordinating the
unconscious rhythms of the children on the playground, it is entirely
possible that not only are the brain waves of people in phase when they talk,
but that these rhythms are locked into the larger, more general rhythms
present in whatever group we happen to be a part of at the time. And while
it is difficult to prove this hypothesis at present, it could be demonstrated—
or disproved—given a sufficiently gifted investigator with enough
monitoring equipment to record the brain waves of individuals in groups at
a distance.

A related approach, described in my Handbook for Proxemic Research,

deals with four basic components: i) a notation system; 2) films of people
interacting; 3) a time-motion analyzer; and 4) a computer program
(DATAGRF). DATAGRF was specifically designed to show when people
are in and out of sync; how much they are out of sync, i.e., how much they
are lagging; as well as the intensity of the transaction. This program is not
perfect. It doesn't show increases and decreases of velocity, for example,
but, like Condon's work, it does record events through time and is capable
of handling a large number of variables in such a way that each can be
compared with the others through time.

What is the effect on a group or on a single individual who is not in phase?

For one thing, it can be very disruptive to the group process. I can
remember being quite overwhelmed when I first made cinematographic
recordings of groups of people in public. Not only were small groups in
sync, but there were times when it seemed that all were part of a larger
rhythm.
It has been evident for some time that the American Indian rhythm is
unique. Indians talking to each other demonsti^ate something I have
observed repeatedly but had been unable to analyze until suitable
equipment became available. Theirs is a

syncx)pated rhythm. A gesture starts with one hand, shifts at midpoint, and
is completed by the other hand. The two sides of the body work together in
phase with speech. AE whites not only have a left-brain culture which is
linear, verbal, closed-score, and numbers-oriented, but films show that we
favor one side of the body and do not carry through from one side to the
other in the way that blacks and Indians do.

Pattern differences can be anxiety-provoking to people of this sort brought

up to repress awareness of the body. The power of the rhythmic message
within the group is as strong as anything I know. It is one of the basic
components in the process of identification, a hidden force that, like gravity,
holds groups together. I saw this at work in the case of one of my students
—a gifted young white man who had married a black woman. He lived with
her family and he had great trouble mastering even the simplest of the black
walks. In fact, he never did. His wife's younger, preteen sister spent hours
trying to teach him how to walk like a human being. It made her anxious
and uncomfortable to watch him walk around the house like a board with
hinged legs. Part of his problem was getting the right rhythm.

My own data would be termed highly suggestive. Although the differences

among the three groups I studied are visible to anyone willing to look in a
reasonably open-minded way, Condon's detailed data are more definitive.
Describing blacks, he says: "Black behavior (some) is beautifully
syncopated at the microlevel. For example, the black I have studied
intensively will often move his right hand and arm synchronously with the
initial consonant, then join in and move his left arm more rapidly with the
vowel, and then both together and with reduced speed with the terminating
consonant. His whole body does this . . . The white, for example, tends to
keep the rhythm contained in a serial flow. There is a relative absence of a
syncopated counterpoint of one side of the body in relation to the other"
(italics added).^'' The reader should keep in mind that when Condon is
describing what he sees, he is describing events of a fraction-of-a-second
duration. Referring to the diagram discussed earlier in this chapter, this
syncopation is alpha and beta brain wave level. The Native American
syncopation is

much easier to record, more obvious, and much slower (probably theta and
delta). In fact, the tempo of normal transactions among the Indians in the
western part of the United States is characteristically slower than that of
either whites or blacks. How do such diflFerences influence the way in
which behavior is read across ethnic boundaries? If a single person out of
sync with a group can disiiipt that group, what can be the effect of
fundamental rhythmic differences of the sort just described? They would
not be trivial.

Life is kept on an even keel and many confrontations are avoided in AE

society because people are usually able to read adumbrative cues in each
other's behavior. The adumbrative sequence enables people to tell when
something is about to happen and take connective action if necessary. And
while there are many types of foreshadowing, one particular category of
adumbrative cues is the time lapse between saying something and doing
something about it. A very significant contributor to misunderstanding
between cultures is the misreading of the time between when a threat is
made and when it is acted upon.

In AE cultures, if we say that we are going to do something and fail to take

action after a certain time has passed,^^ it is assumed that nothing will be
done. This is even reflected in law; our statute of limitations is based on this
pattern. In the United States, depending on the state in which a crime has
been committed, the criminal cannot be prosecuted for most crimes unless
he is brought to trial within a period ranging from three to seven years.
Also, a prisoner not tried following arrest within a specific period (usually
sixty to ninety days after arrest) must be released. This, of course, places a
tremendous burden on our courts, but it is at least consistent with the way in
which our culture works, and this is more than can be said for some other
areas of the law.

What is the Pueblo Indian pattern? A few years prior to the publication of
this book, the Indians of one of the New Mexico pueblos caused a conflict,
most elements of which were never understood by the whites. The Indians
of Santo Domingo Pueblo—situated midway between Santa Fe and
Albuquerque, New Mexico—told the state that they would close a state
road which crossed Pueblo land unless the state made acceptable

arrangements with them for the use of the right of way. Several years went
by and nothing happened. Nobody bothered to talk to the Indians about the
road—which served as access to a large government dam, to a real estate
development on the Rio Grande, to another Indian pueblo, and to two
Spanish American villages. The state highway department thought that the
matter had been forgotten. Eventually, the road needed repairing, so they
repaved the road without bothering to consult the Indians. Then one bright,
sunshiny morning, people driving to work at Cochiti Dam found their way
blocked by a steel guard rail which had been erected across the road. To be
doubly sure that the barrier would be effective, the Indians had dug a
tremendous trench across the old road just behind the guard rail. A sign
explained that the road was on Indian lands and that the Santo Domingos
were exercising their rights to close that road and that there would be NO
TRESPASSING!

The whites reacted as though the Santo Domingo Indians had taken leave of
their senses; the Indians couldn't understand why. The governor of the
pueblo remarked, "I don't know why they were surprised. After all, those
signs saying we were closing the road were stacked up against my house for
a year and everybody saw them. What did they think those signs meant?"
This is an excellent example of how culture teaches us to pay attention to
some things while disregarding others. The signs were tangible and very
real for the Indians, but the invisible time period carried more weight with
the whites. Eventually, another road was built and a satisfactory right of
way worked out with the Indians. In the meantime, all the people who
normally used the road were forced to take a rough unimproved detour
which added untold miles to their journey.

Another instance was described by Doug Boyd in Rolling Thunder, the

story of a Shoshone medicine man in Idaho. The government was
bulldozing sacred piiion trees to open up more grassland for livestock. The
Indians were incensed but didn't know quite what to do, and they couldn't
decide what action to take. They could, however, at least confirm what was
taking place. Climbing into automobiles, the Shoshone drove out to watch
bulldozers with chains between them uprooting trees by the thousands.
Imagine how AE peoples would have responded.

They would have thrown themselves in front of bulldozers, screamed and

yelled, circulated petitions, and filed injunctions. And there would have
been no doubt in the government's mind that once the action chain had been
started it would not be broken until resolved in court. Instead of becoming
hysterical, the Indians just stood and looked and asked questions of a white
friend who had come along to take some photographs. Years later, the
Indians decided it was time to act, and when they struck they stopped the
whole program in its tracks.

The fact that the Shoshone did nothing at first except talk, led the whites to
assume they would continue to do nothing. Whites, on the other hand, must
appear to be in the hair-trigger category when viewed by the Indians. Years
of observation of patterns of this sort convince me that few people can
function unless it is within the rather narrow limits of their own rhythm
system. If two different systems are not calibrated, and unless a deliberate
and successful effort is made to bring them into phase, the results can be
disastrous. It isn't just the adumbrative segment of the rhythm spectrum that
can lead to dissonance between ethnic groups; other behavioral features
require our attention as well.

Interactional synchrony or entrainment across cultural boundaries is a

matter not only of being in sync, but also of speeding up and slowing down
at the same time that speakers move through the consonant-vowel-
consonant (C-V-C) sequence. It is, as far as can be determined, a universal
phenomenon that the body holds on a consonant and speeds up for a
vowel.^^ When whites interact with blacks in this country, whites tend to
lag on vowels—blacks do not—which makes them appear much more
intense to whites. This intensity can apparently be quite threatening if one is
not used to it. It may be useful to some whites to at least know these things.
No analysis has been made of the C-V-C sequence used by the Pueblo
Indians. I would suspect that they lag in the vowels even more than whites.

An important reason that the Pueblo Indian and the dominant AE culture
are frequently out of phase with each other grows out of the differences
between each culture's preconditions for an event—what must happen
before a particular action can take place. For example, we assume that love
will be a pre-

condition for marriage, whereas in the Middle East, wherever marriages are
arranged, other considerations take priority. If everything works the way it
should, love is said to follow almost automatically.^^

In the AE world, building a house is usually preceded by getting the land

and the money in hand. The Pueblos of New Mexico have the land and, if
not the money, the cooperation of one's relatives needed to build a house.
However, the Pueblos have a precondition that is completely foreign to
most AE peoples, one that applies to all important matters. Before a shovel
of earth can be turned, all the right thoughts must be present. The Pueblos
believe that thoughts have a life of their own and that these live thoughts
are an integral part of any man-made structure and will remain with that
structure forever. Thoughts are as essential an ingredient as mortar and
bricks. Something done without the right thoughts is worse than nothing.

Think about this for a moment. What could it mean to a culture like our
own? We could no longer schedule everything in advance because no one
would be able to tell how long it would take to have the "right thoughts."
Getting the right thoughts in one's own head as well as in the heads of
others may take a long time—which can result in the overall rhythm of the
culture being much slower than that of a culture that is running according to
timetables set by others. Schedules, as we have noted before, set people
apart and seal them oflF from each other. Having the right thoughts brings
people together and can add to group cohesiveness and solidarity. When a
Pueblo Indian builds a house, it reaffirms the group. When a white man
builds a house, the last consideration in the owner's mind is reaffirming the
group. In fact, building a house may even contribute to feelings of envy on
the part of associates, friends, and neighbors.

The character of the rhythm is also different. Whites begin everything with
capital letters or their equivalent (weddings, ceremonies, inaugurations,
etc.) so that everyone wall know when an event began—at what particular
point in time. If one looks at these larger rhythms as though they were
music, our music would come crashing forth like the starter's pistol at the
beginning of a race. In fact, a reason for the strong impact of the opening
passages of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony (Ta Ta

Ta Taa) is that it is so congruent with a dominant theme at the core of the

AE tradition. But, think what a difference it makes when a Ta Ta Ta Taa
culture interacts with one that makes very httle sound at the beginning but
instead "slides" into events and only moves when the thoughts are right.

There are also times when a given culture develops rhythms that go beyond
a single generation, so that no one living person hears the whole symphony.
This is true of the Maori of New Zealand, according to a friend, Karaa
Pukatapu—a Maori who, when this was written, was Under Secretary for
Ethnic AflEairs in New Zealand. He described at some length how the
cultivation of human talents was a process that required anywhere from
generations to centuries to be completed. He commented: "What we know
takes centuries, you try to do overnight!" The consequences of trying to
compress long rhythms into short time periods result in AE peoples feeling
that they have failed, as they do when their children don't turn out just the
way they wanted. The Maori realize that it can take generations to produce
a really balanced personality.

This doesn't mean that the Maori are psychologically different from
Europeans when they are bom, nor does it suggest that there is any innate
rhythm of the type we have been discussing, only that the capacity—in fact,
the drive—to stay in sync is innate and that whatever rhythms are
developed by a culture will be adhered to by most members. One should
never lose sight of the fact, however, that cultures over the centuries evolve
their own rhythms, and since many are learned early in life, rhythms are
frequently unconsciously treated as though they are irmate. It takes
someone with great talent and insight, like Lawrence Wylie, Harvard's
Douglas Dillon Professor of French Civilization, to realize as well as
actually act on the powerful effect of getting the right rhythm when learning
a language (in this case French).

There is another form of entrainment experienced by many individuals for

which our culture has no scientifically acceptable explanation. I am
referring to Carl Jung's concept of "syn-chronicity," described in a paper by
that title as well as in his later works.^^ In AE cultures, we are used to
thinking in cause-and-effect terms. One of the ways in which this comes
about has

to do with the manner in which the language as well as the time system
aflFects our thinking, leaving us no option but to frame our thoughts in a
linear, one-thing-after-another manner. "Post hoc ergo propter hoc" (after
the fact, therefore because of the fact) is an old cliche in the academic world
of descriptive linguistics, used when discussing the effect of language on
thought. It is part of our AE tradition and is not the sort of thing that one
would expect to hear coming from the mouth of an old, longhaired Navajo.
Synchronicity is just the opposite. Events are experienced simultaneously
by different people in different places so that people separated by space
have been known to experience identical sensations and emotions.

Jung said: "We cannot visualize another world ruled by quite other laws, the
reason being that we live in a specific world which has helped to shape our
minds and establish our basic psychic conditions . . . Our concepts of space
and time have only approximate validity, and there is therefore a wide field
for minor and major deviations."^^ What was there in Jung's experience
that led him to these conclusions? There can be no doubt that he had some
remarkable experiences, some of which are summarized below.

Jung was returning home on the train after a visit to another part of
Switzerland. He could not keep his mind on his work. He was depressed
and deeply preoccupied with thoughts of a patient he had treated in
previous years. The patient had been dominated (submerged as it were) by a
wife he should have left but didn't. Jung checked his watch and later learned
that at the very moment that he was having these thoughts and emotions, his
patient was committing suicide. In another instance, a friend sent Jung a
book on the very subject that he was working on, which he badly needed in
order to solve a difficult problem. This case is interesting because of the
added effect on Jung, which was to help dispel a nagging notion that
because of the pioneering nature of his work he was alone in the world.
There was some validity to his feeling of being alone, because Jung had
broken with Freud (with whom he had been on close terms) and after the
break was left to continue on his own. In a culture like ours, unless one
penetrates the veil that screens the subconscious from the conscious world,
a person of

Jung's caliber is bound to feel alone. Jung's thinking, with much of which I
happen to agree, is that Europeans created a conscious world in which most
people live their entire lives, with little or no realization that there is another
world, the world of the unconscious, which is much more in touch with
culture's unifying rhythms. Jung called this world the "collective
unconscious," and he seemed to draw strength from and be reassured by
evidence that human beings were "in sync" on another plane.

This writer has had innumerable—many times beyond chance —

experiences paralleling Jung's. Particularly prominent in my lifetime have
been synchronicity in work and interests. The day before this was written a
colleague from whom I had not heard for years telephoned long-distance to
relay to me a matter of utmost relevance to this book. He was on the phone
for an hour! In other instances, I have experienced in my own body
sensations that were present in someone else's body. My only explanation is
that there is a form of synchrony at the unconscious level that transcends
space and sometimes time. We are used to the fact that we sync and dance
quite successfully with others —in fact, sometimes we are so much in sync
with them that we know beforehand what they will do next. The
synchronicity of Carl Jung is only one more step down that same road. My
own assumption is that as more is learned about the human rhythm
spectrum and how our rhythms relate to the earth's energy fields, the
explanation will become quite clear. Learning to be able to utilize syncing
on this level will simply be a matter of tuning in on one's self as the
Japanese do when practicing the art of Zen.

The subject of rhythm can be approached from many points of view, and it
has been studied from many different angles. For another approach the
reader is referred to the work of Eliot Chappie,^^ an anthropologist who has
written extensively on biological clocks and their associated rhythms.

11 God Is in the Details

Arthur Miller's block-buster play, Death of a Salesman, made grown men

weep. The play was built around the gulf separating technical, dollar-
oriented business values and those of the informal (primary level-core)
culture on which people construct their lives. Avarice, greed, and the failure
of managers to acknowledge that there are obligations to employees (rooted
in the informal system) have long been a source of tension between
management and the rest of society. Miller's play describes but one
example. The conflicts on which the play is based, and which give it life, lie
at the crux of analogous issues that will ultimately decide the fate of our
small planet, making the diflFerence between survival and extinction if they
are not resolved. In the past, humans had the luxury of catering to the egos
of their leaders while following them into war. As a consequence, the
human race has had thousands of years of disastrous struggles. Nations,
cities, and even millions of people were destroyed but never the whole
world! The question which now must be faced by the peoples of the world
focuses on technical ego-centered decision making and whether or not it is
an indulgence we can still aflFord. How does the fate of the

world equate wdth Arthur Miller's play and the tension between informal
and technical levels of culture? This is not an easy question to answer,
because the answer is inherently diflBcult due to the way in which the
human nervous system is organized. As human beings, our primary
preoccupation in life is not so much conforming to the wishes and desires of
others as it is to manage our own inputs in such a way that we stay
comfortable and avoid anxiety. More about this later.

Staying comfortable is largely a matter of informal culture and whether one

is immersed in a familiar surrounding or not. Informal or core culture is the
foundation on which interpersonal relations rest. All of the little things that
people take for granted that can make life with others either a pleasure or a
burden depend on sharing informal patterns. There is an incredibly fluid,
organic quality to the informal—as though the personal envelope which
normally separates people could be expanded (as indeed it can), so that
when things go well with others we are, for the moment, a single organism.
The informal is intimately tied to the study of time as a cultural process.
But, like Arthur Miller's play, it can also be a metaphor for larger issues.

In contrast to the technical, which is concentrated and which fragments,

defines, and requires control, the informal is everywhere. In cultures like
ours, it is at the informal level that the unspoken group wisdom resides.
This is where most of the creative and innovative thrust occurs. The
informal level is the seat of the collective unconscious and, as a
consequence, the ultimate threat to the demagogue. If there is one thing that
business has been slow to learn and which government has yet to learn, it is
that the power, the strength, and the survival value for a people are rooted in
a healthy and active system of informal culture.

What sets the informal apart is that, unlike any other form of
communication, there are no senders and no receivers and no readily
identifiable messages. Everything is in the process itself, which releases the
appropriate responses in others. And when this happens, everyone is in
perfect sync. In terms of our earlier discussions, the informal is very high
context. It would be natural therefore that in something as low context as
business

lyS THE DANCE OF LIFE

and government there would be reluctance to accept as well as difficulty in

understanding complex processes such as these.

Infonnal culture patterns are never imposed but evolve naturally in real-life
situations and have stood the test of time. They come from the people. They
are shared and experienced personally and are an imperative in the structure
of group identity. In fact, they are what tie the individual to the group —the
glue that holds the group together. Business and government continually
brush them aside as trivial and idiosyncratic. It may be unfortunate but
people do actually look to business for models of success and how to get
things done, as they do to celebrities in the entertainment world for what
life should be like and what their aspirations should be. Yet none of the
above —in spite of all their power and wealth—comes even close to
providing the sort of model needed by the citizens of the world today.

Because numbers can be taught, business schools have done their best to
"rationaHze" the management of people and resources. This has worked
sometimes, but not always. There are those who have been highly critical of
our business schools— even the best of them—because the schools spend
too much time on numbers, and on theoiy, and too little on understanding
people. A recent article on the subject states: "... a growing number of
coiporate managers look on them [MBA graduates] as arrogant amateurs,
trained only in figures and lacking experience in the manufacture of goods
and the handling of people."^ These are flaws which critics see as reflected
in management as a whole. There are also complaints about narrow
perspectives and overspecialization. One can sympathize with the business
schools because theory, numbers, and case histories are amenable to
analysis and can be taught. Informal patterns are best learned from
examples on the job. It is important to remember that business schools
operate in the marketplace too and both the customer and business want
procedures that can easily be grasped by managers. There is a closed
feedback loop with several years' lag between business schools and
business. Recently business has been saying that business schools don't
teach anything about how to deal with people. Yet it has been my
observation as a consultant to business that when dealing

with business people in actual situations, there is minimal appreciation of

the importance of the informal culture of the work force or the crucial role
of worker morale in the whole business process. Morale is so intangible to
some, while numbers are so real! Many managers "cop out," with the result
that the most important part of the business is slighted. It isn't just the
cultures of other peoples that must he learned, but the informal culture of
our own people!

American law is particularly blind to the informal foundations of culture.

When people address themselves to a topic as important and as close to
their hearts as the meaning of length of service, they are not speaking about
a casual matter which can be brushed aside peremptorily. There are Hterally
hundreds of such patterns that go to make up our lives. Most people can't
describe the rules, but they will let you know when they have been violated.
Inevitably the tension between the dictates of informal culture and technical
culture persists and represents one of the greatest challenges to modem
management.

One such tension recently receiving publicity is the difference between

male and female culture, which is responsible for some of the difficulty
women have in advancing to the ranks of middle and upper management.
This topic is explored by Margaret Hennig and Anne Jardim, who made an
exhaustive study of twenty-five successful women from all parts of the
country who had succeeded in upper management circles. Their interviews,
reported in their best-selling book. The Managerial Woman, were extensive
and insightful. Their results confirmed a point often vociferously denied by
some of the more militant of the feminists, that men and women do have
different cultures— informal cultures, that is. Men's and women's
expectations, strategies, and attitudes toward work and group membership
are quite different. What follows is a summary of the informal, subcultural
differences of the two sexes as defined by Hennig and Jardim.

Because they have different informal cultures than men, one would expect
women to approach their jobs differently with regard to time. This is
precisely the case. Men evaluate the long-term career effects of everything
they do; women don't. Women are much more likely to see the job as an
isolated

activity into which they pour all their efforts, but they are slow to see the
career implications of what they do and how they treat people in the
performance of their jobs. Men take the long-terai view and tend to put up
with difficult personalities, pai-ticularly those of their bosses. Men think:
"This job is just one of a succession of jobs in a lifetime career, so why get
myself in a tuiTnoil because someone is hard on me?" Nowhere is the
difference between women and men more pronounced than in how the two
sexes handle the present in its relationship to the future. Women separate
the job and the career; men don't. Men see the job in the present as well as
in its career context. Women separate the two, and their emphasis is on
getting the job done ncnv without reference to the career. Men fail to
distinguish between career in a job sense and personal goals; career is an
integral part of a man's life. For women, a career is one thing and one's
personal life something else. The woman's role in the more traditional sense
is still centrally located in her life, whereas for the man it is not the fact that
he is a man but the career that is central. With men it is what they do and
with women it is what they are. Just look at the deeper meaning behind that
question, "Wliat do you do?" or "What does your husband/ father do?"
Asking this question of a woman can seem to be a non sequitur, particularly
if asked by a man. All of this places a handicap on women who are working
in organizations with men. It is taken for granted that men will devote their
lives to their careers, but women liave to prove that their careers won't be
interrupted and that their commitment to the career is long-term. When
faced with a new or difficult problem, men will ask, "What's in it for
me?"—meaning, what are the long-term implications and what effect will
this have on my career? Men are brought up to be team players and women
are not. There are manifold implications of this one great difference. Men
are used to the fact that they might not like some members of the team, but
they will not show their feelings because the team, as well as their future,
would suffer if they did. Women are more likely to take things personally.
Though not explicitly stated, the thread loms throughout Hennig and
Jardim's book that individual time is one thing and team time is entirely dif-

ferent. The team takes precedence over everything else, which is why
families have often been left out when businesses felt free to transfer
personnel without reference to the welfare of the family. Only the team
counted. Men who are brought up to be team players and managers must
plan ahead. If they do not, the team can suffer. This does not mean that
women can't plan or that men are better planners—in fact, many women are
superior planners. It only means that women have to get used to thinking
about planning ahead when they are in charge, and in Hennig and Jardim's
terms, they must begin to ask themselves, "What's in it for me?"

There is a paradox in this question. On the surface it sounds self-serving.

The paradox is that the question originates in male culture and acceptance
of the validity of the question on the part of women who are managers
represents an acceptance of the reality of male culture and, by implication,
maleness in our culture. A step in the direction of accepting one's self as a
person comes with the recognition of the validity of the core of another
human being, and in the switch from trying to make others conform to one's
own needs to allowing them to be themselves and having to cope with
whatever adjustments this may entail. The "will to power" is, after all,
nothing more nor less than an extension of the need to control one's inputs
—a syndrome which can mask the reality of surrounding personalities in its
own all-consuming flame.
Kierkegaard was right! To grow, and even to survive, human beings
ultimately cannot avoid taking the first step, even if it is the analog of an
American businesswoman facing her own anxiety—her angst—and
accepting as valid the question her male colleagues have been asking for
years, "What's in it for me?"

Apart from the inherent interest and timeliness, there are further
implications which can be drawn from Hennig and Jardim's study. If
differences as deep and as significant as these exist between the male and
the female versions of our own culture, if this much is taken for granted in
the behavior of people, just think of the effect of such differences on the
international level!

It seems to be paiticularly difficult for the men and women who run our
nation to grasp the fact that how culture molds behavior significantly
influences what happens in the world. In the sense that it is used here,
culture is almost totally divorced from the political process. There are
ideologically neutral differences among the peoples of the world: there are
monochronic and polychronic time systems, high and low context cultures,
there are open and closed scores, long-term time and short-term planning,
centralized and decentralized decision making, and individual and group
performance on the job—all of which can be changed. If Margai^et Mead's
people of Manus- could sit down and deliberately redesign their culture and
bring it in line with the twentieth century, we should be able to do the same.

But why bother to tiy to understand, to empathize, to learn somebody else's

culture? Why bother to learn a new set of rules and new ways of
communicating? Isn't the job too subtle, too complex, and too ill-defined?
Perhaps. But the rewards can be very great, and the alternatives are
unthinkable. First we must be willing to admit that the people of this planet
don't just live in one world but in many worlds and some of these worlds, if
not properly understood, can and do annihilate the others.

Time can be a metaphor for all of culture. And though we have said
virtually nothing about physical time, there is one physicist, I. I. Rabi, who
does have something to say. Addressing himself to the matter of time, the
Columbia University Nobel Laureate says: "The real answer was given only
in this century by Einstein, who said, in effect, that time is simply what a
clock reads. The clock can be the rotation of the earth, an hourglass, a pulse
count, the thickness of geological deposits, or the measured vibrations of a
cesium atom" (italics added).^ They all have one thing in common: each is
a physical mechanism. Much of what has been discussed in this book is
consistent with Einstein's and Rabi's statements. However, culture's clocks
add dimensions to physical time, since each clock represents a particular
type of organization. Like the elaborate astrolabes of the Renaissance,
which were working models of our solar system, cultural models of time aie
also models of everything else in that culture. The metaphor of the astrolabe
is worthy of further examination. It is as though each culture had its own

model of the universe and lived in terms of that model. Furthermore, in at

least some instances the models are so designed that they can literally
annihilate each other if they overlap or are too close. As is the case with
monochrome and polychrome time.

Support for this view comes from an unexpected source, Carlos Fuentes.
Speaking to a college audience, the Mexican author and literary spokesman
for developing countries in Latin America said: "The final question of time
[is] whether we shall live together or die together . . . The West has been in
love with its successive linear image of time ... It has condemned the past to
death as the tomb of irrationality and celebrated the future as the promise of
perfectibility."* According to Fuentes, our denial of the past has led to the
degradation of morality and the denial of the lessons of the past. Denial of
the rights as well as the reality of other cultures is another of the
consequences of Western time concepts. As Fuentes says, "We shall know
each other or exterminate each other" (itahcs added).

Fuentes has clearly identified our dilemma and, as is typical of polychronic,

highly situational logic, some of the links in his chain of arguments are
missing. Nevertheless, Fuentes knows the two worlds of which he speaks as
well as anyone on the globe; his views cannot easily be dismissed. My only
quarrel with his argument concerns his view of how we Americans look at
the future. The future in the United States is a dream. Some make the dream
come true, others do not. My point is that the future is not actually real to
us. If it were, how could we do such terrible things to others and to our
environment? And how could our government and our businesses act so
blindly, denying the reality of other cultures and, in so doing, alienating the
world because of cultural ineptitude? To us, the future seems either
extremely narrow or else very short-term.

Observing my countrymen over the years, I have noticed two things which
stand out: our warped and inadequate view of the past and the future, and
our failure to acknowledge the reality of internalized time—our own time.
Time is all we have in this life, and it is my belief that life can be richer and
more meaningful if people were to know more about time as it affects them
personally. Then perhaps the future would begin to take on some reality and
we might begin to act more realistically.

In this book, I have done my best to sketch the outUnes of what will
someday be an active, important, major field of study, with significance to
everyone. Why do I believe that the science of time will assume greater
stature in the future? There are many reasons, such as the fact that humans
in all parts of the earth have been involved with time from the very
beginning. If Marschack's theories are correct,^ records of the seasons and
the phases of the moon engraved by Acheulean hunters on the ribs of Ice
Age mammoths represent mankind's first move in the direction of science—
the earliest extensions of the human brain. Much later, in the Bronze Age,
Stonehenge* was only one of hundreds if not thousands of early devices
built to record and forecast the movements of the sun, moon, and planets. In
those days, all people lived in time and, one assumes, were not as alienated
from time as are many today.

The study of time has led the human species out into the universe, down
into the heart of the atom, and is the basis of much of the theoiy concerning
the nature of the physical world. In addition, it has held the attention of
philosophers and psychologists, who have tried to define the nature of time
as well as the experience of time.

In the second half of this century, the subject of biological clocks marked
the first demonstration that all life is regulated internally and externally by
rhythms synchronized with nature. Although there were only a few who
recognized time as culture,''^ the study of time as a product as well as a
molder of the human brain in the cultural sense was not reported until well
into the second half of this century. While the study of micro time and
primaiy level, out-of-awareness time came even later,^ both William S.
Condon's^ pioneering work on synchi-ony as well as my own studies on
time as an out-of-awareness system of communication cry out for continued
research.

Condon's work in paiticular adumbrates a cultural stage, when it will be

possible to make short fihn or TV sequences of people interacting in public
—random samples—that will provide data on the degree of stress people
are experiencing. The index of synchrony and dissynchrony will be as
informative as samples of the blood. How people synchionize could also be
used as an accurate index of acculturation. The Colliers' studies

of classrooms of Native Americans and Eskimos also show great promise as

a means of measuring the coherence and success of the learning
environment.^^

Much remains to be investigated about time as an organizing frame for life.

Basic systems such as monochrome and poly-chronic time patterns are like
oil and water and do not mix under ordinary circumstances. In a schedule-
dominated mono-chronic culture like ours, ethnic groups which focus their
energies on the primary groups and primary relationships, such as the
family and human relationships, find it almost impossible to adjust to rigid
schedules and tight time compartments. This country could do much worse
than follow the example of former Congressman Ben Reifel, a Sioux
Indian, who taught his people technically how to be on time for school and
buses on the reservation.^^ Reifel realized that it is not enough to tell poly-
chronic peoples to be on time or to plan ahead. Time in this sense is Hke a
language and until someone has mastered the new vocabulary and the new
grammar of time and can see that there really are two difiFerent systems, no
amount of persuasion is going to change behavior. The writer Richard
Rodriguez^^ has much to say about the importance of teaching language
and culture in the schools. The point is that until now the schools lacked
even a framework or theory for describing primary level systems.

Human beings are such an incredibly rich and talented species with
potentials beyond anything it is possible to contemplate that from the
perspective of this writer it would appear that our greatest task, our most
important task, and our most strategic task is to learn as much as possible
about ourselves. At present, it would seem that most of the world's capitals
are ruled by Stone Age mentalities using Stone Age models of what the
human race is all about. If the insights gained from the study of individuals
trying to cope with life mean anything at all, it is that there is a direct
relationship between the unvoiced picture that people have of themselves
and their view of human nature.

My point is that as humans learn more about their incredible sensitivity,

their boundless talents, and manifold diversity, they should begin to
appreciate not only themselves but also others.

One hopes this will ultimately lead to lessening our tendency to subjugate
or stamp out anything that is different. The human race is not nearly enough
in awe of its own capabilities. My picture of the future is not so much one
of developing new technologies as it is of developing new insights into
human nature.

This book has taken one little comer of human nature and put it under a
microscope. What I see is a whole new dimension or set of dimensions to
be explored. God really is in the details. And I for one do not think for a
moment that He intended us to blow each other off the face of the earth.

APPENDIX I A Map of Time

When one looks at the Time mandala several things become apparent. First,
there are four pairs in which the categories appear to be functionally
interrelated: i) sacred and profane, 2) physical and metaphysical, 3)
biological and personal, and 4) sync time and micro time. Second, the time
positions on the opposite side of the mandala also seem to bear a special
relationship to each other. Sacred time and personal time are personal, and
from what little is known of the metaphysical it would seem that rhythm is
shared with sync time in both (see chapter 10). These common elements,
such as rhythm, are links connecting the different kinds of time. Third, the
two axes going from lower left to upper right and upper left to lower right
set things apart in other ways: group, individual, cultural, and physical.
Fourth, the left side is explicit and technical (low context) while the right-
hand side is situational (high context). All of this suggests that there are
clusters of ordered relationships between the different kinds of time.
The mandala also makes it possible to categorize different historical periods
and cultures. The Hopi, for example, traditionally lived almost entirely in a
world of sacred time. The

APPENDIX I

four categories on the "group" side of the line are contained in and treated
as a single capsule. Awareness of sync time is more developed in Black
Africa than in AE cultures. One gets the impression that in the subcontinent
of India the metaphysical and the sacred are fused into one. In the United
States we make few distinctions between profane time and micro time. It
appears also that if one culture emphasizes a particular segment while
another emphasizes a different one, the results can be extraordinarily
significant.

A MAP OF TIME

PhMosophical & Conscious Time

c©

Si

o o cO

E^

XO

Q) —

C2

± CO

Unconscious Emergent Time

Note: To discuss complementary systems it is necessary to invoke Meta

Time .which is where the integrative concepts are located.
APPENDIX II

Japanese and American Contrasts, with Special Reference to the MA

The closest one can come to understanding Japanese time is to approach via
the route o£ MA. MA is time-space. The two cannot be considered
separately. Like everything else, and particularly Zen, MA does not lend
itself to technical description. MA apparently underlies almost everything
and is an important component of communication. Years ago I made the
observation that in the West we pay particular attention to the arrangement
of objects, and in Japan it is the arrangement of the spaces—the intervals,
MA—that are attended. In speech this means that it is the silences between
words that also carry meaning and are significant. Americans in meetings or
when giving talks and lectures are famous in Japan for failing to take
account of MA when structuring their presentations. As a consequence,
American speakers to Japanese audiences give the impression of tail-gating
the audience because the audience never has a chance to catch its breath and
think about what is being said, which high context communications patterns
demand. Is it any wonder that Japanese and American audiences experience
the same presentation differently? MA is much more than a silence between
events (our inter-

pretation) or events punctuated by silences. It is difficult for the Japanese to

explain MA, because MA is part of the root culture of Japan (informal, out
of awareness, primary culture). I have yet to read or hear an explanation of
MA that would satisfy the Westerners' low context need for details. It may
very well be that, as in Zen and archery or Zen and swordsmanship, one has
to go through the experience to begin to understand it. My point is that our
own stereotypes keep getting in the way. All peoples of the world look at
that world in their own way. The world they see is one which they have
created—which is why it all looks so famihar. It is only the rarest of human
beings who understands the complexity and the beauty of the intercultural
process. Japanese culture is contexted in so many ways and at so many
different points that it is virtually impossible to describe to the Westerner.
The description that follows is drawn largely from the catalog of Arata
Isozaki's exhibition "MA" shown at the Cooper-Hewitt Museum in New
York.^ It is as good an example as one can find in which the nature of the
contexting is made somewhat explicit. It is not important that the reader feel
that he has completely understood the "meaning" of the diflPerent sides of
MA, because I doubt that that is possible. What he should look for is how
those concepts are stated, how they relate to each other, and how one would
have to be able to think to have produced such a system.

MA is categorized as nine different varieties of experience: Himorogi,

Hashi, Yami, Suki, Utsuroi, Utsushimi, Sabi, Susabi, and Michiyuki. The
nine varieties of MA can be likened to nine chapters of a book or nine
scenarios written by different authors. The basic themes remain fixed, but
the treatment is different each time one hears it. The whole story is
inherently Japanese. There is so little that is familiar to the Western mind
that one is left with the conclusion that here is a system of thought that must
trace its origins thousands of years in the past with httle or no influence
from the West.

Himorogi stands for two things: the sacred descent place of the Kami (the
original pre-Buddhist, pre-Shinto Gods), and the exact moment when this
occurred. Himorogi is reminiscent of the "big bang" theory of the creation
of the universe. In Japan, the exact moment of anything is important. It is a
little bit Hke

concentrating the essence of the event into a momentary flash, which is just
the opposite of the Hopi notion that many important things require repeated
small ceremonies spread out over time. Our own creation myth as told in
the Bible required six days, and then a seventh so that God could rest, thus
establishing at the outset a distinction between working time, which was
profane, and God's time, which was sacred. Symbolic representations of
Himorogi can be found in the hundreds of temples, shrines, and gardens
that dot the urban as well as the rural landscape in Japan. The forai is
usually four poles marking the boundaries of a square with a post in the
middle. All four posts are enclosed by an encircling rope or cord. Another
version is a raised platform with a tree or shrub in the middle. Two bundles
of straw are suspended from the middle of the tree's trunk.

The Japanese are thus reminded daily of multiple links with the past and the
importance of the exact moment. In Japan, time and creation partake of the
same process. It is the presence of shrines in all districts that provides a
constant visual reminder that the deep past is always present. Even in the
middle of the busiest, most modern sections of Tokyo there is a hundred-
meter square dedicated to the spirit of Masakado Taira, a warlord killed in a
tenth-century battle. It would be foolhardy to suggest moving the
monument, even though the space on which it stands is reputedly worth $10
million.

Hashi means "to bridge." It underscores the bridging function in both time
and space and gives buildings a special significance which is almost sacred.
Hashi also means the space between two things (the time between two
events) and implies dividing up the world. Hashi also stands for edges,
spaces between, and bridging. This whole book is an exercise in Hashi.

Yami is the world of darkness from which the Kami come and to which
they return. Traditionally, the Japanese believe that the Kami permeated the
cosmos and were conscious of the sun, whose movements divided time and
space. The sun created day and night and life on earth. MA is maintained in
absolute darkness and the word Yami combines the meaning darkness (yo)
and the transition from darkness to light (yamu). Yami therefore recalls the
image of the entire universe. One sees this metaphor also in the design of
the Noh stage which has a small forward

part for "this" world and a larger part for the "other" world— the world of
the spirits, and a Hashi bridging the two worlds. The world of the present
and the world of the dead are much closer in Japan that they are in the West.

Suki MA means aperture, but because of the etymology of the word it

caiTies a connotation of "like" and the French concept of "chic" (furyu).
Suki is difficult to relate to Western concepts and while I am not certain
about this, it is possible that our metaphor "a window of time," a "window
of opportunity," or Alexander Haig's "window of vulnerability"^ have some
relationship to the concept Suki. Writing about Suki, the authors of the
catalog of the MA exhibit discuss at some length the origin and evolution of
the teahouse for the tea ceremony. Modeled originally after a simple
workman's hut, the teahouse symbolized a reaction against the pretentious
architectural style of the sixteenth century. The tea master's arrangement of
the display of the instruments used in the ceremony on the tana (shelf) is
another reminder not only of the past and tradition but also of the art of
relating and communicating to other human beings in subtle, symbolic
ways. Some tea masters were highly regarded because they made each
arrangement according to the character and preferences of the guest.

The tana was situated in the yoko (alcove), from which the idea of the
tokorumw. originated. The tokonama is the most important place in the
house and is used to exhibit particularly beautiful scrolls or art objects, as
well as selected objects appropriate for the season or a special occasion.
The guest is seated with his back to the tokonama. The tokonama in its
expression of simplicity can symbolize the giving up of other things, such
as pretentious ways; or it can symbolize subtlety, art, the honoring of
guests, and the seasonal reminders of the passage of time. Again we find the
past and the present united in a single symbol.

IJtsuroi encompasses the whole process of change. Typically, this starts

with the beginning: Utsu (vacuum) hi (activity of the soul) making Utsuroi
(change). Two important themes are present in Utsuroi, which is related
conceptually to Himorogi — the exact moment when the Kami inhabited
the void as well as changes in nature over time. Time and nature are closely
associated in Japan. The Japanese visual metaphors, as one would

expect, diflFer in many ways in the context of Utsuroi. Mind, trees, and
grasses are symbolic of growth and change. Wilting leaves and flowers are
also deeply significant. In the West the season predominates in our imageiy
of time. In Japan it is what happens during these seasons that symbolizes
time. Again, there is a shift from the larger picture to the specifics that
reinforce patterns mentioned earlier. The effect of the ties to nature cannot
be overstated. Everything in nature reminds people of time. Waves and
currents in the ocean with their constant motion are symbolic of eternity.

Utsushimi stands for the physical projected into reality and Utsushimi MA
is the place where life is Hved—the house or home. The home is a small
model of the universe incorporating altars and places for Buddha and other
Gods. Utsushimi relates to Utsuroi and Suki and also note the absence of
clear-cut categories of the type found in the West.

Sabi —like Utsuroi and Himorogi —evokes images of "the precise

moment," but it includes something else, another inevitable force in life: the
process of death, decay, and the life cycle. Sabi is the thought that
everything passes through stages, from birth to decay. Sabi invokes feelings
of dissolution and approaching extinction. One is reminded here that time is
tied to the processes of nature and that the phase referred to is the final
phase in a long process.

Susabi MA referred originally to the playing of games by the Kami. There

is something whimsical in Susabi, something more than paradoxical. One
gets an impression of the craziness of it all—violating all the rules of
aesthetics—big buildings on spaces that are too small; kitsch; calligraphy
plastered all over every-thinf^; and a general lack of congruence. Susabi
may be the symbol of modem times. If so, we could use a similar metaphor
in the West.

Michiyuki MA deals with pauses—pauses and stops on journeys. For

example, the road from Kyoto to Toyko had fifty-three way stations. Each
station was chosen because it showed the traveler a particulai^ly beautiful
view or noteworthy feature of the landscape. Similarly, the traditional
Japanese garden frequently has stepping-stones which are so arranged that
one has to stop and look down and then look up again and in doing so

one sees a different perspective for each step. Michiyuki has elements of the
schedule in it, except that the intervals are never the same. They are,
however, preprogrammed.

Reading the above, I am reminded that there is no way to adequately

translate from one world view to the other without a deeper knowledge of
human nature. I sincerely believe that there are bridges (hashi) but that the
foundations of these bridges lie deep within us at a level that the average
person has yet to explore. This generalization applies to both the East and
the West, though the East is more accustomed to thinking about this sort of
thing.

If a Westerner could understand MA, it would give him some feeling for the
inner experience of time in Japan. One should keep in mind several
reservations. The Japanese live in two worlds, and since the worlds exist
side by side, like electrons changing orbits around the nucleus of an atom,
they shift from one to the other literally from moment to moment. The two
worlds are, of course, the traditional and the modem. The modem is
suffused with much of the West, but this can be deceptive because one can
never tell exactly where one is.

This matter of shifting from one world to the next is paralleled in the daily
relations between people who move between the world of the formal public
self (tatemae) and the private self (honne). One world is formally ritualistic
and preoccupied with status, the other is informal, warm, close, friendly,
and egalitarian. A measure of how one progresses in a relationship is how
the transitions between the public and private definition of the situations are
handled. A study of the informal timing rules of these transformations
should prove highly enlightening. There is undoubtedly a timetable or,
rather, a number of timetables, each of which has its meaning.

That Japanese culture consists of many transformations should be fairly

obvious by now. Learning to live with things is an important and respected
attribute of the Japanese. In the West, there are significant parts of life that
until now have been highly resistant to change. And even though the nature
of sexual relationships and marriage and living arrangements between the
sexes have changed greatly in recent years, tliere are certain aspects of our
culture that do not seem to be changing, such as

our highly centralized way of making decisions, our use of negotiation as a

way of accomplishing changed relationships, and the basic structure of our
time system.

A recent characteristic of commercial, social, and academic life that does

not augur well for stability in our culture is the extremely "trendy" nature of
our society. The fact that something is new means more to us than anything.
Apart from antiques, which are in a special category, that something or
someone is old evokes images of the scrap heap regardless of how much
inherent value remains. All of this is consistent with the extremely short-
range schedules in our lives today, in business as well as in planning. The
Japanese are also bitten by this bug: "We must be up to date and must have
the newest."

If there is a single important deep difference between the way the Japanese
and the AE cultures treat time, it is that time is imposed from the outside by
Westerners. And even though schedules and values like promptness are
internalized, our basic system has its origins outside the individual. In
Japan, the reverse is true. Time starts inside the individual. While tight
scheduling in Japan is virtually the first impression foreign business visitors
receive, I can't help feeling that what we see is an artifact of our own
Western civilization—a technical caricature borrowed to accommodate
Europeans and Americans. Because everything changes with each new
situation, the highly situational side of Japanese culture presents many
puzzles to the foreigner. Everything is difiFerent in a new situation. If there
is one piece of advice I would give Europeans visiting Japan, it would be to
master a few basic situations and stick to those, and when a new one
presents itself, get some help from a skilled intermediary. This is difficult
for Americans and North Europeans, because none of us seems to accept
the need to be coached.

Introduction

1. Leonard Doob, "Time; Cultural and Social Aspects," 1978.

2. E. R. Leach, Rethinking Anthropology, 1961.

3. N. E. Howard, Territory and Bird Life, 1920.

4. Robert Omstein, The Psychology of Consciousness, 1975.

5. Tadanobu Tsunoda, Nihon-jin No No — The Japanese Brain, 1978.

Chapter 1

1. E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer, 1940.

2. Frank A. Brown, "Living Clocks," 1959; W. S. Condon, "Neonatal

Entrainment and Enculturation," 1979; Albert Einstein, Relativity: The
Special and General Theory, 1920.

3. Ruth Benedict, Zuni Mythology, 1969.

4. J. B. Priestley, Man and Time, 1964; Leo W. Simmons, Sun Chief, 1942;
D. R. Sol, "Timers in Developing Systems," 1979.
5. Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, 1959; Julius Eraser, ed.. The
Voices of Time, 1965; Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1977; Paul T.
Libassi, "Biorhythms: The Big Beat," 1974.

Chapter 2

1. Shoseki was an early 2^n master known to Zen scholars, and is

mentioned in Karlfried Graf von Diirckheim's Hara: The Vital Center of
Man, 1962.

2. In the 1930s, women's rights had not been raised as an issue, either in the
United States generally or with the Navajo. Only "heads of households," as
defined by the Federal Government, were employed.

3. Benjamin Lee Whorf, Language, Thought, and Reality, 1956.

4. Harold S. Colton, Hopi Kachina Dolls, 1949; Edward H. Ken-nard, Hopi

Kachinas, 1938. The Hopi Kachina dolls are better known to the average
white than the dancers on which they are modeled. The dolls are small
replicas of the dancers.

5. Edward H. Kennard, Hopi Kachinas, 1938.

6. Leo W. Simmons, ed.. Sun Chief, 1942.

7. Fred Kabotie, Fred Kabotie, Hopi Indian Artist, 1977.

Chapter 3

1. Beyond Culture by Edward T. Hall, 1976 (pp. 17-20, 150-51, Anchor

Press/Doubleday), also discusses these two time systems.

2. The exceptions are the large and important minorities who trace their
origins to Spain (Spanish Americans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Hispanos
from Mexico, as well as other parts of Latin America). The P-pattem tends
to be associated with binding family ties, with large groups of relatives. One
wonders if it is not an artifact of informal culture in such a situation as that
of almost a hundred relatives arriving without notice or on very short notice
and making demands. The Jews, the Arabs, and the Spanish share close
family ties and extensive networks of friends as a cultural characteristic,
and, though there are exceptions, all tend to be polychronic.

3. Chapter 4 is devoted to context.

4. Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976. Chapter 15 is devoted to the

important subject of identification.

5. To complicate this particular conversation, the Japanese people do not

like to say no and have therefore developed an incredible assortment of
excuses which have the same effect. I knew that it sounded as though I was
saying no in a rovmdabout way just to save his face; however, this was not
the case. I really don't have any control over foreign publication of my
books.

Chapter 4

1. Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976.

2. Some of what follows was given as a talk by the author to the BDW
Deutscher Kommunikationsverband in Bonn during the spring of 1980.

3. See Paul D. MacLean, 1965, for an exciting, promising new approach to

the brain which explains much of human behavior.

4. The fast and slow message continuum as described here is a somewhat

revised version of that appearing in Edward T. Hall, The Silent Language,
1959.

5. Michael Korda, Power, 1975, and Success, 1977.

6. PBS Television, Leonard Bernstein's introductory remarks to Beethoven's

6th Symphony, Vienna, Austria, February 28, 1982.

7. Reported in the Washington Post, column by Judy Mann, June 10, 1981.

8. See Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension, 1966, for more on the subtle
effects of space on human behavior.
9. High-rise public housing in the United States has proved disastrous in its
consequences. The Cabrini-Green housing project in Chicago and the
Oliver Wendell Pruitt Igoe public housing project in St. Louis, Missouri—to
name only two—were such disasters that no major high-rise, low-cost
public housing has been built in the United States for over twenty years. Yet
the homogeneous, disciplined Chinese in Hong Kong have used high-rise
public housing with great success. In London, the history of high-rises is
mixed. My friend and colleague Erno Goldfinger, architect and designer,
says that when stable, homogeneous Cockjiey neighborhoods are put under
one roof in a high-rise apartment, things go very well. It is only when
mixed neighborhoods of recent aiTivals to London from elsewhere in the
British Isles are located under that same roof that real trouble can brew.
Educators even have a percentage point beyond which the character of a
classroom changes completely. The proportion quoted is 1:3. When one
third or more of any group is injected into a homogeneous situation, the
situation is likely to become unstable. The matter of homogeneity and
heterogeneity is a volatile and complex subject that will be explored more
fully at a later date. There is nothing wrong with either, provided enough is
known before hand to take advantage of the positive aspects and to avoid
the negative ones.

10. In the context of AE societies, marginal families, regardless of ethnicity,

seem to have in common an almost total lack of "planning."

Monochronic planning on their part is usually either nonexistent or very

short-range. Most live at the very edge of survival in situations that can
only be characterized as precarious. This is not only wasteful, but it means
that both the time pattern and the ways of integrating with the larger society
are not used. To fail to take this time pattern into account in social welfare
programs is inhumane and costly, and it condemns the recipients to eternal
poverty and marginality.

11. This school was run on the principle that unless you treat the entire
family, it does little good to treat the child. This rule applies to virtually any
polychronic family.

12. The author is indebted to Dr. Gabrielle Palmer for her account of
Ecuadorian time summarized here.
13. If you can depend on someone not to steal and do not lock things up, he
has internalized social controls; if, however, you must depend on the locks
to keep him "honest," the controls are external.

14. CII (Colonial Iberian-Indian). Colonial Central and South America were
colonized by Spain and Portugal. The combination— sixteenth-century
Iberian Peninsula and indigenous Indians—has produced a cluster of
national cultures that, while very different from each other, share basic
communication systems: the Spanish and Portuguese languages, as well as
temporal, spatial, and other PL systems. The CII designation is used as a
convenience.

Chapter 5

1. E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer, 1940.

2. Paul Bohannan, "Concepts of Time Among the Tiv of Nigeria," 1953-

3. There are, of course, categories of activities in AE cultures which can be

interrupted with greater ease and less affront than others. There is no
apparent logic to these categories. If someone is simply sitting and thinking,
people will intemjpt without hesitation (he isn't doing anything!). If
someone is reading or writing letters, being waited on in a store, or even
talking to someone else, he is apt to be interrupted. To forestall interruption,
a show of importance in status or activity must be established, i.e., unusual
importance.

4. The Quiche material in this chapter is based almost entirely on Dr.

Tedlock's work. Dr. Tedlock spent three periods of fieldwork from 1975 to
1979 in the Guatemala highland village of Momostenago. The
interpretations of Quiche culture in contrast to American culture are my
own, although I have discussed them with Dr. Tedlock. The

reader who wishes to know more should go direcdy to her book. Time and
the Highland Maya, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, N.M.,
1981. It is the only source I know of impeccable scholarship that still
describes what the people actually did as contrasted with what they told
others, who simply sat by and either watched or else just took notes. Having
learned and practiced Quiche daykeeping (divination), she put herself in the
insider's position, looking outward, rather than in the more conventional
position of the outsider looking in.

5. Americans, even though they keep massive records, are seldom at ease
with their past. On the personal level, they either: 1) try to discard it, cf. the
bom-again syndrome; 2) take an infantile approach and wallow in it,
blaming their parents for all the bad things in their lives without doing
anything; 3) deny it; or 4) romanticize it and reify it, as in the South.

Chapter 6

1. In a sense, much of my own work over the years is closer to the Zen
model than it is to the Newtonian model that lies behind much of today's
social science. Nevertheless, since I was reared as a Westerner, it is
inevitable that I approach virtually everything from the Western point of
view.

2. Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, 1946; Karl-fried

Graf von Diirckheim, Hara: The Vital Center of Man, 1962; Erich Fromm,
D. T. Suziiki, and others, Zen Buddhism and Psycho-arudysis, i960; Frank
Gibney, Japan, the Fragile Superpower, 1979; Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the
Art of Archery, 1971; Hidetoshi Kato, "Mutual Images: Japan and the
United States Look at Each Other," 1974; Fosco Maraini, Japan: Patterns of
Continuity, 1979; M. Matsu-moto, "Haragei" (ms.), 1981; D. T. Suzuki, Zen
and Japanese Culture, 1959; Ezra F. Vogel, Japan as Number 1, 1979.

3. D. T. Suzuki, Zen Buddhism, 1956; Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the Art of

Archery, 1971; and others too numerous to mention.

4. Eugen Herrigel, op. cit., and Edward T. Hall, The Silent Language, 1959.

5. Eugen Herrigel, op. cit.

6. Robert Omstein, The Psychology of Conciousness, 1975.

7. Low context communications are those in which the text is detailed,

leaving very little for the imagination. See chapter 4.
8. Leo W. Simmons, Sun Chief, 1942.

9. Most of the martial arts are just that: arts. The swordsman and the
cvrcher are on the same level as practitioners of Zen, as the philosopher and
the priest. In all classes there are masters.

10. M. Matsumoto, "Haragei" (ms.), 1981.

11. Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension, 1966.

12. Japan is a society of obligations, such as on, the obligation to the

Emperor and one's teachers or lords. On can never be repaid. Reciprocal
obligations— gimu and giri —can be repaid but are different from one
another. Gimu has no time limit and no matter how much one repays a favor
or a grant, the obligation will still remain in part. Giri, on the other hand,
can be paid in full, and there are time limits. Giri is a way of living and
doing one's job. See Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword,
1946.

Chapter 7

1. Chapters 9 and 10 are devoted to rhythm and entrainment.

2. See Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension, 1966, for a more detailed
discussion of the central point or place in French culture.

3. It is important to mention that the procedures governing fiscal reporting

are not widely known outside of financial circles. Talking to my friend
Lawrence Wylie, Douglas Dillon Professor of French Civilization at Hai-
vard, I learned that in spite of his years of experience in France this pattern
was unknown to him, just as it would be unknown to the average American
professor if the situation were reversed. It would be logical to assume,
however, that a pattern such as this, on which so much depends, would crop
up elsewhere in French culture. And while there are similar occurrences in
the United States, it is considered very "dirty pool," otherwise why the
outrage on the part of Americans when confronted with the "turn back the
clock" syndrome in France?
4. The role of single-issue politics in the United States has become so
prominent in recent years that it can no longer be ignored. Single-issue
politics is the ultimate in absurdity as far as the general welfare of the
country is concerned. If our country were a little higher on the context
scale, this sort of tiling would not be an issue. The question is, will single
interests ultimately so weaken the nation that it carmot survive?

5. Open and closed score is a process described earlier (Lawrence Halprin,

The R.S.V.P. Cycles, 1970; Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976) in
which two different strategies produce different performances.

A "score" (taken from music) can be anything from a shopping list to the
program for placing a man on the moon. A closed score strategy succeeds if
the performance follows the score and attains its stated goals, e.g., landing a
man on the moon. An open score fails if nothing new is added. Music can
be either, as a traditional form (classical—closed; jazz—open); individual
musicians can violate tradition and assume either approach. Virtually
anything that people do can be characterized as one or the other.

6. See Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976, chapters 6, 7, and 8, for more
on strategies of contexting.

7. For a description of fonnal, informal, and technical modes see my book

The Silent Language, 1959.

8. John F. Berry, articles in the Washington Post, May 29 and June 3, 1981.

Chapter 8

1. Homo neanderthalensis —the precursor of modem man—(70,000—

37,000 B.C.) "used symbols, used red ochre, had ritual burials (even with
flowers) . . ." (Alexander Marschack, "Ice Age Art," 1981), all strong
indications of a belief in a hereafter as well as the beginnings of religion.

2. Alexander Marschack, The Roots of Civilization, 1972.

3. The topic of extensions was discussed at length in my book Beyond

Culture, 1976.
4. A work in progress is devoted to this extraordinary subject.

5. Alfred Korzybski, Science and Sanity, 1948.

6. The earliest recognition of this process is in the Bible, when the Israelites
were told not to worship idols.

7. Margaret Church, Tijne and Reality: Studies in Contemporary Fiction,

1963. (This is one example.)

8. Washington Post Magazine, November 9, 1980, article by Walter

Shapiro.

9. Stanley L. Englebardt, "The Marvels of Microsurgery," 1980.

10. This topic is discussed under imagery in Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976.

11. Paul Pietsch, Shufflebrain, 1981; Karl H. Pribram, Languages of the

Brain, 1971.

12. The brain is an extraordinary organ in which all of the parts interact. For
a brief sunmiary, see chapter 12 of Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976.

13. Edward T. Hall, The Silent Language, 1959. This is also the sort of
difference between families of cultures that lends itself to rigorous testing.

14. Maria W. Piers, Erickson Institute Outrider, #18, Fall 1980.

15. Jean Piaget, Time Perception in the Child, 1981.

16. Franklin P. Kilpatrick. See notes 22 and 28 below, also my books The
Hidden Dimension and Beyond Culture.

17. Jean Piaget, The Child's Conception of Time, 1969.

18. Jean Piaget, The ChikTs Conception of Space, 1956.

19. Patricia Carrington's Freedom in Meditation, Anchor Books/

Doubleday, 1977, is one of the most balanced and scholarly of the
numerous reports on this subject.

20. Keith Floyd, "Of Time and Mind: from Paradox to Paradigm," 1974-

21. Note that the inherent logic of the central nervous system is not the
same as Aristotelian logic. Inherent logic is somewhat like the logic of
topology. It is a logic of relationships in which forms may change but
relationships remain constant.

22. The totality of transactional psychology is devoted to this process. See

Franklin P. Kilpatrick, ed.. Explorations in Transactional Psychology, 1961.

23. Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, 1976.

24. There are many types of schizophrenia, and this example describes part
of the symptomatology of only one type. However, this type is not unique
to the United States. In a series of interviews with Dr. Paul Sivadon, a
Belgian psychiatrist practicing in France who specializes in a sort of total
environment therapy, I learned that the symptoms described were well
known to him and sufficiently common for him to develop a unique way of
treating them. He simply gave the patients more room than they could
possibly fill.

25. Alton De Long, "The Use of Scale Models in Spatial-Behavioral

Research," 1976; "Spatial Scale and Perceived Time-Frames," n.d.; with J.
F. Lubar, "Scale and Neurological Function," 1978.

26. These results are entirely consistent with Keith Floyd's (op. cit.)
conclusions based on brain-wave studies of meditating patients. In fact,
Floyd states: ". . . what we think of as time is merely a function of one's
basal brain wave rates, a convenient and fascinating fabrication of the
conscious mind."

27. Alton De Long, op. cit.: 125, 190, 38, and 96 subjects were used, i.e.,
125 subjects for the 144 environment, 190 for the ^2 environment, and so
on. Each scale was represented by a number of settings: waiting rooms,
living rooms, reception areas, etc.
28. Alton De Long discovered that judgment of time—as one "would
expect—is independent of the higher cortical functions and that if his
subjects tried to judge time intellectually the whole experiment was
invalidated. Which points up some of the complexities of research of this
sort. Some procedures work veiy well with the higher centers of the brain,
others, like space perception, do not. In fact, Kilpatrick et al. (1961)
demonstrated that the highly integrated processes of space perception are
independent of conscious cortical functions: that intellectual knowledge that
a room was distorted had no effect at all on how the room was perceived.
Anxiety, however, was a different story. Aiixious subjects held on to their
perceptual distortions longer than normal subjects. Note that all
"experienced" measured times are related to 30-minute base lines. For the
^/(o environment, the mean elapsed time (judged as 30 minutes) was 2.44
minutes or ^2.29- That is, they are ^^loo^^s of 1 percent out of agreement
or about ^^ of a percentage point. The ^4 scale yielded an elapsed time of
1.36 minutes (^2 instead of ^4). For the i/f, scale, the elapsed time was 5.01
minutes (V^..)9 instead of %) or a deviation of ^ q of 1 percent. For the
statistically inclined, De Long reports significance at p .0005 level.

29. Gannett News Service reporter Dave Schultz, writing about the 1980
Winter Olympics (dateline Lake Placid, New York), describes at some
length how Debbie Genovese—No. 1 woman on the U.S. luge team—goes
through a process she calls "pre-visualization": "You close your eyes and
think about every inch of the course and what you are going to do . . . You
think about the start and each curve, where you are going to enter a curve,
where you will leave the curve. You run the race in your mind all the way to
the bottom of the hill. It should take you as long to think your way through
the race as it will to run the race . . . It's amazingly accurate."

Chapter 9

1. Rhythm will, I believe, soon be proved to be the ultimate dynamic

building block in not only personality but also communication and health.

2. Proxemics is the study of man's use of space (including his distancing

and territorial habits) as a special elaboration of culture. Proxemic
observations range from those of how people set and respond to personal
distances as well as the layout of houses and towns as these are dictated by
cultviral considerations. See the Glossary of this book and Hall, 1963, 1964,
and 1974.

3. There is now a Society for the Anthropology of Visual Communication

which constitutes a subfield of anthropology.

4. This research was funded by a grant from the National Institute for
Mental Health.

5. John Collier, Alaskan Eskimo Education, 1973, and Visual

Anthropology, 1967.

6. Because of the way in which my research was organized, it was not

possible to replicate the university conditions that were more controlled.
The test results were close enough, however, to satisfy my needs at the
time. Also, the results were consistent with everything else I knew about the
two groups.

7. "CBS Reports," January 29, 1981; a one-hour special on Japanese

automobile manufacturers.

8. George Leonard, The Silent Pulse, 1981.

9. George Leonard, op. cit, 1981.

10. William S. Condon, "Neonatal Entrainment and Enculturation," 1979;

William S. Condon and L. W. Sander, "Synchrony Demonstrated Between
Movements of the Neonate and Adult Speech," 1974.

11. R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World, 1977.

12. Baj-bara Tedlock, "Songs of the Zuni Katchina Society: Composition,

Rehearsal, and Performance," 1980.

13. Norbert Wiener, Cybernetics, 1948.

Chapter 10
1. While synchrony and entrainment appear to mean the same thing, they
focus on different aspects of the same process. Synchrony is the manifest
observable phenomena; entrainment refers to the internal processes that
make this possible, i.e., the two nervous systems "drive each other."

2. Joseph McDowell (1978) made an abortive attempt to replicate Condon's

work. If he had done what Condon did and used the same equipment, this
might have been possible, but he didn't. For a more complete statement
concerning why McDowell failed either to test Condon's assumptions or to
replicate his research, see J. B. Gatewood and B. Rosenwein, 1981.

3. William S. Condon, "An Analysis of Behavioral Organization," in Sign

Language Studies, 13, 1978.

4. Aberrations in self-synchrony can be seen in stuttering, strokes,

Parkinson's disease, many forms of "clumsiness," or when people move in
an awkward manner.

5. Gay G. Luce and Julius Segal, Sleep, 1966.

6. In addition to the example given, Condon, using an oscilloscope, has

studied 242 utterances, 365 consecutive words, and 1,055 consecutive
phone types with the same results.

7. William S. Condon, "Method of Micro-Analysis of Sound Films of

Behavior," 1970; William S. Condon and W. D. Ogston, "Speech and Body
Motion Synchrony of Speaker-Hearer," 1971.

8. Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension, 1966.

9. William S. Condon, personal communication, 1979.

10. William S. Condon, pereonal commumcation.

11. The amount of time depends on the situation and the context. As yet, no
one has spelled out the rules. If Mother says she's going to spank Johnny if
he comes in one more time with muddy feet, and fails to do so within the
half hour of the time she discovers mud in the living room, the chances are
she won't spank him at all. If the school principal says that he is going to
give a prize of one hundred dollars to the most creative science project and
hasn't done so thirty days after the science fair, the chances are he doesn't
intend to give the prize. As a general rule, the more that is involved, the
more time is allowed before you must act.

12. William S. Condon, "Neonatal Entrainment and Enculturation,"

1979-

13. Edward T. Hall, The Silent Language, 1959.

14. Carl Gustav Jung, "Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle,"

in The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, second edition, 1969;
Memories, Dreams, Reflections, revised edition, 1973.

15. Carl Gustav Jung, op. cit., 1973, p. 300.

16. Eliot Chappie, Culture and Biological Man, 1970.

Chapter 11

1. Time, May 4, 1981, "The Money Chasers."

2. Margaret Mead, New Lives for Old: Cultural Transformation — Manus,

1928-1953, 1956.

3. I. I. Rabi, "Introduction," Time, 1966.

4. Carlos Fuentes, Honnold Lecture, Knox College, Galesburg, 111., 1981.

5. Alexander Marschack, The Roots of Civilization, 1972.

6. Gerald S. Hawkins, Stonehenge Decoded, 1965.

7. E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer, 1940; Paul Bohannan, "Concepts of

Time Among the Tiv of Nigeria," 1953.
8. Edward T. Hall, The Silent Language, 1959; Benjamin Lee Whorf,
Language, Thought, and Reality, 1956.

9. William S. Condon's magnum opus is still in preparation. The reader is

referred instead to the bibliography of this volume as a beginning.

10. John Collier, Alaskan Eskimo Education, 1973; Visual Anthropology,

1967.

11. As superintendent of the Sioux Indians, Reifel issued strict instructions

that no school bus or any other bus on the reservation was to wait for any
Indian. School clocks were repaired and synchronized and schools were run
on a strict schedule. Reifel knew that it was better for his tribesmen to miss
the bus on the reservation than to miss the job in the white man's town.

12. Richard Rodriguez, Hunger of Memory, 1982.

Appendix II

1. The Cooper-Hewitt exhibition devoted to MA (Japanese time-space) was

a variation of Arata Isozaki and his collaborator's Paris exhibition, timed to
coincide with the "Jap^n Today" celebration in the late 1970s.

2. General Alexander Haig, President Ronald Reagan's former Secretary of

State, caused considerable flurry of comment in the media in October and
November 1981 because of personality traits that made him appear
ultrasensitive and difficult to deal with. It was at this time that the term
"window of vulnerability" was used.

GLOSSARY

Action Chain. A term borrowed from the field of animal behavior to

describe an interactional process in which one action releases another in a
uniform patterned way. Courtship is a rather complex example. Making a
date or inviting someone to dinner would be another. The point is that the
two parties play difierent roles which are interdependent: A. invites B., who
must then respond until the paradigm is played out. If the chain is broken at
any point, it must begin all over again. Life is full of action chains. In fact,
they have not been cataloged, nor has a preliminary list been made even for
a single culture. The crucial part as far as humans are concerned is that die
steps and stages are unique for each culture (Hall, 1976).

Adumbration. The term adumbration is borrowed from literature and means

to foreshadow. Adumbrative processes are related to action chains, except
that there is an escalation of intensity and specificity of the message as well
as the fact that in an adumbrative situation the individual (or group) will
stop the escalation process and select one of a number of action chains
which are in the inventory of the culture. Diplomacy in its classical form is
the science of reading adumbrative behavior. By the time the public is
involved in the process the adumbrative paradigm has progressed a long
way—sometimes as far as war. Successful adumbrative practitioners are
skillful at getting their message across before "face" and ego become
involved. Adumbra-

tions begin at the very high context end of the scale and drop in context
(become more explicit) with each step. Adumbrations, like action chains,
are culture specific.

AE Peoples. American-European. Current usage to distinguish a cluster of

cultural and other traits of AE peoples from Africa, Asia, the subcontinent
of India, and native peoples indigenous to North and South America.

Basic Culture. See Primary Level Culture.

CII Peoples. Colonial-Iberian-Indian. People originally from Spain and

Portugal who migrated to the New World and in many cases mixed with the
indigenous populations.

Context, High and Low. High context or low context refers to the amount of
information that is in a given communication as a function of the context in
which it occurs. A highly contexted communication is one in which most of
the meaning is in the context while very little is in the transmitted message.
A low context communication is similar to interacting with a computer—if
the information is not explicitly stated, and the program followed
religiously, the meaning is distorted. In the Western world, the law is low
context, in comparisoji with daily transactions of an informal nature. People
who know each other over a long period of years will tend to use high
context communication.

OceanofPDF.com
Enculturation. The process of learning a culture is called encultura-tion.
The enculturation process usually progresses in stages; six-year-olds are
more enculturated than three-year-olds, teenagers have almost completed
the process and in many cases are under the impression that they have,
which can be a source of tension between them and fully enculturated
individuals. There are times when the term is confused with acculturation,
which is the process involving an entire group such as Native Americans,
some of whom are so acculturated that it is impossible to distinguish them
from any other members of the dominant society.

Entrainment. Entrainment can be observed in the physical as well as the

organic world. Fireflies have a tendency toward entrainment, which can be
observed as they blink in unison. Electronic oscillators wUl, if their
frequencies are close enough, entrain with the fastest frequency, while
pendulum clocks running side by side will entrain if the pendula are the
same length. Most people are familiar with the high school experiment in
which two tuning forks of the same size will drive each other—that's
entrainment. William Condon settled on this term to describe a process that
makes syncing possible, wherein

one central nervous system drives another, or two central nervous systems
drive each other. (See chapter lo.)

Extension Transference. ET is a process whereby an activity or product that

is the result of the externalizing—extension—process (Hall, 1959) is
confused with the basic or underlying process that has been extended. A
classic example is the written form of the language which is commonly
treated as the language (Hall, 1976). That is, the map is not the teirain.

Kinesics. The study of body motion as a communicative process (either

conscious or unconscious but frequently unconscious). Raymond
Birdwhistell originated the terms to distinguish his field from the study of
simple gestures. Kinesics is the technical, and correct, term for body
language.

Monochrome and Polychrome Time. M-time and P-time designate two

mutually exclusive kinds of time. M-time is one-thing-at-a-time, following
a linear form so familiar in the West. P-time is polychronic, that is, many-
things-at-a-time. Schedules are handled quite differently; in fact, there are
times when it is difficult to determine whether a schedule exists or not. P-
time is common in Mediterranean and CII cultures.

Open and Closed Score. See Halprin, 1970. A score is a paradigm— a plan
or a set of rules or procedures for accomplishing a task. A simple shopping
list is a score, as is a computer program, or an agenda. A closed score is like
a computer program—very tightly planned. You succeed if you achieve
your objective in the manner specified in advance. Most research is closed
score. An open score is just the opposite—you fail if you achieve what you
set out to do in the way in which you originally planned. Open scores are
spontaneous. The most creative research and practically all scientific
breakthroughs are open score, at least in the initial phases. If, when using an
open score, nothing new has been introduced, one fails. Closed scores are
carefully programmed; open scores are spontaneous, intuitive, and
innovative (Hall, 1976).

Primary Level Culture. There are at least three readily identifiable levels of
culture: primary, secondary, and explicit or manifest. Basic primary level
culture—BPL culture—is that variety of culture in which the rules are:
known to all, obeyed by all, but seldom if ever stated. Its rules are implicit,
taken for granted, almost impossible for the average person to state as a
system, and generally out of awareness. Secondary level culture, though in
full awareness, is normally

hidden from outsiders. Secondary level culture is as regular and binding as

any other level of culture, possibly even more so. It is that level of culture
which the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico keep from white people. But it
can also be the special culture of virtually any group or society. Tertiary or
explicit, manifest culture is what we all see and share in each other. It is the
fagade presented to the world at large. Because it is so easily manipulated,
it is the least stable and least dependable for purposes of decision making.
Most social science and political science these days is directed at strategies
for penetrating the screen separating manifest culture from secondary level
culture.
Frnxemics. Proxemics is the study of people's use of space as a function of
culture. That is, the effect of culture on the structuring and use of space.
Personal distancing and the unstated rules for laying out houses and towns.
(See Hall, 1966.)

Releaser. The concept of releasers is intimately tied up with communication

theory as it applies to culture. Implicit in the work of Charles Hockett (1958
and 1964), the releaser theory fits well into the high and low context
paradigm. As the context lowers and communication becomes increasingly
technical—and lengthy—the releasers become more complex. While many
releasers are linguistic in nature, they are not restricted to language. In fact,
they make the whole process of communication conform to what is known
of culture so that it is possible to consider language and culture as
components of the same process. The point about the releaser theory of
communication is that the releaser is just that: language releases a response
that is already programmed (either genetically or through learning) in the
other party. When it comes to communication, there is no such thing as a
tabula rasa as far as the human species is concerned.

Right Brain, Left Brain. A concept popularized by Robert Omstein and

others concerning a specialized, differentiated function of the right and left
hemispheres of the cerebral cortex. In general, in the Western world, the left
hemisphere is word- and numbers-oriented, and more linear than the right
hemisphere, which is holistic and spatial in its organization. There is some
indication that the Japanese do not divide the functions of the two
hemispheres in the same way that we do in the West.

Society or Social Organization. Used technically in this sense to designate

the institutions or the manner in which they are organized, or structured, as
contrasted with the culture. The distinction may be an artifact of our own
culture in America since the British anthropologists use society in a way
that is similar to the way Americans refer

to culture. I think of American society or the American social system as

comparable to an organization chart, whereas culture is more closely related
to what the people in that organization do when they perform their
functions. The distinction may in the long run turn out to be a convention or
merely a convenience.
Surface, Explicit, or Manifest Culture. See Primary Level Culture.

Syncing or In Sync. The term "in sync" came out of the need to synchronize
the sound track of a cinema wdth the pictures—^hence the term "sync
sound." In recent years, due to the research of men like Condon and
Birdwhistell which demonstrates that human beings synchronize with each
other just as precisely as the sound technician synchronizes his sound track
with a film, this feature of human behavior has been referred to as syncing,
or to be in sync.

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Action chain: defined, 209

Adumbration, 158, 169; defined, 209-210

American-European (AE) culture (The West), 24, 42, 49, 100-13, 143, 176-
86, 194-95, 200 n.; artists, contrasted to Japanese, 92-94; business practices,
61-62, 71, 102-104, 107-8, 150; calendar contrasted with Quiche, 77-79;
closure, 31; concept of time, contrasted to Quiche, 76-80, 81-82; contrasted
to Japanese culture, 85-99; conversational distance, 140-141; defined, 210;
drive to proselytize, 80; duality, 124; fast and slow messages, 60-61;
feedback rhythm compared to Spanish, 159-60; languages and time, 35;
law, 63, 169, 179; marriage, 37; preoccupation with variable time, 119-23;
rhythm system compared to Native American, 169-71; routines, 75;
symbolic meaning of time, 68-6g; thinking contrasted to Zen Buddhist, 91-
92; time compression and time expansion, 125-26; view

of archery, contrasted to Japanese, 90-91; view of past and future, 130, 183,
201 n.; waiting, 122. See also French, German, Japanese cultures,
Monochronic time, Women

American Indians (Native Americans), 25, 41, 42, 80-81, 142, 157, 167-68,
171, 172. See also Hopi, Navajo, Pueblo Indians, Santo Domingo Pueblo,
Shoshone, Taos Pueblo, Zufii Pueblo

Arab cultures, 42, 44, 46, 123. See also Polychronic time

Archery, 90-91

Art, 92-94. See also American-European culture, Zen Buddhism

Astrology, 78

Athletes, 127, 139, 152-53, 205 n.

Bateson, Gregory, 163

Beethoven, Ludwig van, 63, 128-29, 199 n.

Benedict, Ruth: The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, 85, 197 n., 201 n., 202
n.; Zuni Mythology, 20, 197 n.

INDEX
Bergson, Henri, 123

Bernstein, Leonard, 63, 199 n.

Berry, John F.: articles in the Washington Post, 203 n.

Beyond Culture, 83, 105-6, 154, 158, 197 n., 198 n., 199 n., 203 n., 204 n.

Biological clocks, 7, 14, 17, 19, 121, 175, 184. See also Time

Birdvvhistell, Raymond, 163, 213, 215

Black American culture, 147, 157, 168-69, 171- See also Rhythm,
Synchrony

Bohannan, Paul: "Concepts of Time Among the Tiv of Nigeria," 5, 74-75,

200 n., 207 n.

Bowles, Gordon, 151

Boyd, Doug: Rolling Thunder, 170-171

Brain, 59, 128, 137, 164-65, 203 n., 204 n., 205 n.; left brain, right brain
functions, 49, 56, 90, 92, 168, 212; speech and wave frequencies, Condon's
research, 164-166. See also Rhythm

Brazelton, Bany, 162

Brazil, 71

Bronze Age, 119, 184

Brown, Frank A.: "Living Clocks," 18-19,197 n-

Bureaucracy, 29, 44, 46-47, 48, 70— 72, 101-2, 108

Business practices, 50, 61-62, 96-98, 99, 102-13, 150, 178-81. See also
American-European, French, German, Japanese cultures
Capitalism, 8

Capra, Fritjof: The Tao of Physics, 8

Carrington, Patricia: Freedom in

Meditation, 204 n. "CBS Reports," 206 n. Central nervous system, 128, 136
—37,

149, 166, 204 n. Ceremony, 96-97. See aho Japanese

culture Chappie, Eliot, 175, 207 n. Chemistry, 104-5 Church, Margaret:

Time and Reality:

Studies in Contemporary Fiction,

203 n. Churchill, Winston, 73

Collective unconscious, 175

Collier, John: Commissioner of Indian Affairs, 28

Collier, John Jr.: film researcher, 143-44, 184-85, 206 n., 208 n.

Colonial-Iberian-Indian time (culture), 67-68, 70, 71, 72, 200 n. and 210
(defined). See also Poly-chronic time

Colonialism, 32

Colton, Harold: Hopi Kachina Dolls, 198 n.

Communication, 4, 55-72, 86, 95, 212; informal culture and, 177-78;

strategies, 57-59; verbal and nonverbal, 4. See aho Congruence, Conte.xt

Computer, 6; translation, 55-56

Condon, William S., 148-49, 161, 163-66, 184, 197 n., 206 n., 207 n., 208
n., 210, 213. See also Entrain-ment, Synchrony
Congruence, 63

Context, 45, 55-71, 86, 87, 88, 92, 95> 109-12, 132-33, 177-78, 190, 201
n.; contrast in articles in Science magazine, 58; contrast in Mercedes-Benz
and Rolls-Royce advertisements, 58; defined, 210; fast and slow message
continuum, 59-62, 69, 199 n.; French high conte.xt communication, 105;
German low context communication, 106; Quiche high context, 77. See
also American-European, Communication, Computer, German,
Information, Japanese, Pueblo Indians, Zen Buddhism

Controls, external and internal, 67— 68, 70-71, 100 n. See aho Colonial-
Iberian-Indian culture

Cooper-Hewitt Museum, 190, 208 n.

Cowboys: tempo of speech, 39-40

Cro-Magnon man, 117

Culture, 3, 176-86; art and, 94; house type, differences in, 64-65;
ideologically neutral, 182; levels of (informal, technical), 7, 105-7, 176-78;
male and female, differences between, 179-81; primary level (PLC or core
culture), 3,

227

6-7, 8, 14, 23, 34, 61, 64, 68, 72, 80, 85, 90, 100, 105, 132, 155,

158, 176, 190, 211-12 (defined); reaction times, 40; rhythms, 140-160, i6i,
172-74; "time heals" variety, 32-33. See also Arab, American-European,
French, German, Japanese, Latin American, Monochronic time. New
Mexico Spanish, Polychronic time, Synchrony Cybernetics, 158

DATAGRAF, 167

DeLong, Alton: experiments with

time and space, 136-38, 204 n.,

205 n. Democracy, 8

Depression, 49, 122, 133, 134, 154 Descartes, Rene, 132 Dewey, John: Art
as Experience, 151 Doob, Leonard: "Time: Cultural and

Social Aspects," 5, 197 n. Diirckheim, Karlfried Graf von:

Hara: The Vital Centre of Man,

198 n., 201 n.

Ecuadorian patterns of time, 66-67

Ego, 91, 93

Einstein, Albert, 14, 15, 21, 124, 129, 132, 182, 197 n.

Ehade, Mircea: The Sacred and the Profane, 25, 197 n.

Emergency Conservation Work, 33

Enculturation, 210

Englebardt, Stanley L.: "The Marvels of Microsurgery," 203 n.

Enlightermient, 8, 9, 93, 94

Entrainment, 161-62, 166, 167, 171, 173, 206 n.; defined, 210-11;
precognition and, 174-75. See also Rhythm, Synchrony

Eskimos, 143

Ethnicity, 51, 65, 162

Evans, John: son of Mabel Dodge Lujan, 87

Evans-Pritchard, E. E.: The Nuer, 5, 13, 73-74, 197 n., 200 n., 207 n.

Extensions, 119-21, 129

Extension transference, 121, 211

Feedback, 62, 83, 135-36, 158-60 (defined)

Film research, 141-48, 154-55, 164, 166-67; interethnic studies, 142-143;

proxemics, 140-41; nonverbal communication, 144-45, 147; teaching, 145-
47. See also Condon, Music, Synchrony

Flextime, 50

Floyd, Keith: on meditation, 135, 204 n.

Fraser, Juhus (ed.): The Voices of Time, 197 n.

French culture, 61-62, 101-13, 202 n.; authority and control in business,
contrasted to German, 109; bureaucracy, 101-2; business practices, 61-62,
103-4, 104-7; centralization, 102, 108, 109, no, 112; coping with American
culture, 103; decision-making in business, contrasted to German, 109;
image in business, contrasted to German, 110-11; information and strategies
in business, contrasted to German, iio; monochronic and polychronic time,
104-6; personal relationships in business, contrasted to German, 111-112;
propaganda and advertising in business, contrasted to German, 112; role of
press and media, contrasted to German, 112-13; school scheduling, 101. See
abo Culture, Monochronic time. Time

Fromm, Erich, D. T. Suzuki, and others: Zen Buddhism and Psychoanalysis,

201 n.

Fuentes, Carlos: denial of past, 183, 207 n.

Gannett News Service, 205 n.

Gardner, Howard: on Beethoven ancj Mozart, 128-29

German culture, 57-58, 101-13; authority and control in business,

contrasted to French, 109; business practices and structure, 104-107;
decision-making in business, contrasted to French, 109; image

INDEX
Geniian culture ( continued )

in business, contrasted to French, iio-ii; information and strategies in

business, contrasted to French, HO; low context communication, 104;
monochronic time patterns, 104-6; personal relationships in business,
contrasted to French, 111-12; propaganda in advertising, contrasted to
French, 112; role of press and media, contrasted to French, 112-13. See
also, Monochronic time

Gibney, Frank: Japan, The Fragile Superpower, 201 n.

Giri: Japanese concept, 98, 201 n. See also Japanese culture

Haig, Alexander, 192, 208 n.

Halprin, Lawrence: The R.S.Y.P. Cycles, 202 n.

Handbook for Proxemic Research, 167

Hara: Japanese concept, 92, 95. See also Japanese culture

Hawkins, Gerald S.: Stonehenge Decoded, 207 n.

Hennig, Margaret: The Managerial Woman, 179-80

Herrigel, Eugen: Zen in the Art of Archery, 90-91, 201 n.

Hidden Dimension, The, 64, 199 n., 202 n., 204 n., 207 n.

Hoagland, Hudson, 134

Hoffman, Yoel: Every End Exposed: The 100 Perfect Koans of Master
Kido, 87

Honne: Japanese concept, 95-97, 194. See also Japanese culture

Hopi, 5, 27, 92, 191; concept of time and dam building, 29-31; culture in
which time does not heal, 32-33; different from Navajo in relationship to
work, 29-32; kachinas, 36, 198 n.; language influence on concept of time,
34-35; marriage ceremony, 37; need for closure contrasted with American-
European culture, 31; Pueblo Revolt of 1680, 40; religion and time, 36-37,
187; Soyal, 37; waiting.

122; Wowochim, 36-37. See also

Time Howard, N. E.: British ornithologist,

7. 197 n. Hoyle, Fred: astronomer, 21 Hubbell, Lorenzo: trader to the Hopi

and Navajo, 34, 39, 41-42, 44

Identification, 49, 168

Information, 56-58; context and meaning, 56-57. See aha Communication

Japanese culture, 51-52, lOo, 189-195, 198 n., 202 n., 206 n.; ceremony, 96,
192; communication strategies, 58-59; dichotomy between mind and heart,
95-97, 99; experimenting with biorhythms, 19; feedback rhythm, 159;
friendship, 96-97; high context communication, 95-97; honorifics, 159;
influence of house type on family, 64-65; logic of hara, 92; loyalty, 97;
synchrony, 149-50, 151. See also American-European culture, Giri, Hara,
Honne, Koan, Ma, Michi, Monochronic time, Nema-washi, Su/i,
Synchrony, Tatemae, Zen Buddhism

Jardim, Anne: The Managerial Woman, 179-80

Joyce, James, 124

Jung, Carl, 173-75, 207 n.

Kabotie, Fred: Hopi artist, 37, 198 n.

Kachinas, 37, 198 n. See also Hopi

Kafka, Franz, 124

Kant, Immanuel, 132

Kato, Hidetoshi: "Mutual Images: Japan and the United States Look at Each
Other," 201 n.

Kennard, Edward: Hopi Kachinas, 198 n.

Kierkegaard, S0ren, 181

Kilpatrick, Franklin P., 204 n., 205 n.

Kinesics, 141, 163, 211

Koan, 86-87. See also Zen Buddhism

Korda, Michael: Power and Success, 199".

Korzybski, Alfred: Principles of General Semantics, 121, 203 n.

229

Latin American culture, 44, 46. See

also Polychronic time Leach, E. R.: English anthropologist,

5, 197 n. Leonard, George: on rhythm, 150-

151, 153. 166, 206 n. Libassi, Paul T.: "Biorhythms: The

Big Beat," 197 n. Lieberson, Goddard: "They Said It

With Music," 157 Linear logic, 8, 132. See also Piaget Luce, Gay G.: Sleep,
206 n.

Ma: Japanese concept, 86, 92, 189-195, 208 n.; defined and characterized,
189—90; hashi, 191; himorogi, 190—gi; michiyuki, 193-94; sabi, 193;
stiki, 192; susahi, 193; utsuroi, 192-93; utsushimi, 193; yami, 191. See also
Zen Buddhism

McDowell, Joseph, 206 n.

MacLean, Paul D.: on the brain,

1990-McQueen, Steve: On Any Sunday,

152 Mandala, 15-16, 187-88. See also

Time Mann, Judy: column in Washington

Post, 199 n. Maori, 173 Maraini, Fosco: Japan: Patterns of

Continuity, 201 n. Marschack, Alexander: archaeologist

of Stone Age, 118, 184, 203 n.,

207 n. Marxism, 8 Matsuda, Takeo: Japanese housing

developer, 64-65 Matsumoto, Michihiro: Japanese author, 95, 201 n., 202 n.
Mayan calendar, 76-77 Mead, Margaret: People of Manus,

182, 207 n. Meaning, 56-57. See also Context Meditation, 19, 135-36
Message velocity spectrum, 59-61,

63, 199 n-Michi: Japanese concept, 92. See

also Japanese culture Microsurgery, 127

Miller, Arthur: Death of a Salesman, 176-77

Monochronic time, 24, 41-53, 71, 104, 109-13, 147, 185, 200 n.; American-
European pattern, 44-45; defined, 43, 45, 211; example of Japanese use, 51-
54; German pattern, 106-7; New Mexico Spanish and, 65-66; strengths and
weaknesses, 48; task orientation, 50, 70-72; television commercial as
example, 47-48. See also American-European culture. Bureaucracy

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 128-29

Munro, H. H. (Saki), 75

Music, 63, 89, 128-29, 155-57, 162, 172-73. See also Rhythm, Synchrony
Navajo, 28, 92, 157, 198 n.; concept of time, 28; different from Hopi in
relationship to work, 32-33; waiting, 122. See also American Indians, Time

Neanderthal, 117, 203 n.

Nemawashi: Japanese concept, 89. See also Japanese culture

New Mexico Spanish culture, 42, 65— 66, 142, 147, 158; feedback rhythm,
159—60. See also Polychronic time

Newton, Isaac, 13, 20-21, 22, 132

Newtonian model of time, 5, 21, 123, 201 n.

Nine to Five: film with Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, and Dolly Parton, 157

Nonverbal behavior (communication), 144-48. See also Film Research,

Proxemics, Synchrony

Northwestern University, 145

Nuer (African people), 5, 74; structure of time, 74. See also Time

Ornstein, Robert, 8, 197 n., 201 n.

Palmer, Gabrielle, 200 n. Perceptual distortions, 136-37, 166-167

INDEX

Piaget, Jean, 131-33, 204 n.; child development, 131; time and space, 132

Piers, Maria W., 204 n.

Pietsch, Paul: Shufflebrain, 203 n.

Polychronic time, 41-53, 65, 105, 109-13, 147, 149, 158, 185, 198 n.; Arab
culture, example, 46-47; defined, 42-43, 211; difference between Colonial-
Iberian and American-European, 67-68; French pattern, 105-6; Greece,
example, 43; Latin American culture, example, 46; oriented to people, 49-
50, 71-72; strengths and weaknesses, 48-49; women and, 50-51. See also
Bureaucracy, New Mexico Spanish culture

Post, The Washington, 199 n., 203 n.

Precognition and entrainment, 174-175

Pre-visualization, 205 n.

Pribram, Karl H.: Languages of the Brain, 203 n.

Priestley, J. B.: Man and Time, 22-23, 197 n.

Proust, Marcel, 123

Proxemics, 7, 64-65, 140-42, 167, 205 n., 212 (defined)

Pueblo Indians, 42, 81, 142, 156-57, 169-70, 212; high context
communication, 87-89; house-building as example of rhythm, 172;
interactional synchrony, 171; Revolt of 1680, 40. See also Santa Clara
Pueblo, Santo Domingo Pueblo, Taos Pueblo, Zuiii Pueblo

Public housing in the U.S., 199 n.

Quiche, 73, 76-80, 200 n.; calendars, 76-77; contrasted with American-
European culture, 78, 79, 80, 82 day-keeping divination, 76, 82 diviners
interpret time, 76-77 functions of time, 78; use of body for messages, 82-
84. See also American-European culture. Time

Rabi, I. I.: on physical time, 182, 207 n.

Reifel, Ben: Congressman, 185, 208 n.

Releasers, 162, 212

Rhythm, 3, 14-15, 17-20, 100-1, 140-60, 161-75, 187, 205 n.; adumbrative
sequence and, 169-70; Black behavior and, 168; classroom, 14,3-44, 151-
52; Maori e.x-ample of long rhythms, 173; syncopated, American Indian,
168-69. See also Adumbration, Entrainment, Synchrony
Rodriguez, Richard, 185, 208 n.

Roosevelt, Franklin D., 25

Santa Clara Pueblo, 144 Santo Domingo Pueblo, 169-70 Scarf, Maggie:
Unfinished Business,

49, 122 Schafer, R. Murray: The Tuning of

the World, 206 n. Schedules, 44-46, 66-67, 68, 90, 91,

101, 107, 121, 172, 185. See also

Monochronic time, Polychronic

time. Time Scheflen, Albert E., 163 Schizophrenia, 136-37, 166, 204 n.
Schulz, Dave: writer for Gannett

News Service, 205 n. Score, open or closed, 104, 109,

202 n., 211 (defined) Screening, 46, 110

Searles, Harold: psychiatrist, 136-37

Segal, Julius: sleep, 206 n.

Sexism, 50

Shapiro, Walter: Washington Post Magazine writer, 203 n.

Shaw, George Bernard: "Cashel Byron's Profession," 153

Shoseki: early Zen master, 27, 198 n.

Shoshone, 170-71

Silent Language, The, 133, 199 n.,

203 n., 204 n., 207 n. Simmons, Leo: Sun Chief, 197 n.,
198 n., 201 n.

Sivadon, Paul, 204 n.

Smith, Malcolm,: motocross champion, 152-53

Social organization, 212-13 (defined)

Sol, D. R.: "Timers in Developing Systems," 197 n.

231

Space: See Proxemics, Time

Stone Age, 118, 120

Stonehenge, 118, 184

Stromberg, Major Russ: Navy test pilot, 125

Suji: Japanese concept, 95. See aho Japanese culture

Sumo wrestlers, 150

Suzuki, D. T.: Japanese author on Zen Buddhism, 90, 201 n.

Symbols, 15, 78, 121

Synchrony, 16, 24, 83-84, 100-1, 140-60, 161-62, 167, 173, 206 n.; athletes
and, 152-53; culture as determinant of, 149; defined, 213; illustrated by
events on playground, 154-55; interactional {across cultural boundaries),
171-72; interpersonal, 148-50, 166; love and, 151-52; music and, 154-157;
self-, 164, i66, 206 n. See also Condon, Entrainment, Film Research,
Rhythm, Time

"Synchronicity," 173-75. See also Jung

Talayesva, Don: Sun Chief, 37

Taos Pueblo, 87-89, 143

Tatemae: Japanese concept, 95-97, 194. See also Japanese culture

Technology, 9, 35, 85

Tedlock, Barbara: study of Zuiii songs, 156-57, 206 n.; Time and the
Highland Maya, 76, 81, 83, 200 n.

Television, 47-48, 61. See also Mono-chronic time

Territoriality, 7

Time, 3-5, 13-26, 64-65, 73, 187-194; absolute, 5; age and, 129-30;
anniversaries, 134-35; as experience, 117-39; basis of folk taxonomy, 14;
biological, 14, 16, 17, 188; biological clock, 7, 14, 17; biorhythms, 18-19;
bridges as agent of, 27-28; compression and expansion, 125-26, 130-31;
concentration and, 127; core system of life, 3-4, 86, 102-3, 132; defined by
physicists, 14; differences

between men and women, 179-81; distortions of body boundaries and, 137-
38; emotions, psychic state and, 134-35; estimating, 138-39; exosomatic
timing, 18; Hopi concept of in relation to dam building, 29-31; imagery
and, 127-28; informal, 133; inseparable from culture, 5, 86, 176-86;
Japanese concept, 89, 91; Julian calendar, 25; literature and, 123-24; man-
dala representing classifications of, 15-16, 187-88; meditation and, 135-36;
metaphysical, 13, 16, 22-23, 188; metatime, 16, 25-26, 188; microtime, 16,
23-24, 188; mood and, 133-34; Navajo concept of, 28; "passing" and
"dragging," 119, 121; perception as mediated by space, 136-37; personal,
16, 19, 188; physical, 13, 16, 19-20, 132, 188; Piaget and, 131-32; profane,
14, 16, 25, 132, 188; riding horseback, 39-40; sacred, 14, 16, 24-25, 187-
88; size of job and, 130-131; symbol of status, 68-70; sync, 16, 24, 188;
varieties found in Hopi and Navajo reservations, 28; waiting behavior, 69-
70, 122. See aho American-European, Hopi, Japanese, Monochronic time,
Navajo, Nuer, Polychronic time. Quiche, Rhythm, Schedules, Synchrony,
Tiv

Time-keeping devices, 119, 121. See also American-European culture

Time magazine, 207 n.

Time-motion analyzer, 142, 143, 146, 148, 164, 166, 167

Tiv, 5, 73; market as indicator of time, 74-75; structure of time, 74. See also
Time

Totalitarianism, 8

Toynbee, Arnold: study of rise and fall of civilizations, 60, 162-63

Transactional psychology, 204 n.

Tsunoda, Tadanobu: Nihon-jin No No — The Japanese Brain, 8, 197 n.

Vogel, Ezra F.: Japan as Number 1, 201 n.

Von Neuman, John, 30

Wells, H. G., 22, 27

Whorf, Benjamin Lee: linguist, 34,

198 n., 207 n. Wiener, Norl^ert: cybernetics, 158,

206 n. Women, 49-51, 179-82, 198 n. See

also Culture, Polychronic time Wylie, Laurence, 173, 202 n.

INDEX

Zen Buddhism, 8, 85, 86-90, 91-94, 153, 175. 189-90, 198 n., 201 n., 202
n.; archery and, 90—91; communication style compared to Pueblo Indian,
88; high on context scale, 87; thinking, contrasted to American-European,
91; Zen artist and enlightenment, 92-94. See alio Archery, Art, Context,
Japanese culture

Zuni Pueblo, 156-57

The dance of life : the other dimension BD638 .H275 18440

Hall, Edward Twitchell,

NEW COLLEGE OF CALIFORNIA (SF)

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