issue 3.2 - Journal of Mundane Behaviour

Transcription

schaffer, the mirror stage
mundane
vannini, waiting dynamics
jung, bathroom english
manzo, community organizing
mears, the ubiquity, functions, and
contexts of bullshitting
awofeso, wedding rings and the
feminist movement
wang, behavioral interference in
conceptual model formation and
decision-making
forman, sense-memory
kozlovic, sacred servants in the
popular cinema
bruyn, studies of the mundane by
participant observation
behavior
journal of mundane behavior
3.2 (june 2002)
Journal of Mundane Behavior
Volume 3, Number 2 (June 2002)
Founding and Managing Editor: Scott Schaffer
Founding Co-Editor: Myron Orleans
Table of Contents
Scott Schaffer, “Introduction: The Mirror Stage”
185
Editorial Board:
Phillip Vannini, “Waiting Dynamics: Bergson, Virilio,
Deleuze, and the Experience of Global Times”
193
Eunha Jung, “Bathroom English: Using Private
Mundanity to Maximize Second Language Acquisition”
209
John C. Manzo, “Community Organizing: ‘Community’
as a Discursive Resource in a Youth Social Services Agency”
217
Daniel P. Mears, “The Ubiquity, Functions, and Context
of Bullshitting”
233
Severyn Bruyn
Solomon Davidoff
Alan Fair
Orvar Löfgren
Edward Lowe
Naomi Mandel
Pavaninder Mann
Martin McQuillan
Michael Perez
Natasha Pravaz
Lorraine Prinsky
Niyi Awofeso, “Wedding Rings and the Feminist Movement”
257
International Standard Serials Number (ISSN): 1529-3041.
Joseph K. Wang, “Behavioral Interference in Conceptual
Model Formation and Decision-Making”
271
Linda Forman, “Sense-Memory: The Search for a Meaningful
Milieu at the Concerts of Godsmack, Thirty Odd Foot Of
Grunts and Bob Dylan”
291
Submission guidelines and other information available on our web site:
http://mundanebehavior.org/. Journal of Mundane Behavior is an online,
interdisciplinary, peer-reviewed journal devoted to publicly accessible analyses
of everyday life. Submission and peer review guidelines are available on our
web site. JMB is indexed in Sociological Abstracts.
Anton Karl Kozlovic, “Sacred Servants in the Popular
Cinema: Research Notes Towards a Taxonomic Survey
of the Mundane Holy”
300
Mundane Manifesto:
Severyn Bruyn, “Studies of the Mundane by Participant
Observation”
317
Cover Art: Ken Fandell, “Daily”. 1995 - shrink wrap, offset prints, installation
varies. Used by permission of the artist - http://www.kenfandell.com.
George Psathas
Pedro Daniel Rodriguez
John Sears
Jimmy Dean Smith
Mark Smith
William Sokoloff
Caleb Southworth
Kelly Train
Nadine Wasserman
Yung-Hsing Wu
Troy Zimmer
This compilation, © 2002 Journal of Mundane Behavior. The copyright to each
individual article is owned by its author in conjunction with Journal of Mundane
Behavior except where otherwise noted, and all requests beyond US “fair
use” policies must be approved jointly by the two. Forward all “fair use”
requests to:
Department of Sociology/Anthropology
Millersville University of Pennsylvania
PO Box 1002
Millersville, PA 17551-0302 USA
e-mail: [email protected]
185
Introduction: The Mirror Stage
Scott Schaffer
Managing Editor, Journal of Mundane Behavior
For Jessica and Pierre
I
’m nervous.
Just under a week from the release of this issue, I leave for Europe
on my rst trip to the Continent. I’m rather excited about it – I’m traveling
from Croatia to the Czech Republic, Germany, Netherlands, France, and
the UK – but still, I can’t help having this nagging, sinking feeling about
the entire trip.
You see, I’m fairly sure this isn’t the best time in history for an American
to be abroad.
I’m not concerned about bioterrorism, kidnappings, muggings in dark
alleys in Praha 1, or anything like that. I’m concerned with being pegged as an
American and having to deal with the face-to-face ramications of what comes
down to an accident of birth.
I’ve been outside the US before, so I’m used to the kind of antiAmericanism that appears when people nd out you’re American, especially
when the US government is up to no good. For three years, I lived in Toronto
and went to graduate school with a number of quasi-Marxist kids who saw
me, along with some of my peers who’d also come up from the states, as the
advance force of the invading American colonial army. We were singled out
by the folks in charge of the program as a shining example of why it was that
our program was better than anything in the US (which in part was true);
but our peers saw us as receiving special treatment because we were Yanks,
something they equated with how the rest of the world treated the US (and
how Americans expected to be treated).
Because of this – and because I didn’t have anything that t under
some criterion of oppressed grouping – I was ostracized by most of the people
in my program. There were some who overlooked the fact that my father
wasn’t smart enough to avoid enlisting during the Vietnam War (he’s now
fond of saying “If I knew then what I know now, you’d have been born in
Whitehorse”) and weren’t set off by my passport. But for most, I was “the
California guy,” with people even wondering if Baywatch or I would give
a better sense of what life was like in Los Angeles. There were others who
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 185-192. © 2002, Scott
Schaffer and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
186
weren’t as concerned with my nationality and became good friends with me.
So for over a year, a dear friend of mine worked with me on my accent,
the way I held my body, the way I phrased my sentences, and my stylistic
sensibilities (which needed work anyway). I became the only hyphenated
Canadian in town – the “American-Canadian.” I identied myself as “the
recovering American,” even going so far as to develop a twelve-step program
for overcoming the sense of imperial entitlement (step ten, by the way, was
learning the appropriate use of “eh”). She helped me become the person I
wanted to be – someone who didn’t rely on the stock phrase, “I’m an American
citizen; you can’t do that to me,” to handle anything; and ultimately, everything
worked so well that my students in Toronto didn’t know I was American, and
my students in California after my return didn’t know I wasn’t American.
Part of the reason I was concerned with not being perceived as
American didn’t have to do with not being able to handle what others
thought of the country – on the contrary. More often than not, I agreed with
others’ perceptions of what the US government, industry, and media did to
other countries. I agreed that it was a cheap shot to insert a maple leaf into
American corporate logos to convince people that KFC was Canadian; that
it was ludicrous for the US government to think that Canadian companies
and individuals should “go green” while pollution controls were loosened on
American companies; and that the requirement of 33% Canadian music on the
radio or MuchMusic (the mythical “Can-con” requirement) was way too low,
since American media companies were jacking up their power to broadcast
over the border in any case.
No, the reason I was concerned with being clearly labeled an American
had to do with what “being American” means to people around the world.
More often than not, people outside the US make a clear distinction between
“America,” “the American government,” and “Americans.” For them, America
may be the land of opportunity and a place where one can improve their
standard of living (by taking on two or three jobs to pay for that improvement),
but the American government is more meddlesome and trouble than it’s worth.
And Americans…well, Americans are thought of in the way that all Americans
think the French see them – rude, obnoxious, thoughtless, shallow, obsessed
with what friends call the “Five B” culture – business, baseball, beer, babes, and
belching. And I wanted nothing to do with that culture.
Thanks to my time in Toronto, I don’t think like the “typical American,”
act like the “typical American,” or even look like the “typical American.” I’ve
worked hard to be a part of the larger world, to be what Neil Young called “a
citizen of the world,” and to take on a variety of perspectives about how the
world works and how it should work. And it was hard work: it took time, a
thick skin, and the capacity to reect on myself, how “I” was created, and how
that took place in a particular social context. It took a willingness to reect on
187
who I was and who I wanted to be in the world. It took the nasty mirror of
misplaced anti-Americanness to show me everything I needed to see.
*****
Much of sociological and social-psychological theory revolves around
understanding how it is that individuals are the product of their particular
social contexts. George Herbert Mead developed the joined concepts of the
“I” and the “me” to address the different ways in which individuals feel
themselves in the world. Charles Cooley develops the idea of the “lookingglass self” to grapple with the same question. The psychoanalytic theorist
Jacques Lacan turns this into the concept of the “mirror stage” to explain part
of human development – namely, that part of development that involved and
individual recognizing themselves from the outside (as if in a mirror). And
countless other theorists work to address the same overarching question: How
do I become myself?
This question, though, isn’t limited only to individuals and their own
development. Lacan and other more psychological theorists presume that the
mirror stage takes place early in human development – sometime around 18
months to two years, when children can recognize their own reection or their
face in a photograph. But there is another kind of “mirror stage,” one that
pertains more to a sociological context, and one that shouldn’t be limited to the
early development of a nation.
Every society has some moment, some point in time at which –
sometimes thanks to outside forces, sometimes due to internal matters – it
comes to realize that what it thinks of itself is actually quite far off from the
truth. One only has to look at the 20th century to see many of these moments:
Russia in 1917 during the Bolshevik Revolution; France in 1940 after its defeat
by Nazi Germany; Germany and Japan after their defeat by the Allies in World
War II; Great Britain after the dissolution of the British Empire; the US after
its defeat in Vietnam and the wear brought about by the backlash against the
civil rights movement; the Warsaw Pact nations in 1989. In each of these cases,
the nation concerned seemed to go through a period of reection, of thoughtful
consideration about what had it led it to that moment, what it had become,
and what it wanted to be from that moment on; and in each of these cases,
there seemed to be some kind of fundamental change brought about as a result
of that reection. And whether that change became a proletarian revolution
against the czar, or a period of withdrawal from international affairs, or a
reconsideration of how former colonial countries would relate to its former
colonies, these reective periods led to a new way of being for these countries
and for their peoples.
188
When that mirror is held up to our faces, we see ourselves from the
outside, as objects, subject to forces beyond our control, not the creator of the
world around us. There are really two ways in which this can be dealt with:
either we work to bring our sense of who we are and who we want to be in line
with what we have become to others; or we resort to the old Sartrean standby
line, “Hell is other people,” and ignore the mirror. In either case, we end up
acknowledging the fact that we now know who we are; what becomes of it,
though, is a different story.
*****
The events of the last year – not just 9/11 and the subsequent “war
on terror”, but also the collapse of Enron and other major international
corporations, the economic downturn industrialized economies have suffered,
and even the World Cup – have provided American society and Americans
with an opportunity for this kind of reection. We’ve been given the chance
to take another look at who we are, how we relate to others (both within and
outside the US), and the kind of world we would want to see outlast us.
In my last contribution to these pages (http://mundanebehavior.org/
issues/v2n3/schaffer2-3.htm), I made the comment that I hoped that “life gets
back to the mundane, and the mundane becomes a better place to be.” After
that issue and some of the publicity that JMB received, I had the opportunity
to contribute to a book that had as its explicit intention the kind of reection
I’ve been talking about here. There, I said that one of the things that needed to
happen in order to reclaim a sense of normalcy after 9/11 was to be the best
of what Americans can be while reecting on what others think the worst of
America is and how we can change it.
Yet in the months since 9/11, there appears to have been very little
reection on the part of the US, its leadership, and very frequently its people,
on these matters. Take President Bush’s comments on the “axis of evil,” his
statement that “if you’re not with us, you’re against us,” and the variety of
policies enacted to “protect the US from terrorism” (ranging from the PATRIOT
Act to the new immigration laws that leave all immigrants, legal or otherwise,
fearful of their continued status in the US). Do these actions on our leadership’s
part indicate any kind of reection on or engagement with that mirror that’s
been held up to us? My inclination would be to say no – these responses
indicate the kind of mistrust, suspicion, and fear that typied the Roman
Empire before its fall instead of a reasoned response to others’ view of the US.
This isn’t to say that I think the war in Afghanistan, the “war on terror,” or the
military responses are wrong – or right. But it is to say that we’ve not really
looked into the mirror – or rather, we have, we’ve said “War is hell, and hell is
other people,” and done the usual.
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There are other patterns that indicate that the US as a whole is not
willing to reect on what it’s become. In late 2001, the American Council of
Trustees and Alumni, a think-tank claiming to be dedicated to ensuring quality
higher education, issued a report detailing 113 instances of “anti-American
speeches” made by university faculty (always named) and students. Many of
these statements were not explicitly anti-American, but were more along the
lines of the foolish or the highly dubitable. But, the majority of the statements
compiled in the report all asked the same thing: Is the US really the great
society, the land of the righteous, we’ve been told it is? And if not, how we can
make who we are and how we live better?
This is what was proclaimed to be “anti-American” – having the
audacity to actually question if we are doing the right thing. Through all my
life, I’d been told that it was not only my right but my duty, to question those in
authority, to ensure that they were doing what we needed to have done. Now,
though, it seems as if the right to question has been taken away from us, and
we have abdicated the courage and the obligation to question. In other words,
it seems as if we have decided not to reect on our place in the world.
Undoubtedly, the US is the premier country in the world in terms of
wealth, military power – and is thereby most responsible for how the world
operates. The US has become the world’s policeman, trying to ensure that all
the countries in the world who want to play with us do so on our terms, and
making those who don’t pay on the lousy end of a cluster bomb or “daisy
cutter.” So why is it that American society seems so reluctant, so unwilling, to
check on what it is they do to make sure that it is not only the right thing for
American economic interests or national security, but also the good? If we are
going to take responsibility for the operation of the world and compel other
countries to do what we want and to make themselves in our image – a process
which, as Cuba shows us, requires a great deal of reection (and ultimately a
great deal of courage) – then why should we be exempted from this kind of
reection? Just because no one can hold a gun to our heads (as the US often
does to others’ heads)?
9/11 and the continuous terror warnings and “alert statuses” since
then have showed us that others can hold a gun to our heads and try to make us
think about who we are and how we live with others in the world. But if we’re
trying to be a role model for the world – in terms of our form of government,
our economy, and our “morality” – then we also need to role model the kind of
reection we want to see around us.
*****
Of course, there have been many people in American society who
have engaged in this kind of reection. Generally thought of as (though not
always in actuality) politically left, these people have examined American
190
foreign policy, economic policy, our culture, and our entire mode of existence
in big terms to try to suggest new ways of being with others and in the world.
Intellectuals such as Noam Chomsky; religious groups such as the Quakers;
and journals devoted to social criticism such as Bad Subjects – these groups and
more have worked to understand the “big picture” and how we can improve
it.
This journal has done so as well. For nearly three full years now, Journal
of Mundane Behavior has worked to understand the basics of everyday life – how
we do things, why we do them in the way we do, and whether or not we
should rethink those patterns of action. We have, in other words, tried to be a
reection of the world, to allow our readers to see what they do in a new light
so that they can critically and thoughtfully evaluate that way of life. Where
other forums might be political or theoretical about these things, resorting to an
alienating jargon or a divisive ideological stance, JMB has simply said: “Look,
this is something we all do, how we do it, and why we do it. What do we do
now that we know this?”
Also since I last wrote here, my sociological hero, Pierre Bourdieu,
passed away at 71 from cancer. Professor Bourdieu was one of those rare
intellectuals (well, at least rare in the US; France, his homeland, is renowned for
engaged intellectuals) who bridged the realm between theory and practice; in
other words, he lived his sociology and let his sociology inform his life. Starting
with his doctoral eldwork in Algeria at the start of the eight-year-long war
of liberation, Bourdieu saw not only how lousy the world could be and how
badly it could treat people (The Weight of the World is, by far, the clearest
indication of the degree of suffering that goes unnoticed), but also saw the
place of intellectuals and of abstracted intellectualism in perpetuating that
world. To his mind, what sociologists – nay, what everyone – needed to do was
to reect on their place in the world and what they wanted to do about it. I offer
up two quotes that indicate the core of this notion of his:
I believe that when sociology remains at a highly abstract and formal
level, it contributes nothing. When it gets down to the nitty gritty
of real life, however, it is an instrument that people can apply to
themselves for quasi-clinical purposes. The true freedom that sociology
offers is to give us a small chance of knowing what game we play and
of minimizing the ways in which we are manipulated by the forces of
the eld in which we evolve, as well as by the embodied social forces
that operate from within us. I am not suggesting that sociology solves
all the problems in the world, far from it, but that it allows us to discern
the sites where we do indeed enjoy a degree of freedom and those
where we do not. So that we do not waste our energy struggling over
terrains that offer us no leeway.
191
When you apply reexive sociology to yourself, you open up the
possibility of identifying true sites of freedom, and thus of building
small-scale, modest, practical morals in keeping with the scope of
human freedom which, in my opinion, is not that large. (Bourdieu,
“For a Realpolitik of Reason,” in Bourdieu and Wacquant, An Invitation
to Reexive Sociology [1992, Chicago: University of Chicago Press], pp.
198-99)
In other words, what Bourdieu asks of us is to understand how our lives are
constructed, what spaces of freedom we have within our lives, and what we
want to do to live good lives. And to my mind, this is the most important thing
we can do in the early 21st century. We do not have to be seen as a resourcegrabbing, all-controlling, selsh and self-interested, exploitative society; but in
order to do this, we need to understand how it is we can be seen like this and
what we can do about it. If not, then I fear that the US will never be safe.
All of this has to do with why I’m nervous about a glorious month
abroad. Obviously, I do engage in this kind of reection, and I’m not afraid of
hearing someone out about how crappy they think America treats the rest of
the world. What makes me nervous is that the absence of this kind of reection
on the part of American society may result in a knee-jerk lack of reection on
the part of others, and that who I am will get lost in the middle. And I simply
won’t live my life like that.
Time to sew the unifolié on my suitcase…
*****
On to the business at hand:
In this issue, we return to our general approach to exploring the
peculiarities of everyday life. For our JMB 3.3 issue, which will appear this fall,
we will examine Atrocity, Outrage, and the Ordinary – the ways that atrocities
infect our daily lives, how a sense of outrage is lived, how daily life can be
atrocious, and how we can work to improve all these situations.
Phillip Vannini examines the thing I look forward to both most and
least about my trip – waiting abroad. Using such theorists as Bergson, Virilio,
and Deleuze and making them comprehensible, Vannini examines the ways in
which physical space, social space, time, and speed all intersect to manage the
ways we experience delays.
Eunha Jung sees a great opportunity in another part of our daily lives
that seems wasted (quite literally) – our bathroom time. Jung explores the
ways in which our “private mundanity” – moments such as “toilet reading”
192
193
and singing in the shower – can serve as a way to improve second language
acquisition.
John Manzo’s “Community Organizing: ‘Community’ as a Discursive
Resource in a Youth Social Services Agency” examines the ways in which
community is conceptualized in Toronto, Canada. Moving between insider and
outsider constructions of communities, and denitions of “community” on the
basis of locality or nationality, Manzo highlights the ways in which discussions
of community impact on programs designed to help kids stay off the streets.
Daniel Mears looks at the practice known as “bullshitting.” Need more
be said? It’s a great piece. Really.
Niyi Awofeso’s “Wedding Rings and the Feminist Movement” studies
the various ways that wedding rings have been historically practiced, ranging
from symbols of economic bonds between families to symbols of love, and how
those denitions have changed as a result of changes in women’s positions in
society.
Joseph Wang’s contribution to this number represents a departure for
JMB, utilizing mathematical models and reasoning from physics and economics
as a way of understanding everyday decision-making processes. Integrating
these various disciplines and approaches to how it is we decide things, Wang’s
ultimate argument is that by understanding the rationality that informs our
decision-making processes, we can avoid discomfort in our existence with
others.
Linda Forman reminds us of pre-9/11 days by looking at concert-going
during the summer of 2001, giving us a view of bands by looking at audiences.
Anton Karl Kozlovic provides us with a sadly timely article on how
members of the clergy are perceived. “Sacred Servants in the Popular Cinema”
develops a taxonomy of the ways in which that “people of the cloth” are
represented in lm, and works to link those cinematic depictions of clergy with
our own ideas of how the holy are supposed to be.
Finally, Severyn Bruyn provides us with our latest “mundane
manifesto.” Developing a greater understanding of how participant observation
– the study of what people do while doing it oneself – can serve as a method
for studying everyday life, Bruyn gives us the tools for reecting on our own
lives.
Waiting Dynamics: Bergson, Virilio, Deleuze, and the
Experience of Global Times
Ultimately, it has always been JMB’s goal to provide our readers with
a kind of mirror on their lives and the tools by which they can reect on those
lives. At the beginning, this was a generalized and luxurious sense of ethicality
– a sense that for whatever reason, we needed to be living better with and for
other people. Recent months and events have shown that this nagging sense
of ethicality needs to become an explicit and necessary way of being, and the
members of our editorial board and our reviewers continue to hope that what
we produce allows you this opportunity – and that you take advantage of it.
Phillip Vannini1
Sociology, Washington State University
Abstract: In this essay I recollect and relate on two recent personal
memories: my experiences of waiting for the departures of a train in
Agra, India, and an airplane in Hong Kong. In order to understand
these two lived experiences I compare and contrast the writings of
Henri Bergson, and Paul Virilio on the concept of time. I offer an
analysis of waiting that takes into consideration differing historical
and cultural contexts and differing possibilities offered by technology
and interpersonal relations. In particular, I reect on the meaning of
the lived experience of time by offering a Deleuzian reading of the
possibilities of becoming while waiting.
We might recall in passing that there is no true presence in the World
in one’s own world of sense experience – other than through the
intermediary of the egocentration of a living present; in other words,
through the existence of one’s own body living in the here and now.
-- Paul Virilio, 1997:38
The Journey
L
ike many, I have always hated waiting. Often, I have asked myself whether
purgatory rather than hell would not represent a more heinous punishment
for a postmodern soul such as mine. Purgatory after all is but a limbo, an
interstitial and provisory arrangement depleted of heroes or villains where
souls await, static, uninformed, bored, for a long, long time.
The experience of waiting is the object of this essay. People seem to
agonize with the ‘punishment’ of waiting everyday. Whether it is irksome,
obsolete modem connections, cheesy on-hold telephone muzak jingles, highway
fender-bender back-ups, or be-there-two-hours-before-your-ight duty-free
jaunts, we wait – seemingly inactive, static, immobile – everyday, everywhere.
Whereas an immensely vast fictional and academic literature and artistic
expression has been dedicated to the concept of time, surprisingly very little
attention is reserved to the experience of waiting. This brief article is meant as an
exploratory view on this phenomenon. I will base my thoughts on recollections
and reconstruction of two waiting experiences taken from my life. Throughout
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 193-208. © 2002, Phillip
Vannini and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
194
the next pages I will offer my reections on the similarities and differences of
these two experiences and their respective contexts, and in particular on how
different conceptual and affective structures of time and space affected my
experiences. I will mainly draw on three theoretical perspectives which I nd
particularly insightful: Bergson’s idea of time as duration as expressed in Time
and Free Will, the recent work of Paul Virilio on dromology2, and nally the
thought of Gilles Deleuze. I will argue that notwithstanding clear qualitative
differences amongst them waiting experiences can always be conceived of as
possibilities for becoming. The human ability to change renders the waiting
experience dynamic rather than static, and allows the subject to focus on the
creative lifelong process of becoming. Understanding waiting as an open
possibility for change allows us to transcend the traditional view of waiting as
an interstitial and static experience of time. I will rst analyze Bergson’s thought
in relation to my waiting in India and then Virilio’s writings on dromology
in relation to my waiting in Hong Kong. Finally I will proceed to illustrating
Deleuze’s concept of becoming and offering my nal argument.
From Stasis to Lived Time: Waiting in India
Henri Bergson was by all accounts the most celebrated philosopher
of his day. In Time and Free Will, rst published in 1889, he proposed that
the temporal dimension of consciousness was synonymous with freedom
and creative spirit. Whereas we mundanely experience time as a dimension
dictated by the movement of the clock if we allow intuition to dominate over
our habitual intellectual mode of inquiry we may become intensely aware of
our lived experience of time. As Bergson explained, the objective measurement
of time by a clock is only an articial and abstract representation of science that
people need for practical purposes. Real time is durée (continuous duration);
each moment ows with our memory of the past and appears to us as new and
unrepeatable. We can see a clear illustration of how this intuition of the lived
experience of time works by looking at my experience in India.
My rst personal recollection of waiting begins in Agra, India, where
I arrive in the early July 2001. Many travelers visit this relatively large
Northeastern Indian city to experience the marvelous architecture of the Taj
Mahal, yet fewer venture to its rural train station. I come to India from a long
distance: a predictable world of “supermarkets, slot machines, and credit
cards”, a “non-place surrendered to solitary individuality, to the eeting, the
temporary, and ephemeral”, comforted by “hotel chains, airplanes, and leisure
parks” (Augé, 1995: 78-79). In India, I feel thrown onto the stage of a surreal
circus whose logic seems to have ceded pace to the inevitable karma of tragedy.
Agra’s train station is a representative microcosm of many realities I have
witnessed hitherto in my journey. The ticket counter hall is swollen with the
bodies of a community who is not here to travel anywhere, but rather here
Waiting Dynamics
195
to gaze at few strange travelers or perhaps to offer them dubious services.
There is nothing eeting, nothing temporary about the few hundreds local
souls populating the ticketing hall or the departure platforms, rather their
corporeality is so intensely present it feels obscene. More than a ‘non-place
surrendered to solitary individuality’, more than a node in a network of railroad
communications, Agra’s station seems to function as an observatory viewpoint
for the locals, much like a public square where people gather to comment on the
ordinary and extraordinary of their town’s life and its visitors.
It is one o’clock in the afternoon; seven hours await my train’s
departure. As I restlessly begin to wait, curious locals’ eyes follow my
conspicuous search for privacy. Life here feels immediate, weighty, and
incredibly humid. A ock of hungry ies sit with me on a hard wooden chair as
I hug my backpack – the last material bastion of consumer possibilities. Anxiety
steals fteen minutes away; then the weight of time begins to bear down on
me.
Time is real – Bergson explains. The immediacy of time, of the Other(s)
seated in the waiting room, of the sweltering heat, of my fears, is quite striking
to my sedated senses. My world feels intensely present. I feel a sense of
engagement-with-my-world, a long forgotten sense of presence. Occidental
sensitivity (or ethnocentric paranoia if you like), causes me to become acutely
aware of the presence of foreign objects: the acid smell of urine coming from
the adjacent toilets, the sharp shards of glass on the oor, the forlorn eyes
of the military man sprawled on the chair next to me. All this feels present,
immediate, and real – here and now. Two young Japanese women enter the
room. I am familiar with the anxiety they exude. They sit down, coyly glance at
my girlfriend and me and smile. We smile in return. ‘Well, what are we
going to do to kill some time?’ – I normally would ask at home, but why
kill time here? Minutes, hours seem to make less sense in this room. The
ow of time has become alive here. Its passage is continuous. Every moment
ows in bringing something new. Two small children now enter the room.
The waiting room attendant communicates with us without words. My body
perceives thirst.
Bergson explains that in everyday life, time is often confused with
space. This confusion is at the roots of our inability to experience freedom. We
measure the passage of time and the intensity of emotions through and in space,
as the movement of minutes, hours, days on a line, or as the quantication
of feelings on a continuum. Yet, Bergson suggests, there is no such thing as a
greater or a smaller anxiety, just as there is no such reduction of a ow (durée)
into discrete units. Just as every moment carries with it the originality of the
unfolding life of the universe, every sensation carries with it a qualitative
human character that is unique and unrepeatable. By focusing on my immediate
196
Waiting Dynamics
perception I become aware of the continuity of time. By negating the possibility
of the forcefulness of an external dimension, such as that of physical (as opposed
to phenomenological) time, I can free myself from the restrictions of space.
Through my engagement-with-the-room, through my awareness of my self in
time, here I have experienced waiting deeply and creatively.
Photo 1: Local children we met in the waiting room enjoy our souvenirs.
“There are two ways of knowing a thing,” – Bergson wrote in The
Introduction to Metaphysics (1903/1946: 159) – “the absolute and the relative”.
From a relative standpoint, “I place myself outside the object itself,” whereas
from an absolute standpoint:
I attribute to the mobile an inner being, and, as it were, states of soul; it
also means that I am in harmony with these states and enter into them
by an effort of imagination (Bergson, 1903/1946: 159).
The relative mode is that typical of positive science, whereas the absolute mode
can be achieved through intuition: “the sympathy by which one is transported
into the interior of an object in order to coincide with what there is unique”
(Bergson, 1903/1946: 162). The intellect can never comprehend duration
because the signs used to signify time are spatial symbols. The deep self
instead can express itself freely through the pre-symbolic intuitive ability
of consciousness. Bergson’s concept of time is antithetical to Euclidian or
Kantian conceptions.
Photo 2: The waiting room attendant. She is ‘boss’ as she liked to say.
197
198
Bergson (1960: 92-93) believed that Kant attributed space “with an existence
independent of its content” and “made it an a priori, quantiable, and xed entity
into which bodies would then be placed” (Antliff, 2000: 39). Bergson’s view
instead is that space derives from movement, and movement is fundamental
to continuity in duration (durée). Time has different rhythms, as Bergson
(1896/1978: 275) suggests in Matter and Memory, “rhythms that slower or faster,
measure the degree of tension or relaxation of different kinds of consciousness”,
and these rhythms are quite evident in my waiting experience. While waiting
I experienced the ‘melodic’ aspects of my consciousness of continuous time
because I chose to contemplate on my internal lived experience of time in my
world, rather on than the external and relative measurement of the clock.
Bergson’s philosophy achieved an unprecedented success in Europe
in the late 1800s and early 1900s. While his phenomenology of time has been
tremendously inuential over the past century, one is led to wonder whether
contemporary life conditions have not changed so much to render the ahistorical
Bergsonian view of time obsolete. For instance, has technology altered the way
we perceive time? Has the speedy pace of everyday life in the western world
inuenced the way we feel about waiting? Arguably, the most revolutionary
view on time of the current epoch has come from another French writer,
Paul Virilio. Virilio’s writings on global speed are of extreme importance
for our understanding of the experience of waiting. Even though I nd his
reconceptualization of time thought provoking, I also believe it creates a number
of problems that I will examine briey. In the following two sections I analyze
Virilio’s theory in relation to my waiting in Hong Kong.
Playing Solitaire Around Jets and Malls
Hong Kong’s International Airport at Chek Lap Kok has this
extraterrestrial feeling about it after six weeks spent in rural India and in
the heart of the Himalayas. We land there in the late morning, en route from
the chaos of New Delhi on to Vancouver and Seattle. Upon disembarkment –
endowed with a four-hour long layover, we jet to the restrooms, change clothes,
trade the body odor of adventure for that of civilization in a spray bottle and
carefully x our hair – we feel we need to look decent here. We have three and a
half hours left to satisfy our cravings for ‘real’ Indian food (Indian food in India
was just too real), nachos with extra cheese, and ice-cold import beer. After
our stomach is lled, we decide to stroll around the airport shops to digest,
check our email, and get caught up with Major League Baseball standings and
with the latest Hong Kong-made all-in-one electronic agenda/TV/Internet
connection/cell-phone gadget fashion. Then, we eventually inch our way
toward the terminal. Still two hours are left to consume. While my girlfriend
naps I challenge my boredom to a game of solitaire. “You know…” – she
exclaims suddenly waking up: “…we should plan a trip to Hong Kong
Waiting Dynamics
199
sometime… ” I wonder: “Aren’t we…here, now…?!”
Photo 3: A terminal gate at Hong Kong’s International Airport. Photo courtesy
of HK Airport Authority.
The experience of waiting in Hong Kong seems to have a different feel than it
had back in India a few weeks earlier3. In Agra I felt somewhere, here I feel I
am in a non-place. The airport looks incredibly familiar, I could nd myself
at LAX, JFK, Heathrow, and hardly notice the difference. Whereas Agra’s train
station had a clear center, the ticketing hall, here every section is marginal,
everyone is in transit. While we walked into Agra’s train station, here walking
into or out of the airport is nearly impossible. The main exit doors lead
on to a bullet-train station and roof-covered passageways to taxis and
underground parking, while the entrance works as a bifurcation node opening
up to peripheral possibilities: restaurants, shops, banks, ticket counters,
communication facilities, ticketing, concourses, a 1300-room hotel, chapels,
a health club, showers...
Space is known to affect our minds and our bodies; I experienced this
vividly in Agra. Yet, here I nd myself beyond traditional space, lounging in an
articial environment that protects me from the natural phenomena of space
itself. Change is a reality in traditional space, but not here. Natural cycles are
punctually controlled for my comfort. I feel neither a sense of warmth nor cold.
My body is desensitized from the natural experiences of process, activity, or
movement. My body is visible (and now perfumed and decent), yet no one is
looking at me, or smelling me, or let alone talking to me. As I sit to observe
the movement of others, I realize that others’ bodies are irrelevant to me as I
200
am irrelevant to them. Movement is the spectacle, yet no one is really moving
as escalators and conveyors are in charge of transporting bodies. I am in the
spectacle, yet my script calls for inactive participation. As the cushion of my
seat adjusts to my body weight and shape, the intensity of articial light adjusts
to the changing daylight let through by glass facades. My body is not being
affected by space; here space is adjusting to my body.
Waiting Dynamics
201
special needs (is this Baudrillard’s ‘sentimental order’?).
I have this strange feeling of being home here. Just like in my city,
everyone here is shopping around, on constant transit. My rootless-ness here,
my metaphysical invisibility, my feeling of being considered nothing but a
customer, of being suspended somewhere in space make me perceive a sense of
alienation from my world, the usual everyday feeling I have been missing for
weeks. I guess that is why I feel home. I am bored, sensorially underexposed,
captured by predictability; something I am used to. Space around me has
been McDonaldized, and I feel that I have too. There is no stable community,
or logical center, or a common sense of presence and time here as there was
in Agra, all I perceive is the murmur of Babylon; white noise is the score to
my wait in this non-place.
If a place can be defined as relational, historical, and concerned
with identity, then a space which cannot be defined as relational,
or historical, or concerned with identity will be a non-place (Augé,
1995: 77-78).
A non-place, writes Augé (79), is never entirely completed; here relations are
negotiable and constantly changing. This non-place is far, at least conceptually,
from Agra’s train station. DeCerteau, basing his argument on Merleau-Ponty’s
thought in Phenomenology of Perception, would nd the airport a geometric
space deprived of the existential relations that made Agra’s train station
an ‘anthropological space’. Consider this representation of a terminal gate
tunnel by Rand Eppich4: here, only geometric lines characterize this space,
not human relations.
The gate tunnel (Picture 1) represents the character of the airport more
than any other symbol. It is through the tunnel that we access the new hyperdimensionality of space and time. Yet, access to the tunnel is severely restricted
and precisely regulated. Entering it prior to the arrival of the plane would cause
one to precipitate into the dark and the void; the void thus becomes a result
of the impossibility to transport oneself across space. The mythical tragicomic
fall from the tunnel also reminds us of the materiality of ground, of the ‘reality’
of essences outside the airport and outside the redenition of space that speed
and circulation have created. Hence, I wait patiently for my turn. Classes of
preferred consumers board rst; along with small children and those with
Picture 1: Flights, Rand Eppich.
202
Speed
My role here is clear, as a transported passenger I am to consume time
and whatever else the airport sells. “For, after all, the airport demands that
in the conjunction of vision and geography we see nothing smaller than the
contradictory integrations of transnational capitalism” (Bratton, 1996: 3). I
cannot refuse or deny the role that has been imposed upon me. Capital is
circulating me along with other consumers, reducing us to human fragments
of information contained in the microchips of a credit card. Consider this
representation of a female traveler5 made by Hong Kong’s SkyMart. It is ironic
that the traveler is represented here through a cartoon character, as cartoons are
spirit-less and may play life-like roles only within specied settings. The setting
here is the SkyMart where the traveler is reduced to a shopper unconcerned
with being present in the airport or its mall, moved by the logic of consumption
though various stores, bombarded with commodities, and nally whisked
away from the airport. Simple, fast, only a thirteen-hour ight away – why
shop anywhere else? As Bratton (4) suggests, transportation is but a mass
medium like any other, the only difference is that people are its content. Indeed
at the airport I begin to doubt I am truly static in a conventional sense. I feel I
am being transmitted from Hong Kong to Vancouver, and my layover is but a
long commercial break I am forced to witness.
By now it is obvious to me I nd myself not in a specic place. Rather,
a global space has made me a participant of its logic. Time as an external and
physical dimension here has taken on a new sense. My circadian rhythms are
functioning on Kathmandu’s clock, my mind is projecting to Pacic Daylight
Time, and the logic of the airport could not care less about either. An external
sense of time has been obliterated along with the compression of space into
a global aseptic room lled with delicious duty-free Swiss chocolate. Space
has engulfed time, Virilio would argue, and space has been commodied by
the global service industry of speed. With my credit card ready, all I need
is a departure monitor and I am free to choose among my global roaming
possibilities: Bangkok, $650; Paris, $1,235; New York, $995.95; Speed, ‘the utopia
of the perpetual motion machine’: priceless.
Speed has made the world available to consumers, and airports have
become shopping centers selling space. The complete circulation of bodies
without any movement is no longer utopia, as Virilio explains in Polar Inertia.
Inertia as perpetual access to space is rendered possible by globalization. My
waiting is inert – Paul Virilio would argue: as a circulating fragment of light
I am currently being re-placed by globalization. I do indeed feel home away
from home. Yet, upon being transmitted to my destination, my journey will
be far from complete, for my endless possibilities will remain open. I begin to
see my return home as a new stop, perhaps as a new awaiting trial between
past and future journeys. Virilio would argue that there is a clear continuity
Waiting Dynamics
203
between my waiting here and my arrival. I am as displaced in Hong Kong
as I am in Vancouver because I am either here or there only temporarily, as
a fragment of light.
And why think of ‘home’ as within a city, after all? Paul Virilio (1986b:
17) tells us that the city has ended its role of primary political form and now
speed, as pure circulation of everything has overthrown traditional relations of
space and time. Yet, I still feel I am waiting, and my understanding of mechanics
tells me velocity is precisely what is not happening! Virilio’s trick in The Aesthetics
of Disappearance, is then to operate a Gestalt shift; that is, not to think of velocity,
as in movement toward a point, but of speed as in the obliteration of distance
between here and there. The increased speed of globalized existence has
subsumed time into the dimension of space: as air travel, for example, reduces
the time of a journey it also reduces distance. Because of the similarity and
shortened distance of global spaces I then ought cease to think of movement as
my body re-positioning itself across continents, and imagine rather my body as
inert as Vancouver approaches me in Hong Kong and the two merge together
with other global cities in the representation of the airport. Due to speed the
airport becomes a node, the new center of the global cosmos. Here – Virilio
would argue – I no longer ought to feel the passage and movement of time
while waiting, for I have already left, I am ‘inert’ in a temporal dimension
dened by speed. According to Virilio, I am living in a sphere of Einstein’s
relativity – the cosmos is now a dromosphere. Virilio in fact believes that the
cosmos is now to be apprehended through speed and in speed (e.g. Virilio,
1986a). Light is the shadow of absolute speed for speed lights light (Crogan, 4).
Speed denes social structures and history by separating the center from the
periphery. In this picture, speed has redened space and time and overtaken
our body movement.
Times and Spaces: Deleuze and Becoming
While Virilio’s work is certainly thought provoking, a handful of
inconsistencies beset his understanding of the concept of time. Virilio argues
that the speed of global capitalism has shifted power from human bodies
onto mechanical vehicles and audio-visual information diffusion systems
characterized by ultimate velocity. In his view light speed is the engine of
hypermodern society and human existence. Contemporary subjectivity is
subjugated to the logic of speed. Human bodies yield their motor functions
to the progress of technology:
Doomed to inertia, the inactive being transfers his natural capacities
for movement and displacement to probes and scanners which
instantaneously inform him about a remote reality, to the detriment of
his own faculties of apprehension of the real (Virilio, 1997: 16).
204
Virilio believes that the contraction of space “inscribes a new temporal regime
privileging a permanent present” (McQuire, 1999: 146). In this light-speed
dominated culture, there emerges the condition of atopia: “the exhaustion of
natural relief (spatial perspective) and of temporal distance (chronology or
succession)” (McQuire, 1999: 147).
Is the experience of waiting then impossible in the hypermodernity of
the airport, and presumably in everyday life in the western world? This is far
from true in my view. My waiting experience at the airport is far from being
obliterated, for I was still able to perceive the ow of time through intuition.
Virilio’s fascination with technology and the myth of the accident (such as
atopia) take him away from a more coherent phenomenological analysis of the
lived experience of time. My experience at the airport, for example, still was
that of waiting, that of the lived experience of the passage and continuity of
time. In Bergsonian terms, my waiting experience at the airport is a qualitative
perception of the ow of time that I could and did achieve by focusing on
my internal experience. This is my free will, my dedication to my experience:
every experience is different from the next for time never repeats itself. As I waited
at the terminal I perceived the presence of a world populated by cell-phones,
advertising, and public announcements for check-in as objects distinct from
my awareness of myself. I did indeed perceive the differences between the
worlds of Agra’s train station and Hong Kong’s airport, as much as I perceived
my differing feelings about those contexts, yet concluding that I could not
live time in an absolute way, as Virilio’s thought implies, would be a fallacy.
Virilio commits a mistake by collapsing time onto the dimension of space, and by
doing so he becomes unable to grasp the meaning of real6 time as lived in human
consciousness. As McQuire (152) points out, Virilio proposes the collapse of time
and geographical distance while still relying on a typically phenomenological
concept of presence, as can be deducted from the introductory quote to this
paper. His understanding of the metaphysics of presence thus remains centered
around a Bergson-like view of consciousness while failing to respect Bergson’s
privileging of the time dimension.
Late modern or hypermodern societies, as Virilio suggests, are
undoubtedly characterized by a general increase in the pace of life. Speed is
often the bottom line in economic transaction, event coverage, transportation,
and inevitably human relations. Auge’s characterization of the airport as the
non-place par excellence of hypermodernity, or Virilio’s chrono-politics offer
invaluable insights into global culture and postmodern society, yet in my view
fail to respect the humanness of existential experience. Let this be clear, I am not
suggesting that it is the conditions of postmodern life that make the experience
of waiting and living time impossible, rather I am suggesting that it is rather
Virilio’s view that much too hastily does away with human possibilities. Is it
then possible to develop an understanding of waiting that takes into account the
creativity and uniqueness of the human experience of time without neglecting
Waiting Dynamics
205
to consider the historical peculiarities of postmodern life? This is indeed
possible if we look at the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze.
While Deleuze never explicitly espoused the idea of postmodernism
his writings have worked to assert the typically postmodern and postphenomenological ideas of difference, multiplicity, disunity, and change.
Deleuze’s philosophy can be said to be a philosophy of becoming, a view on life
as a continuous possibility for change. Deleuze believes that stasis is repressive
as stability represents the denial of the creative power of life to evolve, mutate,
and become. Deleuze writes in Dialogues:
It is never the beginning or the end which are interesting; the beginning
and end are points. What is interesting is the middle (Deleuze, 1987:
39).
Bergson was very inuential in the development of Deleuze’s philosophy. Just
like Bergson believed that the human intellect has a tendency to spatialize time
and immobilize the ux of life, Deleuze believes that time and being never
repeat themselves and that we ought to conceive of being always as becoming.
As Deleuze writes, life
takes place in the middle: this indenite life does not have moments,
however close they might be, but only meantimes, between-moments
(Deleuze, 2001: 5).
The solution Deleuze would offer is then to cease thinking of my waiting in
Agra and Hong Kong as interstitial times, or as experiences of stasis. If life
takes place in ‘meantimes’, and if life is made of between-moments that offer
nothing but the opportunity to become, then waiting can be understood as a
dynamic activity. Indeed it is through my waiting in India that I was able to
meet strangers, explore unknown places, understand the continuity of time
and my self, and ultimately use my experiences to change as a person. It is also
through my waiting in Hong Kong that I was able to reect on the redenition
of space and on the restructuring of relative time afforded by technology.
Also, and perhaps more interestingly my wait in Hong Kong occurred at the
“mediating point of the global convergence7” of time and space within the
airport as I was being transmitted through the airplane medium from one
continent, through the airport, on to another continent. When we think of
waiting as an opportunity, as goal-oriented and meaning-making activity we
are able to re-evaluate both the nature of this experience and its subject: both
waiting and the waiting subject become dynamic projects.
Whereas following Virilio we should think of speed as the obliteration
of time, corporeality, and subjectivity, by thinking of waiting as a dynamic
opportunity for becoming we can re-evaluate the experience of time in
206
postmodernity. If we agree that globalization is in part an effect of the increase
of speed, and that such increase has forced us to mutate our relative concepts
of time but not to do away altogether with our creative power to perceive
time we can arrive at a conclusion on the experience of waiting in the era
of speed. First, as mentioned, waiting as a lived experience of time is to be
intended as a dynamic opportunity to change. Second, through the numerous
opportunities offered by global technologies our waiting becomes less static
and characterized not by atopia but rather by continuous movement and
change.
In conclusion, I would like to provide the reader with a brief summary
of this journey. Throughout this essay I have used two examples derived from
my personal experience to illustrate and analyze the thought of three of most
inuential philosophers of time of the past and current century. I have utilized
Bergson’s phenomenology of time to explain the nature of the lived experience
of waiting and re-evaluated his thought in light of the changing structure of life
in a global and postmodern society as depicted by Paul Virilio. I have criticized
the inconsistencies of Virilio’s thought while attempting to still account for his
contributions, and nally integrated the Deleuzian concept of life as becoming
into our understanding of waiting. I hope you will remember all this next time
you need to cool your heels.
Notes
I am deeply indebted to my anonymous reviewers for their extremely useful
comments.
1
2
Dromology refers to the scientic and historical study of speed.
Both photograph of Hong Kong’s airport terminal gate and SkyMart video are courtesy
of Hong Kong Airport. <http://www.hkairport.com/eng/mainpage/index.jsp>
3
Waiting Dynamics
207
Works Cited
Antliff, Mark. “Creative Time: Bergson and European Modernism”, in Tempus
Fugit, edited by Jan Schall. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2000.
Augé, Marc. Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity.
London: Verso, 1995.
Bergson, Henri. Time and Free Will: An Essay on the Immediate Data of
Consciousness. Translated by F.L. Pogson. New York: Harper and Row, 1960.
Bergson Henri. “The Introduction to Metaphysics” (1903), in The Creative Mind.
Translated by Mabelle Andison (1946). Potowa, NJ: Littleeld, Adams & Co.,
1975.
Bergson, Henri. Matter and Memory (1896). Translated by N.M. Paul and W.S.
Palmer (1911). New York: Humanities Press, 1978.
Bratton, Benjamin. “SURUrbia: An Introduction to Airports and Malls.” SPEED
1.3 (1996). Available online at <http://proxy.arts.uci.edu/~nideffer/_SPEED_/
1.3/index.html>.
Certeau, Michel de. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. by S. Rendall. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1984.
Crogan, Patrick. “Paul Virilio and the Aporia of Speed”. SPEED 1.4
(1997). Available online at <http://proxy.arts.uci.edu/~nideffer/_SPEED_/
1.4/articles/crogan.html>.
Deleuze, Gilles. Dialogues. Trans. by H. Tomlinson and B. Habberjam. New
York: Columbia University Press, 1987.
Rather than a blueprint sketch or building plan, this is actually a representation of a
nished ight tunnel made for the E-journal SPEED, whom I acknowledge for granting
reprinting. SPEED is available at: <http://proxy.arts.uci.edu/~nideffer>
Deleuze, Gilles. Pure Immanence: Essays on a Life. Introduction by J. Rajchman,
trans. by A. Boyman. New York: Zone Books.
If the link does not work set your browser to: <http://www.hkairport.com/eng/
paradise/skymart/skymart.htm>.
Eppich, Rand. “Flights”. SPEED 1.3 (1996). Available online
<http://proxy.arts.uci.edu/~nideffer/_SPEED_/1.3/index.html>.
4
5
6
Real is to be intended in Bergsonian terms.
I would like to acknowledge one of my anonymous reviewers for this precious
suggestion.
7
at
McQuire, Scott. “Blinded by the (Speed of) Light.” Theory, Culture & Society 16
(5-6) (1999): 143-159.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith.
New York: Humanities Press, 1962.
208
Virilio, Paul. Polar Inertia. Translated by Patrick Camiller. London: Sage, 1999.
Virilio, Paul. Open Sky. Translated by J. Rose. London: Verso, 1997.
Virilio, Paul. The Aesthetics of Disappearance. Translated by P. Beitchman. New
York: Semiotext(e), 1991.
209
Bathroom English: Utilizing Private Mundanity to
Maximize Second Language Acquisition
Eunha Jung
Northeastern State University
Abstract: Utilizing “remnant” time in one’s private routines to
practice a second language is highly effective in that it provides
a safe setting where one can prepare oneself for eventual public
interactions, which can be much more face-threatening. The paper
suggests several strategies to maximize second language acquisition
in private mundanity, such as reading aloud in the bathroom and
self-interviewing while commuting.
Virilio, Paul. Speed and Politics: An Essay on Dromology. Translated by M.
Polizzotti. New York: Semiotext(e), 1986a.
Virilio, Paul. “The Overexposed City.” Translated by A. Hustvedt. Zone 1(2)
(1986b): 14-31.
About the Author: Phillip Vannini ([email protected]) is a doctoral
student in Sociology at Washington State University. A strong believer
in the multidisciplinarity of human research, he has published works
on globalization, identity of the postmodern tourist, pop culture, as
well on as social aspects of narcissism and conspicuous consumption.
His research interests encompass the cultural meanings of love, the
consumption of popular music, and the study of North-American
subcultures.
I
f you are like me, you might search for labels on your shampoo bottle or the
dosage instructions on your Tylenol bottle to read, while in the bathroom.
Even if you are not a compulsive reader, you might sometimes consider some
productive things that you could do during your obligatory ritual. You have
time. You have privacy. What can you do to maximize your productivity?
Some people read newspapers and magazines; some sing their favorite
songs or simply the songs that somehow become stuck in their heads; yet others
talk on the phone. These are all excellent ways to increase one’s productivity.
To this list, I would like to add learning a second language. Since my eld
is Teaching English as a Second Language, I will call it “Bathroom English.”
In a nutshell, “Bathroom English” is a marriage between second language
acquisition and mundanity. Learners of English can improve their language
skills tremendously by taking advantage of their routines. This paper will
explore the importance of everydayness in language acquisition and suggest
several strategies to maximize its effectiveness.
Everyday life is not a new concept in second language acquisition.
In fact, during the heydays of Audiolingualism1, everyday life was often
represented in dialogs set in a white middle class family living room overlooking
a manicured lawn. This homogenized and sanitized approach to Teaching
English as a Second Language was wryly criticized by Ionesco in The Bald
Soprano (1958).
Mrs. Smith: There, it’s nine o’clock. We’ve drunk the soup, and eaten
the sh and chips, and the English salad. The children have drunk
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 209-216. © 2002, Eunha
Jung and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
210
English water. We’ve eaten well this evening. That’s because we live in
the suburbs of London and because our name is Smith. (p. 9)
One problem with this kind of everyday life is that it represents someone else’s
mundanity. When I was studying English in middle school and high school,
I was exposed to many texts not too different from Ionesco’s Theatre of the
Absurd. What made it worse was the fact that I, a 12 year-old Korean girl, had
to repeat and memorize “I am Tom. I am a boy.” I felt utterly unconnected to
American or sometimes British middle class families with their often irritating
cheerfulness, mothers in high heels, and their backyard barbecues. In retrospect,
after having lived in the U.S.A. for the last 13 years, I know that these texts
did not represent the America middle class culture accurately. Their spic
and span houses and conict-free lives seemed unrealistic, conspicuously
lacking “messiness” that is often found in real life. Perhaps they represented
everydayness from nowhere. In spite of its earnest intentions, this approach
failed to ignite intrinsic motivation in me as well as in many other language
learners.
Communicative Language Teaching2 has successfully shifted second
language teaching from mechanical drills to more authentic language use with
meaningful contexts. A more recent and more realistic approach to incorporate
mundanity into ESL (English as a Second Language) can be seen in Task-based
Language Teaching, one of many variations of Communicative Language
Teaching. According to Long (1985), tasks are 101 and things that people
do everyday. In order to prepare language learners for these “target tasks”,
teachers engage their students in pedagogical tasks, which are problem solving
activities approximating target tasks. For instance, in order to prepare learners
to be able to perform interactions in a restaurant, teachers give them classroom
tasks involving understanding menus, ordering food, and paying for food in
role-play settings. Most target tasks naturally involve linguistic interactions in
everyday life; that is, there are always other parties involved besides the learners
because these tasks belong to the domain of public mundanity.
Pedagogical tasks, such as role-plays, debates, and information gap
activities are excellent tools to prepare second language learners for public
everyday interactions in a relatively safe environment. Safety is an important
issue because it is daunting to be thrown into linguistic interactions with native
speakers of English or with speakers whose language the learners do not share.
Not only do many learners have only a shaky control over the language, but
they also have difculty dealing with non-verbal cues and cultural contexts.
Their experiences are analogous to the autistic protagonist in the movie Rain
Man stopping in the middle of a crosswalk because the sign had changed to
“Do not walk.” (Rain Man, 1988). Many non-native speakers of English live
in a literal world while the world surrounding them is not always literal.
Bathroom English
211
Interactions in the target culture can easily result in miscommunications, and
can potentially be face-threatening.
I vividly remember the time when I rst received my graduate
assistantship and had to report to the payroll ofce; on my way to the ofce, I
practiced what I was going to say, ipping back and forth between “employer”
and “employee”. I knew the rule that “-er” is a sufx for the do-er of an action,
and “-ee” is a sufx for the beneciary. However, when I walked into the ofce,
I became extremely nervous and committed a terrible performance error: “I am
a new employer.” The clerk at the desk turned to her co-workers and repeated
my sentence. Of course, uproarious laughter followed. Although I knew I had
made a mistake the moment the word came out of mouth, I did not have either
the courage to correct myself or the sense of humor to make a witty comeback.
Contrary to what this experience might lead one to believe, the input and the
feedback that non-native speakers receive from native speakers is not always
negative. When given in an encouraging manner, the native speaker input
and feedback can be highly benecial in the learners’ language development.
While interactions with native speakers are crucial factors in second language
acquisition, they are not always readily available. If learners do not live in the
target culture, their chances of encountering target input and feedback are not
great.
How, then, can second language learners overcome challenges of public
mundanity or, sometimes, a lack of it? My answer to the question is private
mundanity, one aspect in the learners’ routines that has been under-examined:
101 things that the learner does in private without involving other parties.
The main reason that private mundanity needs to be thoroughly examined
in second language acquisition is that it can function as a bridge between
classroom instructions and public tasks. It is denitely less face-threatening
and less risky than public mundanity, which involves interactions with other
people, mostly native speakers. Unlike public situations, private routines enable
learners to adjust the pace of language production and the degree of difculty
of the language use because they are the only ones involved in the private
domain. In public interactions, learners are often thrown into conversations
or exposed to input that are beyond their grasp. This is in part due to their
insufcient linguistic competence, but also due to the interlocutors’ (often
native speakers of English) failure to adjust their speech according to learner’s
prociency level. In addition, utilizing private mundanity in second language
acquisition increases the time learners use English beyond mere several hours
of classroom instruction per week. One of the main reasons that learning a
second language poses an insurmountable challenge to many people is that
many of them view the classroom experience as if it is an exotic island vacation
from which they return home when they leave the classroom. Since language is
an all-encompassing element in our lives, unless second language learners nd
212
a way to incorporate this foreign medium into their everyday life, the second
language will always remain a foreign artifact, failing to become an everyday
medium they use for functional as well as expressive purposes.
What are 101 things that one performs everyday in private? Brushing
one’s teeth, using the bathroom, taking a shower, eating, watching TV, reading
the newspaper, taking the bus or subway, and driving to and from work are
just of few of those activities. Since reading silently in private is something
that is done a great deal already, I would like to emphasize the oral aspect of
language use. That leaves us using the bathroom, taking a shower, watching
TV, driving to and from work, etc. These tasks are usually performed in private
and often take a great deal of our time. It is about 25% of my waking hours, and
I do not even commute. Since these tasks are performed rather automatically
through extensive practice, taking up very little of people’s consciousness,
people tend to occupy the remainder of their brain space with secondary tasks,
such as listening to the radio, eating snacks, and even applying make-up.
Instead of these secondary tasks, a motivated language learner can devote the
extra energy and time in developing his or her language skills.
Reading magazines aloud in the bathroom, one of the private tasks
that I highly recommend, is a powerful strategy. The magazines do not have
to be The New Yorker and Time if one’s interest does not lie in the areas covered
by these prestigious magazines, or if one’s linguistic ability is far below the
level of English used in them. Depending on the learner’s interest and level,
any magazine written in English will do be it Golf Digest, Entertainment Weekly,
or American Angler. It is also important that the English in these magazines is
slightly above the learner’s current level of competence. Too many unfamiliar
words pose an extra challenge in that learners will have to gure out their
pronunciation in addition to making those sounds even if they do not pay
attention to the meaning. Of course, one can use these magazines to read
for pleasure and to receive new information. The area that I would like to
emphasize is reading out loud. Reading materials aloud without paying too
much attention to comprehension helps the learner practice rhythm, intonation,
as well as individual sounds. The acoustics of a small space makes it easy
to perceive one’s own errors and to self-correct them. Also, the mirror in the
bathroom can be used to achieve precision of one’s articulation. It is a perfect
place for “covert rehearsal.” (Dickerson, 1984)
Interviewing oneself in the bathroom can be highly effective and
entertaining at the same time. One can pretend to be an authority on areas of
one’s interest or one’s own culture. How about being interviewed by Larry
King about anti-government demonstrations among Korean college students?
How about the origin of Salsa? Learners can gradually expand their repertoire
to include topics that they are not too familiar with. As is true even in one’s
rst language use, talking about issues and ideas that one is not interested
Bathroom English
213
in or too familiar with can be taxing on multiple levels. One often nds that
one lacks adequate vocabulary and jargon for unfamiliar elds. Whether one
encounters a situation in real life in which one can actually give those rehearsed
“impromptu” speeches or not is of little importance. If one becomes lucky
enough to have an opportunity to express one’s opinions on those issues, one
will be denitely prepared. If not, one will have enough condence about
one’s verbal skills in general to tackle new issues and topics because one has
practiced discussing unfamiliar topics.
The self-interview technique can work equally well while driving to
and from work or school. A vehicle provides a small environment with perfect
privacy unless one carpools with other people. If one prefers to listen to tapes,
interactive language tapes are recommended. For example, the tapes can ask
questions, and one is given several minutes to respond. If not, shadowing-repeating what people say on tape or on the radio immediately following the
speakers--can help learners to practice pronunciation, rhythm, and intonation,
which are major components that heavily affect intelligibility.
Singing in the shower, commonly practiced by many people, is another
strategy that learners can use to improve their English. However, singing is
not the mode of practice that I recommend most highly because it is often
rather limited in its scope and creativity. People memorize given lyrics rather
than create their own. Also, song lyrics are not the best samples of common
everyday language, with its heavy use of metaphors and variant structures.
One thing I have noticed in the USA is that few people admit to
watching TV. I found it rather amusing that many people who “do not watch
TV” seem to remember some obscure commercials when they are brought up
in conversations. When I rst came to the USA, I was literally glued to my
TV set for hours after coming home from school. I did not have a high level
of cultural as well as linguistic sophistication regarding this culture to discern
junk TV from classic TV; in fact, I watched everything from American Gladiators
to Bay Watch. As embarrassing as they make cultural elitists feel, one cannot
deny the fact that the lower end of the cultural spectrum rightfully represents
some aspects of American culture. I nd that soap operas the most ideal for
beginning to intermediate learners. Oller’s Episode Hypothesis (1983) states
that connected episodes facilitate reproduction, understanding, and recall of
both aural and written texts. I believe that they enhance learning because one
can sustain high level of interest when one is held in suspense for what is to
come next. Besides, common themes in soap operas tend to be universal in
nature. Jealousy, love, passion, pregnancy, and revenge seem to predominate
in soap operas all around the world. People can easily relate to those emotions.
Secondly, they are timeless; besides the fact that soap opera actors do not seem
to age, these shows seem to have very little reference to current events. So one
does not have to be familiar with recent social, political issues to understand
214
them. Thirdly, the actors tend to use simple language, speak slowly, and with
often-exaggerated gestures, providing extra non-verbal clues to help listening
comprehension. A little more challenging than soap operas are situational
comedies. The comprehension of these materials requires slightly higher level
of cultural knowledge. For example, the 80’s show assumes that the viewer has
a fairly good grasp of the time period that is satirized in the show, as there are
many cultural references and visual puns. (Of course, I have never watched the
show. Really.) News broadcast can be fairly challenging in that its vocabulary
is of a higher caliber with many unfamiliar proper nouns referring to specic
people, places, and organizations. In addition, due to time restrictions, news
broadcasters tend to speak extremely fast. The most challenging of all the
show types are stand-up comedies due to its extremely high culture specic
content and subtle cross-cultural variations of what strikes people as funny. One
should select TV programs carefully based on one’s interest and linguistic level.
In addition to listening for comprehension, one can also shadow actors and
anchors to practice rhythm. One can even mute the interviewee’s portion and
pretend to be interviewed by big shots like Diane Sawyer.
I am not interested in creating second language schizophrenics who
talk to themselves incessantly. I am simply saying that second language
learners need to utilize private everydayness to ll in the gap between language
instructions and fully functional social interactions in their target culture.
One cannot, as studies have proven, expect the transition from classroom
instructions to successful public interactions to be easy and smooth. Brown
(1994) calls for “strategic investment” in second language learning, maintaining
that since language is one of the most complex set of skills; learners need
to invest their time and effort “in the form of developing multiple layers of
strategies.” One needs time to absorb what is learned and to make one’s new
language not something that one borrows once in a while like a roommate’s
blazer, but something that one uses as an extra medium of communication
every day the way all languages are intended to be used.
One’s language is an integral part of personal identity. When one
views a second language in the context of someone else’s mundanity, one
has difculty overcoming the foreignness of this new medium, much less
adopting it as an extra means of communication. Mundanity in second language
acquisition needs to be presented realistically and in ways that are meaningful
to the learner. It also needs to be gradually introduced, starting from private
everydayness (where one is not threatened by an insensitive listener), fastpaced exchanges, and constantly changing power dynamics and situations.
Once one feels comfortable using one’s second language in one’s private
domain, one is ready for more public contexts. The very fact that one’s most
private moments are in part conducted in one’s second a language is the
Bathroom English
215
very indication that the second language has become an integral part of one’s
multicultural identity.
Notes
A language teaching method that was extremely popular in the 50’s and 60’s. It
has its roots in the “Army Method”, and it uses audiotapes, sentence patterns, and
various oral drills.
1
According to Richards and Rodgers (1986), Communicative Language Teaching is an
approach designed to develop “communicative competence.” Because of this emphasis,
it is known for interactive process-oriented techniques that encourage language learners
to negotiate their meanings in groups using authentic materials.
2
Works Cited
Brown, H.D. (1994). Teaching by Principles: An interactive approach to language
pedagogy. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall Regents.
Dickerson, W. B. (1984). The role of formal rules in pronunciation instruction.
In J. Handscombe, R. Orem and B. Taylor (Eds.), On TESOL ‘83. Washington,
D.C.: TESOL. 135-148.
Ionesco, E. (1958). The Bald Soprano. In Four Plays by Eugène Ionesco. (D.M. Allen,
Trans.). New York: Grove Weideneld. (Original work published 1954)
Johnson, M. (Producer), & Levinson, B. (Director). (1988). Rain Man [Film].
Long, M.H. (1985). A role for instruction in second language acquisition: Taskbased language training. In K. Hyltenstam and M. Pienemann (Eds.), Modelling
and Assessing Second Language Acquisition. Clevedon, Avon: Multilingual
Matters.
Oller, J.W. (1983). Story writing principles and ESL teaching. TESOL Quarterly
17(1), 39-53.
Richards, J.C. & Rodgers, T. S. (1986). Approaches and Methods in Language
Teaching: A description and analysis. New York: Cambridge University Press.
216
217
About the Author: Eunha Jung ([email protected]) became an
“international orphan” 13 years ago, when she left Korea to come
to the United States to pursue a doctorate in Applied Linguistics.
Thanks to thousands of hours spent practicing “Bathroom English”
herself, she now is teaching American students how to speak, write,
and even teach English, as an assistant professor at Northeastern State
University in Oklahoma.
Community Organizing: “Community” As A
Discursive Resource In A Youth Social Services
Agency
John Manzo
Sociology, University of Calgary (Canada)
Abstract: “Community” is a resonant and venerable topic in sociology,
and has been invoked in practice, in criminal-justice and other
institutional agendas, as both the cause of and the cure for social
problems. This study extends the sociology of “community” in a
novel way, by addressing how the word “community” is invoked
and organized by counsellors in a shopping-mall-based youth social
services agency. The principal ndings of this paper are that counsellors
and other parties to the agency use the expression with great frequency,
and resist the common tendency to say “community” in a qualied or
pre-modied way, as in terms such as “gay community,” “immigrant
community,” and so forth. This paper advances the sociology of
community by addressing “community” as a concept organized and
formulated in the talk of those acting within it; this paper also suggest
how social-services provisions and attempts at the control of juvenile
delinquency can benet from the approach modelled by the agency in
question.
T
his paper concerns the day-to-day work of counsellors at a social services
agency for youth. The focus of this report is on the narratives, vocabularies,
and other linguistic strategies of counselling staff, with particular focus on the
speakers’ own rendering of the expression “community.” The agency is housed
in a novel and conspicuously mundane setting: a shopping mall storefront in
a working-class neighbourhood of Toronto, Ontario, Canada. In this report I
address the staff’s work from their own standpoints.
My focus reflects the fact that counsellors mention “community”
with great frequency in these conversations, and I argue that the sense and
reference of “community,” as displayed in counsellor’s talk, are notable in their
consistency across interviews. As such, “community” constitutes a discursive
resource, one ubiquitous and important in interviews but not overtly noted as
such, and one that informs and infuses the work of counsellors and the agency,
and their relationships with and orientations to their clientele. The emphasis
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 217-232. © 2002, John
Manzo and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
218
of this investigation thus concerns the concrete details of talk and their place
in the lived experiences of interviewees and their interactants. However, I am
also concerned with the fortunes of this program and the relationship between
the casual uses of a terminology–“community”–and the agency’s policies and
successes. I will thus address implications for addressing crime and youthful
offenders, in services that are in sites such as shopping malls, more generally. I
will consider some of these broader issues rst by discussing the meaning and
use of “community” in and out of social science.
“Community” as Topic and Resource
“Community” has a venerable history in sociology (cf. Bell and Newby,
1971) and other social sciences, as well as in everyday talk, as a topic of
analysis and as a rhetorical and linguistic resource. I will begin by summarizing
its history in sociology, and then by reviewing the use of “community” in
criminology and criminal/juvenile justice research and policy.
Sociology and “Community”
Among works in the earliest days of sociology, “community” was an
important organizing concept. The sense of the expression as formulated by
Tönnies (1887) is still extant in much of sociology’s use of the term. Tönnies
stipulated that “community” (Gemeinschaft) represented a pre-modern, pastoral,
and especially rural idyll in which neighbour knew neighbour and every
resident enjoyed mutual interdependence on every other. This conception
of community is prominent in the early history of sociology, even in Park
and Burgess’ (1926) argument that Tönnies’ understanding of “community”
was a tting topic among the practitioners in the decidedly urban-focussed
Chicago School of Sociology. In urban or rural settings, the traditional notion of
“community” has been most clearly and much more recently dened by Bellah
(1995:50) as “a distinct social and economic interdependence of diversied
individuals within a given locale.”
Although Bellah’s (1995) denition has prominent resonance, still,
inside and outside sociology, its uses and meanings have often strayed far from
these traditional ones. For example, while the interests of the Chicago school
in, among other topics, urban community studies have hardly disappeared, a
review of recent titles concerning both “community” and “sociology” advises
that “community” has evolved as a predominately non-urban concept in
sociology, and the bulk of titles that engage community do so from either
the sub-elds of rural sociology or the sociology of religion. “Community” is
often viewed as a bucolic precursor to a modern form of social organization
that, as diverse and non-rural, cannot be a “community” defined as per
Tönnies’ romantic conception, or that comprises new social forms that are
“communities” in only metaphorical terms. A good example of this latter usage
is the supplanting of the original “community” with the more contemporary
Community Organizing
219
“network” (Wellman and Leighton, 1981). In more casual discourse, there exists
the recurrent and inescapable tendency of modern speakers and writers to refer
to “community” as a group that, in starkest contradiction to Bellah’s denition,
is non-diverse. Among these “networks” are contemporary neologisms that I,
and any participant in North American culture, have encountered recurrently,
such as “the Christian community,” “the on-line community,” “the gay
community,” “the feminist community,” “the injection drug users community,”
and countless others. This rendering of “the ______ community,” to which I
refer as its premodied usage, denotes a network bound by commonality and
not spatial proximity. These new “communities” are not villages in anything but
a metaphorical sense, not neighbourhoods, and most certainly not diversied
as Bellah stipulated.
The fact that “community” has acquired new meanings in its uses
in sociological and casual discourse does not mean that it, in its traditional
denition, no longer exists. A major nding of this investigation is that it may
exist precisely in that sense. However, that inclusive denition of “community”
has also been supplanted in a different way in so-called “community treatments”
as organized in youth justice and mental-health-related efforts in North
America. It is more appropriate to refer to some of these approaches as
anti-community treatments, because they entail refusing local resources in
favour of removing offenders or patients from their neighbourhoods. This
removal eliminates the possibility of “community” engagement. As I will next
demonstrate, even in youth crime-control approaches adamantly intending to
mobilize neighbourhood-based resources and local residents, these efforts depict
youth as objects of their endeavours, not as participants in them. In other words,
“community” approaches typically entail the mobilization of adults against the
perceived threats posed by the youths who reside among them.
“Community” and Youth Crime
Organising “Community” for Delinquency Prevention
The idea that “community” can be organised as an efcacious means
for the prevention (and sometimes the treatment) of juvenile delinquents
is a venerable one in North America. In a summary of those approaches,
Rothman (1979) delineates three categories of community organization: locality
development, which entails collaboration among the broadest possible of groups
(including social service organizations, businesses, and individual residents)
at the local level to mobilize entire neighbourhoods to facilitate their renewal;
social planning, which deploys the specialised skills of “experts” in designing
and applying “task goals” which relate to specic, tangible problems; and
social action, which uses tactics to impel less-advantaged members of the
neighbourhood to effect redistribution of resources and changes in public
policies. This last approach, unlike the locality development strategy, views
220
business and governmental institutions as targets of change, not as collaborators
on community organization.
Each of these approaches to community organization saw use in
various delinquency prevention approaches developed in the US, starting
with a prominent concern for redevelopment in slums in the 1930s. For
example, the Chicago Area Project (Reiss 1986, Shaw and McKay, 1942), with its
emphasis on ameliorating the “social disorganization” of Chicago’s inner-city
neighbourhoods via the engagement of its residents, was a paradigmatic
example of this rst approach. Berger (1996) comprehensively delineates the
deployment of different approaches by different programs over the years.
It is not my goal here to assess these courses. I will point out that,
despite the variety of actions that they recommend, all of the traditional
community-based approaches share certain features. First, while all of them
reect denitions of, and thus tacit theories on, “community” as a (perhaps as
the) central organizing topic and resource, none specify just what “community”
is. Its nature and its borders are implicit. Second, whatever “community” might
have been for these approaches, it is clear that youth were construed as exterior
to it: Young people were, at best, the object of the social action undertaken on
their behalf as when, in New York’s Lower East Side, an organization called
Mobilization for (not of) Youth recommended that parents of school-age children
protest in front of local school boards (Empey 1982:242). The youth, whose
anticipated delinquency was the focus of these efforts, were not participants in
the planning or conduct of any of these programs.
Undoing the Corrupting Inuence of Neighbourhoods: Anti-Community Approaches
Public and private agencies and institutions that treat or prevent
juvenile delinquency have always been informed by often-tacit theories and
always-explicit values. Among the most venerable and salient of these values is
that which regards the need to remove juveniles from the presumed corrupting
impact of their neighbourhoods. As a marked contemporary example of this
theory, in many sites in North America there is substantial public, governmental
and organizational support for the use of “boot camps” for juvenile offenders.
Boot camps instance a modern application of a very old idea in juvenile justice,
that espoused by the Child Savers (Pisciotta, 1982): remove the juvenile from
his or her neighbourhood, and treat him or her with rm discipline in the
“guarded sanctuary” of, in this contemporary instance, a quasi-military setting.
Support for boot camps is strong based on the value-laden appeal of their
solution, one that resonates with many North Americans and which reects
venerable features of some lay and academic theories that specify the causes
of juvenile delinquency: discipline is important; peers are dangerous; urban
settings are unhealthy; adult role models are essential.
221
There are thus two countervailing themes in youth crime-related theory
and practice with respect to the role of “community” in crime control. The
rst, more recent view sees “community” as a resource for the prevention of
delinquency and thus depicts communities as potentially benevolent settings
that can guide youths’ behaviours in non-criminal directions. The other, more
venerable and durable perspective sees community (as organized in modern
urban neighbourhoods at least) as a malignant setting from which youth must
be rescued. The approach of the program at issue in this report, and its version
of “community” as articulated in the casual talk of its employees, differs from
both of these traditions, in its construal of “community” as a resource for crime
prevention, one that determinedly includes youth in its enactment.
Delinquency Prevention and the DMYS Innovation
The approach and priorities of the “Darlington Mall Youth Services”1
agency (hereafter DMYS) is, at the organizational, philosophic, and interactional
levels different from many of the approaches used to address youth crime
and other youth-related social problems in other locations and even at other
shopping malls. Its difference attaches to its deliberate placement in, and not
separate from, the neighbourhood in which its clients reside, and perhaps more
innovatively, in a privately-owned and privately-managed shopping mall.
I dene a “client” of DMYS, for practical purposes, as any person
who has sought assistance from agency staff, from counselling encounters
to attendance at agency-sponsored social functions to brief visits to procure
condoms. It is likely that most of these “clients” are not directly under the
authority of the juvenile justice system, but since the agency sees itself as, among
other things, a resource for delinquency prevention, comparison between it
and its alternatives–community organizing on one hand, and anti-community
approaches like boot camps on the other–is appropriate. With respect to
traditional community organizing, DMYS differs in at least four respects.
First, DMYS does not recommend or entail any changes in the structure or
function of neighbourhoods per se, aside from taking over a small physical
component of its mall that could otherwise remain a retail establishment.
Second, DMYS comprises representatives from a consortium of already-existing
neighbourhood social services providers (such as Portuguese, Vietnamese
and Tamil immigrant-aid organizations) and does not entail the creation of
new agencies. Third, DMYS, as part of its charter and its continuing mission,
incorporates local youths into most stages of the service, as peer counsellors as
well as on its board of directors. Finally, DMYS counsellors express denitions,
implicitly as well as overtly, of “community” in these interviews different
from those we glean from summaries of other community-based approaches
as discussed above. It is this dening work that is the topic of the analytic
section of this paper.
222
The approach of DMYS is, of course, greatly at odds with that of boot
camps. The agency is housed in a shopping mall, one that comprises the heart
of a dramatically multicultural urban neighbourhood, one that is, according
to the mall manager, “the most ethnically-diverse neighbourhood in the
most ethnically-diverse city in the world.” Instead of attempting the “magic
bullet,” one-shot approaches to preventing and treating delinquency that has
dened and plagued the enterprise throughout the last century (Lundman,
1993), DMYS deploys a decidedly diverse set of approaches, from traditional
psychotherapeutic counselling by social workers to job placement (with the
assistance of mall business owners) to social events in and out of the DMYS
ofce space. The agency embraces principles almost universally at odds with
those that inform boot camps: The neighbourhood is not corrupting, but rather
is a necessary player in delinquency prevention. Instead of deploying a rm
hand for disciplinary purposes, youths need to be given space and a myriad of
choices and must make decisions for themselves. Peers are not dangerous; they
are the most important resource for delinquency prevention, and so teenagers
play an important role in determining the content of the agency’s services.
Finally, the agency is utterly part of the surrounding neighbourhood, and this
relationship between agency and community resonates in the narratives of
staff and mall management.
Some assessments suggest that the community-centred approach of
DMYS is the more efcacious one. According to a review and program evaluation
of US boot camps by Jones and Ross (1997), they are counterproductive: a
boot camp “graduate” is more likely to recidivate than a youth who has
experienced conventional probation. The DMYS experiment, on the other
hand, has been lauded for its role in a dramatic turnaround in the mall: a
dramatic (39%) decrease in total criminal incidents (from 1213 to 744) in the
rst ve years (1991-1995) of the program’s existence, a decrease comprising
notable reductions in crime such as shoplifting, armed and unarmed robbery,
bicycle theft, and an astonishing drop of more than 90% in thefts from persons
(Metropolitan Toronto Police Information Centre, n.d.). The same period saw
increases in mall patronage and retail occupancy.
Although these successes are part of the concerted work of mall security,
merchants, and the mall management, as well as changes in the physical culture
of the mall (such as elimination of large-group seating in the food court), the
only genuinely unique aspect of this mall is its provision of social services. This
provision is a notable innovation in orientations to delinquency prevention, and
in the organization of private “retail” space. I next examine one feature of this
program here, namely, how counsellors in the agency discuss their day-to-day
work, their communities, and the place of their clients in both.
223
Data and Method
My research entailed ethnographic observation, documentary analysis
and especially interviews with agency staff over a three-month period. I
conducted semi-structured interviews with four of nine staff and with the
mall manager, who was instrumental in bringing social services to the mall,
among other innovative initiatives. I also had informal conversations with
others. I asked respondents about duties, clients, and contexts of the mall:
the immediate neighbourhood, Toronto’s particular urban culture, and even
whether they saw their enterprise as “Canadian” on some level. The interviews
lasted approximately 60 minutes each.
A research assistant transcribed the interviews verbatim, after which
I scrutinized transcripts to uncover recurring patterns of talk and salient
discursive themes. My decision to focus on “community” was due to the
evident frequency with which speakers deploy that word. In analytic terms,
I emulate the approach of Boden (1987:15) in her study of talk in corporate
settings and particularly her emphasis on the relationship between discourse
and context. My approach examines how context informs and is informed by
the lived, mundane experiences of persons who work in that context, that is,
by interpersonal encounters that take place there and the participants’ spoken
discourse within it. Some ways in which I wished to address how talk and
context are bound up concerned participants’ standpoints on the meanings and
challenges of social services provision; how the broader social environment is
invoked in talking about those services; and what micro-interactional studies
engaging the minutiae of talk can tell about issues such as social services,
community, crime, and other topics outside the interview setting.
“Community” as a Discursive Device
In the interviews of agency staff members, it appears that there are
several themes that recur but few are as prominent as the theme of “community.”
As evidence of the salience of the concept, consider that the word “community”
was referenced, on average, 17 times in the course of the interviews and emerges
continually in documents promoting or reporting on the centre. Moreover,
in only a minuscule percentage of the uses of “community,” and in none of
its usages by counsellors, is the term premodied, as with the very common
tendency referenced earlier to denote the “religious community,” the “gay
community,” the “black community,” and other such phenomena. The concept
thus constitutes part of the participants’ descriptions and the culture of
discourse through which they construct their work and their formulations of
their clients and their clients’ positions in the larger world.
224
225
The Incidence of “Community” in the Interviews
Table 1 species the number of utterances of “community,” and the
proportion that are premodied, for each interviewee. These data demonstrate
that speakers overwhelmingly articulate “community” on its own, without
modication. I have specied what words preceded “community” for those
few instances, uttered by the Mall Manager and the Program Director, where
“community” was premodied.
Excerpt 1 (Counsellor 1):
Table 1: Incidences of Use of “Community” for All Interviewees
In a similar vein, the Mall Manager, although not a counsellor and not directly
under the auspices of the social services ofce, proffers a use of community that
also eliminates the distinction between mall and surrounding neighbourhood.
Like counsellor 1, he does not exclude any of the prospective members of the
“community.”
Respondent
# uses of
“community”
# premodied
%age nonpre-modied
Mall Manager
10
3*
70%
Program Director
14
1 (“local”)
93%
Counsellor 1
21
0
100%
Counsellor 2
22
0
100%
Counsellor 3
18
0
100%
* Usages included two references to “outside community” and one to “residential
community”.
Inspection of Interview Excerpts
In each of the extracts that follow, “community” displays a subtly
different sense. I have culled examples that evidence what “community” is as
a geographical designation, whom “community” includes and excludes, and
nally that the use of “community” as a rhetorical resource in these interviews
was owned and produced by the interviewees as a members’, and not an
analyst’s, owned phenomenon.
Excerpts 1 and 2: “Community” and “Neighbourhood” Are Equivalent
In the rst interview excerpt, counsellor 1 deploys “community” as a
geographic construct (analogous to “neighbourhood”) and suggests, without
qualication, that “young people” comprise part of it, insofar as they reside in
that geographical abstraction. In this utterance she claries whom “community”
includes. She moreover implies that, due to the local accessibility of the mall
to them, unlike in three other Toronto malls, youth (“the young people”)
are part of the “community,” because “community” includes all who live
near Darlington Mall.
This is right in the middle of the community, it’s not like Yorkdale or
Scarborough Centre or even Eaton Centre, that people come to from a
ways...so, yeah, many of the young people that I do see here, they walk
over here from school, they walk over here from their house, they don’t
have to take a bus or get driven or...
Excerpt 2 (Mall Manager):
Q: What do you foresee as the future of this mall in terms of retail social
services provisions or whatever?
A: It’s hard to tell, because the community determines the direction, so
a lot of it is a reection of the neighbourhood. The question, I suppose,
should be “Where do we see the West End going?”
These rst two excerpts constitute “community” as (1) geographically dened,
and (2) explicitly (in counsellor 1’s case) comprising “young people.” However,
one might counter that “young people” and young offenders are not equivalent,
and that other counsellors might depict “community” as that group of
residents that are attempting to mobilize against lawbreakers. In Excerpt 3,
the program director articulates a version of “community” that even includes
young offenders.
Excerpt 3: “Community” Does Not Exclude Offenders
This next data extract demonstrates that even when an interviewee
relates how “boys” in the mall’s catchment area are allegedly engaging in
illegal activity, they still constitute members of the community; they are “in
this community,” they are not presented as outside it. The director does not
articulate “community” as something that would exclude them:
Excerpt 3 (Director):
...when we have our staff meeting next week I’m going to be presenting
these cases to the staff and saying “What can we do that’s creative
for these boys that who we know are in this community, getting into
trouble in this community...” I’m getting phone calls from all over the
226
community about this particular corner, where kids are hanging out,
it’s becoming a real gang corner, and coincidentally, these same boys,
in my meeting last week, have been identied as troublemakers on that
corner as well. So it’s a community thing.
It might be argued next that, even as young offenders are depicted as “in the
community,” the social services efforts that seek to treat them are organized by
adults, just as with the 1960s “community organizing” summarized earlier. The
following excerpt claries that “community,” and the community-based efforts
to treat and curb delinquency, partake of the participation of young people as
well.
Excerpt 4: “Community” and the Agency Specically Comprise Young
Persons
The next excerpt comprises a good example of how “community” and
the agency’s clientele are coterminous, and how the agency’s work is, in part,
that of young people in the neighbourhood. To address the community is to
address the clientele. Counsellor2 does not, in this excerpt, draw a distinction
between youth and the “larger” community; she in fact links her agency with
community and clientele, and therefore community and youths, as objects of
her work and as contributors to it.
Q: And the youth council, that’s an advisory sort of--?
A: Yeah, they’re basically a youth group that meets weekly to just
do whatever they want to discuss, issues, to get involved with the
community, part at this community programming. We denitely ask for
their advice on a lot of community issues and whatnot.
Nowhere in the interviews were respondents encouraged or directed to discuss
community or to employ the expression in their narratives. In fact, the only
interlocutor who used the term premodied (in several instances of the terms
“Portuguese community” and “immigrant community”) was the interviewer.
Thus, there are two candidate explanations for the prominence of “community”
that I can eliminate. The rst is that the use of the term “community” is a
natural result of its invocation by the interviewer as a topic of discussion. This
was not the case. I did not anticipate the salience of the word “community” in
these interviews; I only noted these patterns of usage after the fact. A second
explanation is that the interviewer encouraged interviewees in this particular
use of “community” by using it in a non-premodied way himself, and thus
organised its use within the interviews. If this was the case, then the ndings
about its use are simply outcomes of interviewees being “coached.”
227
This practice was also not present. In fact, the consistent nonpremodied use of this word was the interviewees’ device almost exclusively.
As I have noted, the only participant who used terms in a premodied way
was the interviewer. The interviewees resisted such terminologies that would
alter their preferred use of the expression. This phenomenon is clearly theirs,
not the interviewer’s, and not merely an outcome of usage in the interview
itself. The next excerpt encapsulates this point.
Excerpt 5: The Use of Non-premodied “Community” is a Members’, and
not an Analysts’, Phenomenon
Q: Okay, this question might be ideal to ask you then. Any general
thoughts regarding how this mall reects or exemplies the social life
here, and by here I mean, do you see this mall as in some way reecting
Canada, or Toronto, or this neighbourhood, the Portuguese community,
some mixture, or what? Is there something Canadian about this--not
just this mall, but this service?
A: Well, there’s this part that would like to be very patriotic and
say yeah, look at the--walk down the mall and see all the diversity.
And just walk around the community and see the diversity and the
co-existence and all that.
After my turn of talk, in which I reference (among other things) the “Portuguese
community,” counsellor 1 begins his response with what Sacks (1987) identied
as a marker of “dispreference,” the word “well.” This is a speech particle that
prefaces “dispreferred” responses to utterances. The conversation-analytic
concept of “preference structure” advises that the “preferred” response to an
invitation is an acceptance; Pomerantz (1987) brought the same analysis to
preference organization and responses to assessments. Generally, agreement
is a “preferred” response to statements such as assessments; acceptances of
invitations are “preferred”; returning greetings are “preferred” responses to
initial greetings, and so forth. Preferred responses are given without delay.
Dispreferred responses are delivered with qualication, pauses, and the use of
utterances such as “uhm,” “it’s just that,” or “well” among a myriad of other
techniques of delay. Dispreferred responses imply disagreement, refusal, and
other actions that are, in conversations, indelicate.
Counsellor 1 begins his turn of talk with “well,” and if this implies
disagreement, one must ask with what he disagrees. My turn of talk did not
necessarily entail an assessment, but it does include the term “Portuguese
community” which is not repeated in the next turn. Instead, it is “corrected” in
a manner specied by Jefferson (1987): An exposed correction would have seen
228
the interviewee say something like, “it’s just community.” This does not occur
here, and as a face-threatening act, overt disagreement in the form of exposed
correction rarely would in non-adversarial settings such as this interview.
Instead, counsellor1 deploys embedded correction, not calling overt attention
to my “error” in the prior turn of talk but altering “Portuguese community”
to “the community.” This is not a combative style of expression, but given
the respondent’s demurral in reusing my term and the prefacing with a
disagreement-implying “well,” it is reasonable to interpret this sequence as
one that accomplishes a correction: It is just “community,” according to the
way DMYS does business.
These examples constitute only a relatively small (but in no sense
unrepresentative) number of the references to “community.” They nonetheless
demonstrate that “community” is a linguistic feature to which all staff and
management orient. What is more, they almost never use the term with a
qualier as has become common in casual and institutional North American
language. Currently the term is widely used with reference to non-diverse
groups. The meaning, in its use by the persons I interviewed, of “community”
at the agency reects the spirit of Bellah’s denition that I cited earlier. Part
of the work, and perhaps the success, of this agency, I would argue, entails
the consistent adherence to this particular meaning and use of “community”
that refers to an inclusive phenomenon, one in which the youth are active
participants.
Interpretive Analysis
There are several ways to interpret these ndings, and I offer two.
The first is ethnomethodological and concerns ways in which evident,
profoundly recurrent, yet generally (in conventional social science) ignored
behaviours organize and constitute the social world for its participants. The
second employs the notion of “community” as an element of counsellors’
vocabularies of motive and relatedly their cognitions about the social world.
In a study that mirrored Boden’s (1994) work on the relationship
between the talk that occurs in an organization and the organization itself,
Della-Piana and Anderson (1995) suggest that talking about community
specifically (in community-service agencies) also functions as a means of
dening organizational culture, and this nding might clarify my interviewees’
reliance on the concept here as well. However, my argument in this report is
broader than this. I think that there is no question about the important place of
the expression “community” in the culture of DMYS. I would argue further that
community, as a lived, everyday, dynamic phenomenon, is constituted in and
outside the walls of the DMYS ofce in that talk. Ethnomethodology advises
that the “work” of any group, in mundane conversation or in institutional tasks,
is equivalent to the talk and related activities that take place among the persons
229
within it. Organizational products and outcomes cannot be divorced from
the mundane, inescapable but largely unremarkable (from both participants’
and analysts’ views) discursive work that goes into those “outcomes.”
The speakers in this study, in their discussions of their work, are not
only making their theories about community and other matters visible for
the good of the organization’s climate or for my own clarification. They
are also creating their agencies, and indeed their own, world. They are
talking “community,” congured as an inclusive phenomenon, into being.
The ethnomethodological perspective can be used to propose the
importance of certain linguistic practices in fighting forms of bias and
discrimination, but ethnomethodology advises that these linguistic policies
not only have the effect of changing attitudes; they also change “society”
since “society,” from the ethnomethodological perspective, is an ongoing
interpersonal, cultural, linguistic, and it its truest sense mundane product
coterminous with the talk that produces it. Talking about “community” as
these participants do makes community, for all practical purposes. This claim is
analogous to the nding that Maynard and Manzo (1993) discovered regarding
how the word “justice” acquired a novel meaning in its use by jurors: talking
about justice re-made justice. “Community,” I argue, has the same status
in these interviews.
Vocabularies of motive, as perceived originally in the work of C.
Wright Mills (1940) and transformed most famously in the work of Sykes and
Matza (1957) on “techniques of neutralization,” are cognitive and linguistic
concepts that furnish motives (before the fact) and accounts (after the fact) for
committing certain classes of behaviours. The concept has seen greatest use
as an explanation for the tendency for persons to drift in and out of criminal
or otherwise deviant behaviour, as with studies of vocabularies of motive that
encompass deviant acts from suicide (Stephens, 1984) to murder (Scully and
Marolla, 1984). The concept has also informed understandings relating to the
motivations of some victims of domestic violence to remain with their abusers
(Ferraro and Johnson, 1983); “vocabulary of motive” thus need not only be a
resource to permit the forming of motive to commit deviant or criminal acts. I
contend that police, judges, social workers, and others who work in criminal
justice and related areas, employ received vocabularies of motive that inform
attitudes and decisions in dealing with suspects, arrestees, and clients. Even
though “community” is not a phrase or extended utterance (as is “I can steal
from my employer, because I’m not paid enough,” and so forth) its sense (used
without premodication) obliges counsellors to orient to youth as one of this
inclusive collectivity. If counsellors’ language does not permit the existence
of a “larger community,” but only a “community” without qualication, then
youths are non-distinct and part of the whole. In short, they are who we are,
and we aren’t criminals.
230
Notes
NB: This research was supported through a intramural grants from the College of Arts
and Sciences, the Department of Sociology and Anthropology, and the Research Ofce of
the University of the South Alabama. Earlier versions of this manuscript were presented
at the Annual Meetings of the American Society of Criminology, Chicago, 1996 and
Toronto, 1999. The author gratefully thanks the study participants.
231
Maynard, D. and J. Manzo. 1993. “On the Sociology of Justice: Theoretical
Notes from an Actual Jury Deliberation.” Sociological Theory 11:171-193.
1
2
Except for names of cities, provinces and countries, all identifying names and places in
this report are pseudonymous.
Metropolitan Toronto Police Information Centre. No date. Darlington Mall
Comparative Security Statistics.
Mills, C.W. 1940. “Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive.” American
Sociological Review 5:904-913
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University of Chicago Press.
Bell, C. and H. Newby. 1971. Community Studies: An Introduction to the Sociology
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Pisciotta, A. 1982. “Saving the Children: The Promise and Practice of Parens
Patriae, 1838-1898.” Crime and Delinquency 28:410-25
Bellah, R. 1995. “Community Properly Understood: A Defense of ‘Democratic
Communitarianism’.” Responsive Community 6:49-54
Pomerantz, A. 1984. “Agreeing and Disagreeing with Assessments: Some
Features of Preferred/Dispreferred Turn Shapes.” Pp. 57-101 in J.M. Atkinson
and J. Heritage (eds.), Structures of Social Action: Studies in Conversation Analysis.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Berger, R. 1996. “Organizing the Community for Delinquency Prevention.” Pp.
261-281 in R. Berger (ed.), The Sociology of Juvenile Delinquency. Chicago: NelsonHall.
Boden, D. 1994. The Business of Talk. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.
Empey, L.T. 1982. American Delinquency: Its Meaning and Construction.
Homewood, IL: Dorsey.
Ferraro, K. and J. Johnson. 1983. “How Women Experience Battering: The
Process of Victimization.” Social Problems 39:325-335
Jefferson, G. 1987. “On Exposed and Embedded Correction in Conversation.”
Pp. 86-100 in G. Button and J.R.E. Lee (eds.), Talk and Social Organisation.
Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.
Jones, M. and Ross, D. 1997. “Is Less Better? Boot Camp, Regular Probation,
and Rearrest in North Carolina.” American Journal of Criminal Justice 21:146-161
Reiss, A. J. 1986. “Why are Communities Important in Understanding Crime?”
Pp. 1-33 in A.J. Reiss and M. Tonry (eds.), Communities and Crime. Chicago:
Rothman, J. 1979. “Three Models of Community Organization Practice: Their
Mixing and Phasing.” Pp 25-45 in F. Cox et al. (eds.), Strategies in Community
Organization. Itasca, IL: Peacock.
Sacks, H. 1987. “On the Preference for Agreement and Contiguity in Sequences
in Conversation.” Pp. 54-69 in G. Button and J.R.E. Lee (eds.), Talk and Social
Organisation. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.
Scully, D. and J. Marolla. 1984. “Convicted Rapists’ Vocabulary of Motives:
Excuses and Justications.” Social Problems 31:530-544
Shaw, C. and H. McKay. 1942. Juvenile Delinquency and Urban Areas. Chicago:
Kubo Della-Piana, C. and J.A. Anderson. 1995. “Performing Community:
Community Service as Cultural Conversation.” Communication Studies 46:
188-200.
Stephens, B. 1984. “Vocabularies of Motive and Suicide.” Suicide and LifeThreatening Behavior 14:243-253
Lundman, R. 1993. Prevention and Control of Juvenile Delinquency. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Sykes, G. and D. Matza. 1957. “Techniques of Neutralization: A Theory of
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Wellman, B. and B. Leighton. 1981. Networks, Neighbourhoods and Communities:
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Centre for Urban and Community Studies.
233
The Ubiquity,
Bullshitting*
Functions,
And
Contexts
Of
Daniel P. Mears ([email protected])
The Urban Institute
About the Author: John Manzo ([email protected]) is assistant
professor of sociology at the University of Calgary. He identies
as an ethnomethodologist, and his work has concerned discourse
and grounded activities in several different institutional settings. His
current project attends to security practices, especially the work of
private security ofcers, in shopping malls in Canada and the US.
Abstract: Bullshitting is an essentially social phenomenon worthy
of investigation. In support of this view, I provide a denition that
provides the basis for suggesting the ubiquity and diverse functions
of bullshitting, and how it occurs in and is structured by a wide range
of interpersonal and social contexts. Drawing upon illustrations from
research, everyday life, and classical and contemporary theories, I argue
that the study of bullshitting can inform and be informed by social
theory. In so doing, an illustration is provided of Merton’s (1973:59)
observation that investigation of seemingly trivial social phenomena
can yield insight not only into these phenomena but also into basic
dynamics of social behavior.
We have no clear understanding of what bullshit is, why there
is so much of it, or what functions it serves. . . . Even the most basic and
preliminary questions about bullshit remain . . . not only unanswered
but unasked.
– Harry Frankfurt (1986:81)
T
his paper investigates “bullshitting” as a social phenomenon. Since the
topic seems self-evidently trivial, the question emerges: Why study it? At
least three reasons present themselves. Bullshitting merits study because of
its apparent ubiquity – it is present in almost all aspects of society and yet
remains largely unstudied (Frankfurt 1986). As importantly, bullshitting is a
quintessentially social phenomenon that can be shown to serve a variety of
social functions and to occur in and be structured by an equally wide variety
of interpersonal and social contexts (Mukerji 1978; Frankfurt 1986). Most
importantly, the study of bullshitting provides an opportunity to illuminate
fundamental aspects of social life. In so doing, it also illustrates Merton’s
(1973) observation that the “seemingly self-evident triviality of the object
under scrutiny” should not be confused with the “cognitive signicance of
the investigation” (59).
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 233-256. © 2002, Daniel
P. Mears and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
234
This paper proceeds rst by reviewing literature on bullshitting. I then
provide the denition of bullshitting that guides the subsequent analysis, and
include a description of its key features. A brief discussion of the ubiquity of
bullshitting also is provided. Drawing on related research, illustrations from
everyday life, and social theory, I next explore the functions of bullshitting and
the interpersonal and social contexts in which it occurs and that structure its
occurrence. My goal, following Goffman’s (1959) lead, is to establish a coherent
conceptual framework “that ties together bits of experience the reader already
has and provides . . . a guide worth testing in case-studies of institutional social
life” (xii; see also Barnes 1994:165-67).
What Is “Bullshitting”?
Few satisfactory definitions exist of “bullshitting” or its linguistic
cousin, “bull” (the derivation of one from the other is not documented). The
Oxford English Dictionary suggests that to engage in “bullshit” is “to talk
nonsense” or “to bluff one’s way through something by talking nonsense.”
“Bull” is dened as the act of “befooling, mocking, or cheating,” or as “informal
conversation or discussion.” The denitions, however, provide little guidance
about how exactly bullshitting is different from the enumerated acts, what
constitutes “nonsense” or “informal conversation,” or what other possible
meanings and uses of the term might exist.
Further, the denitions miss a fundamental aspect of bullshitting –
namely, that frequently there may be a particular intensity behind the putative
“nonsense” and “informal conversation.” Echoing these concerns, Frankfurt
(1986) observed, for example, that “the characteristic topics of a bull session
have to do with very personal and emotion-laden aspects of life – for instance,
religion, politics, or sex” (91).
From this perspective, bullshitting appears to be about something
more than simply informal “talk for talk’s sake,” nonsense, or blufng. This
“something more” is suggested in part by Perls’ (1969) facetious eschatological
classicatory scheme in which a variant of bullshitting (“elephantshitting”) is
held to entail high level discussions on religion, philosophy, and other such
matters.1 Yet Perls’ (1969) descriptive schema belies the notion that when
people engage in bullshit in day-to-day settings that there is an undercurrent
of seriousness, one that may vary according to social context and that may
serve different functions depending in part on the given context. The latter idea
is reinforced by conversation analysis research (see, e.g., Garnkel 1967; Sacks,
Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974; Malone 1997; Heritage 1999), which highlights
that in even the most casual conversations a structured and dynamic turntaking process occurs that can serve non-trivial social functions, including the
“construction and maintenance of our social identities and social relationships”
(Eggins and Slade 1997:279).
Bullshitting
235
A somewhat more precise account of bullshitting is provided by
Frankfurt (1986). Although the term never actually is dened in his discursive
analysis (save to dene by description), bullshitting appears to be synonymous
with deliberate misrepresentation:
[The bullshitter’s] only indispensably distinctive characteristic is that
in a certain way he misrepresents what he is up to. . . . [What] we are
not to understand is that his intention is neither to report the truth
nor [as with the liar] to conceal it. . . . The bullshitter . . . is neither on
the side of the true nor on the side of the false. His eye is not on the
facts at all, as the eyes of the honest man and of the liar are, except
insofar as they may be pertinent to his interest in getting away with
what he says. (96-97)
Frankfurt’s (1986) distinction between lying and bullshitting is not clear, save
that lying appears to be more obviously intentional or narrowly tailored toward
denying a particular truth or reality, whereas bullshitting appears to be more
diffusely focused. That is, in Frankfurt’s view the goal of bullshitters appears
to be one of “getting away” with misrepresentation. Accordingly, their concern
with “truth” or “reality” is minimal to non-existent. “It is just this lack of
connection to a concern with truth – this indifference to how things really are –
that I regard as of the essence of bullshit” (Frankfurt 1986:90).
This view neglects the possibility that bullshitting may involve intense
emotions or emotional investment and that it may serve specic and intentional
goals or functions. This observation actually can be found elsewhere in
Frankfurt’s (1986) article, where “bull sessions” are characterized as involving
“very personal and emotion-laden aspects of life” (91). And in one of the
few analyses of this topic, Mukerji’s (1978) study of hitchhikers suggests that
bullshitting (which is left undened) provides a means by which hitchhikers
can manage self-image and adolescent identity problems.
Departing from this observation, an alternative view of bullshitting suggests
that this activity, like attempts to “mis-(re)present” reality generally (Goffman 1959),
involves a profound concern with reality and especially with those aspects centering
about one’s sense of self and reality. Admittedly, the concern may not be obvious
– misrepresentation seemingly is aimed at avoiding reality, suggesting in turn
a potential lack of concern about what is “real.” Frankfurt (1986), for example,
noted: “The contemporary proliferation of bullshit . . . has deeper sources in
various forms of skepticism which deny that we can have any reliable access
to an objective reality and which therefore reject the possibility of knowing
how things really are” (99). The concern with self and reality may be obscured,
too, by the fact that frequently a certain playfulness attends to bullshitting,
as when a bullshitter is “caught in the act” and responds, “I’m just kidding.”
Mukerji’s (1978) study of bullshitting among hitchhikers identifies, for
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example, an undercurrent of playfulness, what she conceptualized as a type of
sociability (Simmel 1950), underlying much of their “road stories.” However,
the playfulness does not contradict the possibility or even the probability that
these stories involve serious concerns or issues.
As these accounts suggest, a potentially more accurate or conceptually
productive view of bullshitting likely is one that views it as involving an abiding
concern with developing and maintaining the contours and boundaries of self
and reality. It is, from this perspective, more than simply a diffuse strategy
aimed at deception for deception’s sake or for disguising or misrepresenting
particular truths or aspects of self and reality. Indeed, that “self” and “reality”
are ever in need of clarication and subject to manipulation is a sine qua non of
social relations: “Our conduct is based upon our knowledge of total reality. But
this knowledge is characterized by peculiar limitations and distortions” (Simmel
1950:310; see also Schutz 1962; Garnkel 1967). Thus, it is to be expected that a
type of communication would exist aimed at discerning, highlighting, creating,
maintaining, and manipulating “self” and “reality.”
A Denition Of Bullshitting
Proceeding from these premises and drawing upon suggestive accounts
from various sources, I adopt an explicit denition of bullshitting that highlights
neglected or omitted dimensions of apparent relevance. This denition will be
used to guide the subsequent discussions and analyses. Bullshitting, as dened
here, is the attempt by an individual (a) to question, change, or otherwise affect
or control their own and other’s, impressions of “self” or “reality,” (b) by relying
on a strategy of deliberately and playfully creating misleading yet possible,
though frequently improbable, accounts or impressions of “self” or “reality,”
(c) for instrumental, expressive, or other less obvious or conscious reasons,
and (d) only becomes bullshitting when it is so dened by or recognized as
such by participants or observers.
Several points bear emphasizing. First, bullshitting is dened here as a
general type of playful behavior that encompasses many specic types of social
behaviors. It can, for example, be constituted through an enormous range of
interactions, including engaging in bull sessions or idle talk (“shooting the
breeze”), lying, deceiving, telling tall tales, gossiping, teasing, etc. As with
other social phenomena, what distinguishes a given act as “being” one thing
or another involves recourse to a conceptual frame of reference (Parsons 1968;
Goffman 1974). In this instance, what transforms various interactions into
bullshitting – above and beyond also representing specic kinds of interactions
as defined by other frames of reference – is whether the people involved
dene it as such. It therefore is both possible and probable that frequently a
given interaction may “be” more than one thing (e.g., both an act of teasing
and an act of bullshit), depending upon the frame of reference and how the
participants dene it.
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237
The denition of bullshitting provided here represents one frame of reference,
one that is purposely broad and that suggests an underlying unity behind a range of
behaviors in a range of contexts. Although a voluminous literature in psychology,
communication, and conversation analysis exists on lying and deception (see,
e.g., Barnes 1994; Eggins and Slade 1997), these terms often are dened in
a manner that precludes conceptualization of their linkages to one another.
For example, lying generally refers to an attempt to deny something that is
true whereas deception generally refers to an attempt not necessarily to deny
something but to lead others away from the truth (Frankfurt 1986; Barnes
1994).2 As emphasized above, bullshitting can include not only these techniques
but others as well. Moreover, the goals and functions of bullshitting can be
considerably broader and more diffuse than simply denying or obscuring a
particular truth; they also can include fabrication of entire events and contexts.
Frankfurt (1986:96) echoed this argument in stating that “a person who
undertakes to bullshit” has a focus that is “panoramic rather than particular”
and creates entire contexts in addition to specic points of “fact.”
Second, it should be emphasized that the focus on self and reality is
important because it underlies a basic tension present in most social contexts
that is belied by the playful nature of bullshitting – namely, concern about
what exactly the “self” and “reality” “are” and how these are constructed and
maintained (Simmel 1950; Blumer 1967; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974;
Eggins and Slade 1997). An understanding of self or reality is a prerequisite
of effective social interaction. As importantly, because the “self” and “reality”
generally lack a xed or denitive character, their interpretation is subject to
ongoing negotiation and interpretation, and, thus, manipulation (Schutz 1962;
Garnkel 1967).
The potential for manipulation of self or reality is captured by Simmel
(1950), who noted that “we base our gravest decisions on a complex system
of conceptions, most of which presuppose the condence that we will not
be betrayed” (313) and, further, that “relationships being what they are, they
. . . presuppose a certain ignorance and a measure of mutual concealment”
(315). Both the “complex system of conceptions” and the “ignorance” and
“concealment” endemic to social relations present a limitless range of
possibilities for “framing” self and reality. Furthermore, as Barnes (1994:13)
observed:
People, as social actors, communicate with one another in a variety of
ways, and not only with words. They cannot read each other’s minds,
and hence communication is always less than perfect; indeed they
may be misled about what is going on in their own minds. Given this
imperfection, all messages may be or may become distorted, either
deliberately or unintentionally. Different contexts, however, provide
238
different possibilities for deceit.3
It is notable, for example, that judges and juries generally do not discover an
established “truth” in deciding a case or determining an individual’s character;
rather, they convince themselves of what “really” (probabilistically) must be
“true” (Kalbfeisch 1992). It is this observation that led Justice Holmes’ (1897)
to his famous statement that the “law” consists not of time-eternal, absolute,
objective truths but rather “the prophecies of what the courts will do in fact”
(461). This concern with reality is reected in part by the vehemence with
which we may on occasion confront someone (“That’s bullshit!”) who we
believe is misleading us, presenting a false “self,” or “playing with reality,”
especially when the issue is of an especially personal or meaningful nature. The
salience of the uidity of self and reality (Schutz 1962; Garnkel 1967; Goffman
1974) will become more apparent in the subsequent discussions.
Finally, it should be noted that I employ the term “bullshitting” rather
than some neologism for several reasons. It is a term derived from common
parlance and thus that may be more readily understood. In addition, reference
to a commonly used and understood term derived from everyday interaction
reinforces the idea that what bullshitting “is,” as with many forms of social
interaction (Eggins and Slade 1997; Malone 1997), is fundamentally determined
by the socially constructed meanings emergent in particular social interactions
(Mukerji 1978:241). That is, while it is possible a priori to identify analytical
dimensions constitutive of bullshitting, it is not possible a priori to identify
when specic interactions will become bullshitting.
Stated more strongly, interactions become bullshitting only if the interactants
or observers view them as such. Anecdotally, this view is supported by attempts,
during conversations with friends and colleagues, to elicit examples of
bullshitting and to identify dimensions or features that uniquely identied the
examples as bullshitting rather than as instances of other types of interactions
(e.g., lying, deception). Indeed, the only such marker to emerge was this:
Whether a given pattern of interaction became bullshitting seemed to be
exclusively a function of how the act was viewed and interpreted dynamically
(i.e., as an ongoing process) in particular social contexts.
The Ubiquity Of Bullshitting
It has been observed that “one of the most salient features of [U.S.]
culture is that there is so much bullshit” (Frankfurt 1986:81). Yet, bullshitting,
like many forms of communication, is ubiquitous not necessarily in the sense of
prevalence (e.g., the number of individuals per 100,000 who bullshit), incidence
(e.g., the numbers of cases of bullshitting per 100,000), or even per person
frequency in a given population. Such estimates may be ideal but conceptual
and data limitations to date preclude their determination (Heritage 1999).
Rather, it is ubiquitous in much the same way that the types of interactions
Bullshitting
239
through which bullshitting is created are ubiquitous – that is, they occur in all
walks of life and under a wide variety of social conditions and circumstances.
For example, it has been argued that “the propensity to lie varies widely within
communities and across communities, and within and across specied domains
of social life” (Barnes 1994:7). Simmel (1950) rendered a similar observation,
writing that “sociological structures differ profoundly according to the measure
of lying which operates in them” (312-313; see also Simmel 1906). More recently,
Kagle (1998) emphasized both the embeddedness of deception in everyday
social life and the diverse contexts in which it occurs. Others have argued that
gossip is one of the most popular and powerful integrative forces in society
(Eggins and Slade 1997:279). And Goffman (1974:87) noted that “in all societies
there exists . . . the practice of what can called ‘playful deceit,’ namely, the
containment of one or more individuals for the avowed purpose of fun.”
As will be illustrated, bullshitting also can occur in a wide range of
contexts – among individuals and groups, in courtrooms, bars, legislative
hallways, classrooms, workplaces, and conferences, among various racial/ethnic,
gender, and cultural groupings, etc. These contexts, moreover, structure the
opportunities and motivations for, as well as the functions of, bullshitting
(Frankfurt 1986; Barnes 1994).
It should be emphasized that though the ubiquity of bullshitting can be
asserted (Frankfurt 1986), it is another matter to demonstrate that the assertion,
like those about interactions generally (Heritage 1999), is true. The attempt
here will be to show in passing that it is probable, while focusing primarily and
conceptually on the functions of and contexts in which bullshitting occurs. The
broader goal is to demonstrate that the study of bullshitting can teach us about
fundamental aspects of social life.
The Functions And Contexts Of Bullshitting
Socialization
A primary function of bullshitting is the socialization of children,
teaching them the verbal and social skills necessary for successfully
understanding, traversing, and surviving social environments. Bullshitting, as
a general strategy of self/reality negotiation, can provide a basis by which not
only to discern self and reality but also to “play” with and manipulate them.
Jumping briey from the arena of human interaction, we might note that tiger
cubs engage in considerable biting, clawing, and mini-“attacks,” if not outright
instances of what might be termed “tricks” and “games.” Such play helps
to develop skills that will be needed later in life (Mills 1997; Hauser 1998).
From an evolutionary standpoint, it may be viewed as a selective socialization
mechanism, enabling those who play well to survive longer and eventually to
reproduce (Trivers 1985; Barnes 1994:147-65). Application of an evolutionary
perspective to bullshitting is a logical extension of similar approaches in
240
analyses of lying and deception (Barnes 1994). Palmer (1993), for example,
has provided an intriguing analysis, through reference to evolutionary theory,
of the uses of deceit among commercial lobster shers. In his study of radio
conversations among shers in two harbors, Palmer (1993) found that shers
were less deceitful in the harbor where there where was greater integration
based on reciprocally altruistic relationships.
The key insight from these examples, and those below, is that what at
rst glance appears to represent diverse social behaviors can be conceptualized
as potential instances of a general type of behavior – bullshitting. For example,
the practice among lobster shers of playful deception on a daily basis – of
pretending to be the greatest shers or having knowledge of the best shing
spots – constitutes a daily and ongoing vehicle for bullshitting. The participants
know well that there is little truth to the stories or that the truth is hidden in
the stories. But to those well-versed in the art of bullshitting, there is an ability
to dene oneself and to achieve particular goals. For novice lobster shers,
learning how to bullshit, through deception, lying, and other means, can mean
the difference between “being” a certain type of sher and of learning about or
concealing the best shing spots.
Evolutionary perspectives do not exhaust the possible views on
socialization. Rather, and as constituted through such acts as lying, deception,
and teasing, bullshitting can provide a means by which to learn, manage,
and manipulate social norms as well as how to act under a wide range of
interpersonal and social contexts (Cooley 1902; Mead 1934; Goffman 1959;
Piaget and Inhelder 1969; Thorne 1993). Barnes (1994:103-12), for example, has
identied considerable anthropological, linguistic, and psychological research
emphasizing the role that these activities – here broadly construed as diverse
potential manifestations of bullshitting – have in the socialization of children.
This research suggests that through creating fantasies, lying, deceiving, teasing,
and, in general, being playful, children acquire much of their knowledge about
reality and how its construction is subject to nuances of social context.
A child, for example, tells her mother she saw an elephant in the
living room. The mother replies calmly, “That’s interesting.” Observing that her
mother has not rejected the possibility of an elephant, the child says, “It was
a pink elephant.” The mother replies, querulous and hesitantly, “Oh, really?”
The child, recognizing she’s entered a borderland where plausibility is being
stretched, says, “Yes, but it was a nice pink elephant!” The mother stares at
her daughter. The daughter squirms and says, “Well, actually I didn’t see any
elephant.” In this example, the child grasps that there are ways of framing
and playing with reality, but that there also are limits to how far one can go.
Yet how far the framing is allowed to go clearly is a function of how far the
mother is willing to play along until eventually and non-verbally confronting
her daughter with a stare that says “That’s bullshit, honey.” Such examples
clearly can be extended to numerous other contexts and yet hardly touch on
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241
the ways in which children learn to interpret and construct the social world in
which they exist (Barnes 1994).
Exploration of the “Self”
Bullshitting can assist individuals to explore who they are or may or
can be. As Frankfurt (1986) noted:
In a bull session . . . the participants try out various thoughts and
attitudes in order to see how it feels to hear themselves saying such things
and in order to discover how others respond, without it being assumed
that they are committed to what they say. It is understood by everyone
in a bull session that the statements people make do not necessarily
reveal what they really believe or how they really feel. The main point
is to make possible a high level of candor and an experimental or
adventuresome approach to the subjects under discussion. Therefore
provision is made for enjoying a certain irresponsibility, so that people
will be encouraged to convey what is on their minds without too much
anxiety that they will be held to it. (91; emphasis added)
In these contexts, bullshitting allows individuals to engage in a free-form
presentation of self in which the possibilities of what was has been, is, or could
be are rehearsed, challenged, modied, or discarded. It allows individuals to
transcend the everyday sense of self and potentially tap into possibilities for
creating new and different “selves” (Goffman 1959, 1974). For example, in many
countries, team sports provide a social context in which youths learn, among
other things, to try on new or untapped personalities, frequently adopting
unrealistic or exaggerated traits – that is, bullshitting about who they “really”
are – while at the same time learning to recognize and confront others who
appear to be doing the same (Wankel and Berger 1990; Sage 1998).
Expressing Feelings
Bullshitting can provide a means by which people indirectly express
their feelings about others. It provides an informal technique for expressing
sentiments that otherwise might be too uncomfortable to state explicitly.
For example, one person may tease another about something that seems
inappropriate or risky to comment upon (e.g., physical appearance). But he
or she may do so in a way that is understood in its own way, dened and
constructed between the interactants, to be reassuring, as if to say, “See, I can
express your worst fear and you know that I don’t ‘really’ think this way about
you, and that ‘really’ you are okay to me.”
In one of the Oxford English Dictionary’s denitions of a bull session
describes a session as “an informal conversation or discussion, especially of
a group of males.” The denition suggests the possibility that these types of
242
sessions provide an opportunity for males to express feelings that in other
contexts might be proscribed or otherwise sanctioned. The bull session, as with
stereotypical male locker-room settings, formally establishes the expectation
that much of what is said is assumed to be untrue or exaggerated.
In both examples, it is notable that the social context establishes clear
parameters structuring whether and how communication will become or be
interpreted as bullshitting. For example, bullshitting via informal conversation
likely will not occur when others are present who might misconstrue its
meaning. Similarly, in cultures where expression of emotions or feelings may
be discouraged among certain groups, including males, it is to be expected that
indirect channels of emotional/affectual expression will emerge (Chodorow
1978; Best 1983).
“Passing Time”
Bullshitting, through such means as joking and the use of humor
(Koller 1988; Davis 1993; Graham 1995), can provide a means by which people
pass time together and, in so doing, engage in a type of free-form sociation.
In Simmel’s (1950:43) view, sociability consists of a type of “being together”
that “is freed from all ties with contents” and that “exists for its own sake
and for the sake of the fascination which, it its own liberation from these
ties, it diffuses.”
This function is far from trivial, yet our understanding of how exactly
individuals become familiar and comfortable with each other, much less how
exactly they “pass time” with one another, is underdeveloped (Eggins and
Slade 1997; Malone 1997). In one of the few studies of bullshitting, Mukerji
(1978) has documented that hitchhikers bullshit (tell “tall tales” and “road
stories”) “to entertain themselves [and] forget their boredom with the scenery”
(241). Bullshitting may also serve as a vehicle by which not only to “pass time”
but also to develop connections – or “weak ties” (Granovetter 1973) – with
others. These connections can lead to interpersonal rapport, which in turn can
contribute to the social bonds that are either necessary for or can contribute to
group solidarity and action.
Such observations raise questions about the precise conditions under
which bullshitting occurs and how and to what extent it enables individuals
to bond with one another or simply to “be” with one another. Despite the
considerable attention that has been given to the processes through which social
interaction occurs, we as yet have little understanding about these types of
questions as they apply to bullshitting (see, however, Garnkel 1967; Goffman
1974; Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974; Eggins and Slade 1997; Malone
1997). By focusing directly on interactions, and especially on how bullshitting
is socially constructed between people, we have an opportunity to illuminate
part of what is occurring when people talk to each other – during “informal”
moments (e.g., riding an elevator), for example, and times in which we perform
Bullshitting
243
specic duties (e.g., at work, school, play, etc.) as well as during those instances
in which we are engaged in menial, routine, or ceremonial tasks with others.
Resolving Personal or Interpersonal Strain
Bullshitting can serve to resolve personal or interpersonal strain, or
even physical pain. For the individual, bullshitting may begin initially as a
playful act of role-playing (Catalano 1990; Barnes 1994; Wilkes 1994) that may
solidify into an image of oneself that perhaps is more satisfactory. For example,
in her study of hitchhikers, Mukerji (1978) found that bullshitting provided a
means by which to present a worldly identity: “Unlike many types of travelers,
hitchhikers play on the risks of their mode of travel to produce a positive
self-image” (245). Similarly, in her study of deception, Kagle (1998) noted that
frequently deception, including playful deception (bullshitting), can serve to
help individuals resolve inner conicts, to create personal identities more in
keeping with some ideal, or to develop a sense of personal empowerment.
And Matz and Brown (1998) have reviewed research suggesting that humor,
which arguably represents a particular type of bullshitting, can signicantly
alleviate pain.
In interpersonal situations in which strain is evident, bullshitting can
allow an individual to defuse the strain. This may be done by suggesting that
the situation is potentially malleable or, more simply, by introducing an element
of light-hearted-yet-serious humor. John comes home from work and reports
that he has been red. Jane, his wife, responds, deadpan, “I guess we’ll have to
put one of the children up for adoption.” John, literal-minded, responds, “Are
you bullshitting me?” Jane says, “Yes.” They laugh, and perhaps all is well for
the time being. In this case, Jane registers concern for John’s, and by extension
her own, situation, but does so in a manner that puts the problem in a larger
context or frame (Goffman 1974). In doing this, she defuses a situation that
otherwise might feel overwhelming.
Impression Management
Almost one hundred years ago, Cooley (1902) coined the phrase the
“looking-glass self.” The phrase was used to describe the idea that who we
“are” is largely the result of the views others have, or that we think that they
have, of our “selves.” This idea was considerably elaborated on by symbolic
interactionist theorists (e.g., Mead 1934; Blumer 1967). But it is Goffman’s (1959)
analyses that perhaps most clearly capture the signicance that this idea has
for understanding bullshitting as a performance. This performance is aimed at
impression management – that is, as a means, as research on deception suggests
(Mitchell 1996; Kagle 1998), by which to control the perceptions that others have
of oneself or even of themselves and, by extension, to control “reality.”
244
Central to Goffman’s (1959) view of impression management is the
notion that who we are involves constant performance:
A status, a position, a social place is not a material thing, to be possessed
and then displayed; it is a pattern of appropriate conduct, coherent,
embellished, and well-articulated. Performed with ease or clumsiness,
awareness or not, guile or good faith, it is none the less something that
must be enacted and portrayed, something that must be realized. (75)
In essence, if we are to “be” we must constantly perform not only those
positions we currently occupy but those to which we aspire.4 The failure to do
so is to risk losing one’s “self,” or losing control of one’s “self,” and, ultimately
the possibility, borne of a fundamental ontological insecurity, of psychosis
(Laing 1960:42). At the less extreme end of the continuum, however, are the
daily social acts of presenting our “selves,” with all the numerous opportunities
to provide accurate and inaccurate self-accounts (Barnes 1994:19). Mukerji
(1978), for example, has observed that “bullshitting is the kind of sociability
that hitchhikers engage in most frequently, in part because they are continually
meeting strangers and want to appear interesting” (245).
More generally, individuals are presented daily with opportunities
to create a “self” that capitalizes on the complexities of social interaction
(Eggins and Slade 1997; Malone 1997). They may present, for example, as
more competent at some activity than perhaps they “really” are and yet
the competence may be plausible, even if improbable. Mukerji’s (1978:249)
observations again are to the point:
Hitchhikers take pride in the unpredictability and difculties of their
travels much as loggers, shermen, and other workers take pride in
work with similar characteristics. They do this by translating problems
into challenges and boredom into opportunity – by creating a nonordinary reality in their stories. People who bullshit create heroic
images of themselves; they can only do this by consenting to a reality
in which activities become more worthwhile as they become more
frustrating or challenging.
In a similar vein, Frankfurt (1986:99) has emphasized that “the production
of bullshit is stimulated whenever a person’s obligations or opportunities to
speak about some topic are more extensive than his knowledge of the facts that
are relevant to that topic.” Perhaps the most glaring example of this type of
bullshitting involves politicians, who are confronted daily with opportunities to
display both an understanding of and an authoritative opinion about complex
social issues. Indeed, this situation contributes to public mistrust of politicians’
statements (Barnes 1994).
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245
The opportunities for controlling the impressions others have of certain
people are ubiquitous in everyday life. Extending the focus on politicians,
it is clear, especially during elections, that a wide variety of bullshitting
techniques (lying, distortion, misrepresentation, etc.) are employed to create
negative impressions of other candidates or groups, or, conversely, to create the
impression that certain politicians or groups support the candidate more than
they really do. As such, bullshitting, as a tool for impression management, can
yield signicant political dividends (see below).
This discussion of impression management raises the question of how
individuals use bullshitting to present themselves or behaviors as “moral.”
Goffman’s (1959) remarks are again to the point:
In their capacity as performers, individuals will be concerned with
maintaining the impression that they are living up to the many
standards by which they and their products are judged. Because these
standards are so numerous and so pervasive, the individuals who are
performers dwell more than we might think in a moral world. But,
qua performers, individuals are concerned not with the moral issue
of realizing these standards, but with the amoral issue of engineering
a convincing impression that these standards are being realized.
Our activity, then, is largely concerned with moral matters, but as
performers we do not have a moral concern with them. As performers
we are merchants of morality. (251; emphasis in original)
In short, bullshitting, as with the creation and maintenance of secrets in everyday
life (Simmel 1950; Gunthner and Luckmann 1998), can serve as a particular
strategy for appearing more “moral” than perhaps we really are.
Gaining Social, Political, or Economic Leverage
Bullshitting can provide a means by which to inuence or control
perceptions of reality and in turn with a means to achieve specic social,
political, and economic goals. Viewed in this manner, bullshitting might also
be conceptualized as a social control attempt (Gibbs 1986). In this instance, it
is an act aimed at achieving specic goals through the manipulation of reality.5
The idea is reected in the so-called Thomas theorem – that is, the view that if
situations are dened as real they have real consequences (Thomas 1966:301).
Politicians, for example, frequently vie with one another, through manipulation
of the media and public relations (“spin”), to take credit for policies for which
in reality they had little or no responsibility. Barnes (1994) noted that “those
who spend their lives in [politics] become skilled at lying; it is a requirement
for occupational success” (30). He might more aptly have stated that to succeed
politicians rather must become skilled at bullshitting as a general type of
communicative device (Alexander and Sherwin 1994).
246
Bullshitting affords greater exibility in how reality is dened and in
determining one’s responsibility in various social roles. It allows, for example,
one to deceive rather than to lie. And why lie, and risk criminal investigation,
when one can simply evade the truth or create the impression – without being
per se untruthful – that one has done something that really one has not? Many
who followed the investigation of President Clinton may observe, for instance,
that it arguably was less the U.S. President’s putative evasiveness or misleading
testimony (i.e., “bullshit”) that led to his almost-impeachment, but rather the
charges of perjury (lying) leveled against him (Posner 1999).
In informal social contexts, the advantage of bullshitting, as constituted
through acts other than lying or narrowly focused deception, is also evident.
Research shows, for example, that in social situations there is a potentially
greater level of accountability associated with being untruthful rather than
evasive (Adler 1997). Following the logic outlined above for legal proceedings,
in informal social contexts why risk being caught in a lie or being deceitful,
and the attendant sanctions that follow, when one can simply create a different
frame of reference that diverts attention to other topics and contexts (Goffman
1974)?
From an economic standpoint, it has been observed that lying and
deception constitute primary strategies through which business and advertising
transpire (Barnes 1994). Thus, it would be surprising if other forms of
bullshitting, too, were not a primary means through which nancial gains were
achieved or business operations organized. In the latter instance, the use of
bullshitting need not necessarily be rational or contribute to desired outcomes,
but rather can be an institutionalized practice with little utility but to maintain
the life of an organization. One need only recall Weber’s (1978) accounts of
bureaucracy to imagine, for example, the encrustation of various policies and
procedures that no longer serve any purpose save to employ the individuals
who ensure that the policies and procedures are followed.
Similarly, bullshitting can serve as a form of institutional or political
discourse whose “latent” function (Merton 1968) is to obscure or maintain social
structural inequality (Barnes 1994:30). In the Academy-Award winning movie,
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1975), we are shown, for example, how
institutional rules are used to subjugate and even abuse the mental hospital
residents, who in turn complain bitterly of the “bullshit” with which they are
confronted daily. In addition, for politicians, bullshitting, what some would
term “ritual deception” (Beahrs 1996) that everyone knows to be such, may
assist in coalition-building through creation of perceived shared interests
among groups with conicting agendas (Kagle 1998).
Bullshitting
247
Dening and Creating “Reality”
Long ago, Durkheim (1982:98-104) argued that crime serves to maintain
knowledge and agreement about collective sentiments/values and, furthermore,
that it can shape their evolution, in part because they exist in a “state of
plasticity” (102). Borrowing Durkheim’s (1982) language, it can be argued that
bullshitting and bullshitters, like crime and criminals, play “a normal role in
social life” (102). The bullshitter, for example, who is caught and sanctioned may
serve to highlight specic values and norms deemed appropriate in particular
contexts. Moreover, the bullshitter may illustrate how tenuous “reality” is in
specic contexts and thereby draw attention to the potential need to buttress
the perceived xity of “reality” in these contexts.
The bullshitter thus engages in a type of breach experiment (Garnkel
1967:58), pushing and pulling at the boundaries of what is viewed as real or
important, and in so doing serves to illuminate the frequently unidentied
aspects of social life that govern interaction. As Garnkel (1967:37), extending
Schutz’s (1962) work on the “attitudes of daily life,” noted: “For [the]
background expectancies [attitudes of daily life] to come into view one
must either be a stranger to the ‘life as usual’ character of everyday scenes,
or become estranged from them.” Similarly, bullshitting might be seen as
an ethnomethodological attempt to highlight and shape the “background
expectancies” of social interaction.
One of the more amusing literary examples of this use of bullshitting can
be found in John Kennedy Toole’s (1980) Pulitzer Prize-winning A Confederacy
of Dunces. The main character, Ignatius J. Reilly, constantly rails against what
he perceives to be senseless and supercial patterns and trends in society.
Frequently, he creates elaborate descriptions, to anyone who will listen, of
possible but generally not plausible accounts of social life. In one scene, for
instance, he takes a job as a hot dog vendor, proceeds to eat all of the hot
dogs, and then fabricates a story to his supervisor about “a member of the vast
teen-age underground [who] besieged me on Carondelet Street” (175) and who
then consumed all of the hot dogs. The supervisor responds, “You’re full of
bullshit,” to which Ignatius retorts:
I? The incident is sociologically valid. The blame rests upon
society. The youth, crazed by suggestive television programs and
lascivious periodicals had apparently been consorting with some rather
conventional adolescent females who refused to participate in his
imaginative sexual program. His unfullled sexual desires therefore
sought sublimation in food. I, unfortunately, was the victim of all of
this. (176)
248
More than avoiding responsibility for the missing hot dogs, Ignatius here is
intent on testing the boundaries of reality, even referencing the idea that his
account is “sociologically valid.” He highlights how tenuous our understanding
of reality can be and how easily, in the hands of one skilled in the art of reality
production, it can be shaped and modied. Although the example is intended
to be humorous, it should suggest that bullshitting can serve to challenge our
notions of what is “real” and to highlight the background expectancies that
guide and create these notions.
Conclusion
This paper has examined the diverse functions and interpersonal and
social contexts of bullshitting and, in so doing, suggested the ubiquity of
bullshitting as a social phenomenon. Harking to Merton’s (1973:59) observation
that investigation of the trivial may lead to important insights, the present
investigation sought to demonstrate that bullshitting represents a neglected
area of inquiry that is amenable to study and that can illuminate fundamental
aspects of social life. No attempt was made to demonstrate systematically
and empirically all contexts in which bullshitting exists, that it is highly
prevalent in variously specied social contexts, or whether or to what extent it
actually serves the functions discussed here. Such research of course needs to
be conducted. But to conduct research, it is no small advantage to know what
questions need to be asked. Thus, given the dearth of studies in this area, the
goal was to draw on related investigations, experiences from everyday life, and
classical and contemporary sociological theory to present a coherent conceptual
framework for future research (Goffman 1959:xii; Barnes 1994:165).
The main argument was that bullshitting serves any of a wide range of
functions, including but not limited to: socialization; exploration of the “self”;
expression of feelings; “passing time”; resolution of personal or interpersonal
strain; impression management; gaining of social, political, or economic
advantage; and the denition and creation of “reality.” It also was argued
that bullshitting can be constituted through a wide range of actions (lying,
deceiving, teasing, telling tall tales, etc.) but that it is, in the nal analysis,
determined interactively. This argument in turn suggests that there may be
considerable theoretical gain to be had by linking the diverse literatures on
lying, deceiving, teasing, as well as conversation analysis (e.g., Eggins and
Slade 1997; Malone 1997; Heritage 1999).
An obvious next step is to conduct investigations that examine whether
and how the functions identied here are operative; how they are delimited
by particular social contexts; how people learn to engage in, recognize, and
create bullshitting, regardless of the specific communicative vehicle; and
how bullshitting is constituted in specic social contexts. Bullshitting is an
interactional, co-constructed enterprise. The question, then, arises: How exactly
do individuals recognize and perform the act of bullshitting in diverse social
Bullshitting
249
circumstances? That is, how do interactants (or observers) know when particular
acts of communication cross the line from regular, “straight” conversation to
bullshitting, and how do they inhibit or facilitate this transition?
The study of bullshitting, while of interest in its own right, is also of
interest because it can contribute to theoretical development generally. In this
regard, perhaps the most conspicuous issue to arise from the present study is
the need for considerably more research on identifying the conditions under
which, and the ways in which, the self, other, and reality can be manipulated
and created (Goffman 1974; Malone 1997). The relative inattention to this issue
is ironic in that while social theory has its origins in attempts to identify
“reality” vis-à-vis “social facts” that themselves require explanation (Durkheim
1982), the validity of many of these ”facts” – how they are created, sustained,
and manipulated – remains largely unexamined (see, however, Garnkel 1967;
Goffman 1974; Malone 1997; Eggins and Slade 1997; Heritage 1999). It is time
to rectify this situation by more systematically addressing the functions and
contexts of bullshitting, and, accordingly, the capacity of social theories to
account for self and reality construction in everyday life.
Notes
“Chickenshit: small talk, exchange of clichés. Bullshit: rationalization, explanatoriness,
talk for talk’s sake. Elephantshit: high level discussion on religion, Gestalt therapy,
existential philosophy, etc.” (Perls 1969:210).
1
Research and philosophizing on lying and deception cover a wide range of issues
of generally indirect relevance to the present study. These include such issues as the
developmental progression among children of the ability to lie in various settings
(Faust, Hart, and Guilmette 1988; Chandler, Fritz, and Hala 1989; Ruffman, Olson,
Ash, and Keenan 1993; Keating and Heltman 1994; Chandler and A 1996), detection,
behavioral correlates, and uses of deception under different conditions (DePaulo and
DePaulo 1989; Neuliep and Mattson 1990; Zimmerman 1992; McKelvey 1994; Stiff,
Corman, Krizek, and Snider 1994; Millar and Millar 1995; Thomas, Booth-Buttereld,
and Booth-Buttereld 1995; Mitchell 1996; Battista 1997; Feeley and deTurck 1998;
Heinrich and Borkenau 1998; Rowatt, Cunningham, and Druen 1998; Gordon and
Miller 2000), interpersonal deception as a function of relational familiarity (Burgoon,
Buller, Dillman, and Walther 1995), and the philosophical signicance and meaning
of lying to oneself or to the public (Catalano 1990; Englehart and Evans 1994; Wilkes
1994; Jones 1998).
2
Simmel’s (1950:334) insights into the nature of secrecy also are relevant in this
context:
3
The sociological signicance of the secret . . . has its mode of realization . . .
in the individual’s capacity or inclination to keep it to himself. . . . Out of the
counterplay of these two interests, in concealing and revealing, spring nuances
250
and fates of human interaction that permeate it in its entirety.
Goffman’s (1959:75) discussion involves reference to the following apt characterization
from Sartre (1956), capturing how it is that individuals are caught in a series of, as it
were, pre-established scripts that are more or less successfully fullled or manipulated:
4
Let us consider the waiter in the café. His movement is quick and forward, a
little too precise, a little too rapid. He comes toward the patrons with a step
a little too quick. He bends forward a little too eagerly; his voice, his eyes
express an interest a little too solicitous for the order of the customer. Finally
there he returns, trying to imitate in his walk the inexible stiffness of some
kind of automaton while carrying his tray with the recklessness of a tightropewalker by putting it in perpetually broken equilibrium which he perpetually
re-establishes by a light movement of the arm and hand. All his behavior seems
to us a game. He applies himself to chaining his movements as if they were
mechanisms, the one regulating the other; his gestures and even his voice
seem to be mechanisms; he gives himself the quickness and pitiless rapidity
of things. He is playing, he is amusing himself. But what is he playing? We
need not watch long before can explain it: he is playing at being a waiter in a
café. There is nothing there to surprise us. The game is a kind of marking out
and investigation. The child plays with his body in order to explore it, to take
inventory of it; the waiter in the café plays with his condition to realize it.
This obligation is not different from that which is imposed on all tradesman.
Their condition is wholly one of ceremony. The public demands of them that
they realize it as ceremony; there is the dance of the grocer, of the tailor, of
the auctioneer, by which they endeavor to persuade their clientele that they
are nothing but a grocer, an auctioneer, a tailor. . . . There are indeed many
precautions to imprison a man in what he is, as if we lived in perpetual fear
that he might escape from it, that he might break away and suddenly elude his
condition. (P. 59; emphasis in original)
In a related vein, Simmel (1950:314) has stated of lying: “The lie which maintains itself,
which is not seen through, is undoubtedly a means of asserting intellectual superiority
and of using it to control and suppress the less intelligent.”
5
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257
Wedding Rings And The Feminist Movement
Niyi Awofeso
Public Health and Community Medicine, University of New
South Wales (Australia)
Abstract: This paper traces some of the major changes in the social
signicance of wedding rings in human societies, as well as the largely
indirect impact of the feminist movement in shaping perceptions visà-vis the wearing of wedding rings in our era. Prior to the successful
advocacy efforts of the Feminist movement from the 20th century,
wedding rings were one of the symbols by which men institutionalized
their domination of women. It is the author’s view that the current
practice whereby most married, urbanised, males and their spouses
voluntarily wear wedding rings is one of the less well documented gains
of the Feminist movement, a by-product of signicant progress made
to minimise spousal inequality. However, the gender equality in the
wearing of wedding rings has been paralleled by contemporary changes
in their social signicance, with wedding rings now generally regarded
as romantic love symbols, rather than symbols of domination.
About the Author: Daniel P. Mears ([email protected]) is
a Research Associate with the Urban Institute in Washington, D.C.
He conducts evaluation research on a range of crime and justice
programs and policies. In his spare time, he ponders subjects that might
charitably be viewed as signicant but more aptly as mundane. Grateful
acknowledgment is extended to Bruce Kruger, Matthew Carlson, Eliza
Evans, Lee Smithey, and Emily Leventhal for their encouragement to
discern both the whimsy and deeper signicance of everyday life. John
Kennedy Toole’s work provided ongoing inspiration. The author wrote
this article while a post-doctoral fellow at the University of Texas at
Austin. All views expressed herein are his and should not be attributed
to the Urban Institute, its trustees, or its funders.
The signicance of wedding rings in the pre-feminism era
T
his article is a product of a heuristic research (Moustakas, 1990) that initially
centred on the variable connotations of wedding rings at different periods
in human history, and in different societies in our era. Heuristic methodology
transverses the subjectivity-objectivity oppositions, which underpin most
empiricist social sciences, at both conceptual and methodological levels.
Etymologically, heuristic derives from the Greek word heuriskein, meaning
“to nd”. Although my initial engagement with this topic centred on the
variable connotations of wedding rings, I discovered, in the later stages of
my inquiry that the observed variable connotations were underpinned by
the gains secured by the Feminist movement with regards to minimising
spousal inequality.
Prior to the 20th century, wedding rings were used in a variety of
contexts: as adornments, to signify the capture of a bride, to denote a promise
of delity, to signify classication of women as men’s property, as signposts for
discouraging potential mating partners of a married woman, and as cultural
icons. As a form of decorative art, the signicance of wedding rings may be
traced from the centre of the earliest known civilisation, Mesopotamia (Iraq), to
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 257-269. © 2002, Niyi
Awofeso and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
258
its universality in modern times. Between 1922 and 1934, the oldest and
most spectacular examples of this use for jewellery was discovered in Iraq,
where, on the site of the Biblical city of Ur, the Royal tombs (especially the
tomb of Queen Pu-abi) have yielded fantastic profusion of gold jewellery
dating from about 2500 BC, when Ur was the most powerful city-state in the
Mesopotamia. Ten gold wedding rings were worn in the hands of Queen
Pu-abi (Tait, 1986).
One of primitive man’s customary means of acquiring a wife was
through capture – forcible abduction in which neither the ‘bride’ nor her parents
were consenting parties. To secure his precious booty, and prevent her from
escaping while carrying her home, he encircled both her wrists and ankles
with fetters. Barbaric and primitive though the practice of capture marriage
was, it was of universal occurrence. For example, among the Dravidian tribes
of north-eastern India, the earlier existence of this marriage strategy may be
inferred from historical records as well as how the violence of capture has
yielded to symbolic acts, such as the insistence that (rural) married Dravidian
women wear iron bracelets on their wrists. As society became more civilised,
this practices were discarded and the ‘large circle’, as it were, contracted to the
modern nger ring (Nair, 1978).
The Catholic Church played a signicant, though not entirely altruistic,
role in promoting the use of wedding rings as a sign of delity. It is noteworthy
that Christianity initially rejected and condemned the wedding ring – as a
pagan accessory – for many centuries. The rst efforts made by the Catholic
Church to impart a religious character to the contract of marriage coincided
with some of the reforms to integrity of the Church, following widespread
publicity of the sexual peccadilloes of Pope Alexander IV (1492-1503), better
known by his birth name of Rodrigo Borgia. From the early 15th century, the
Church stipulated that the bride and bridegroom present each other mutually
with rings during the marriage ritual (Brasch, 1996). The bride and groom
were expected to present their wedding rings to the Church for blessing at least
one week prior to the wedding. Fidelity was the symbolic meaning attached,
as indicated in the standard Catholic Church form for the blessing of the
rings. In the Anglican Church, following the presentation of the rings during
the wedding ritual, the priest is expected to state; “… Send thy blessing upon
thy servants, this Man and this Woman, whom we bless in thy name … so that
these persons may perform and keep the vow and covenant between them made
(whereof this Ring given and received is a token and pledge)…” (Book of Common
Prayer, 1662).
In pre-modern Catholic marriage rites, thirteen silver pieces (or its
equivalent in gold) and a weeding ring were to be presented to the bride by
the groom. In formally presenting the gift, the groom is expected to state:
“With this ring, I thee wed; this gold and silver I thee give, with my body
I thee worship, and with my worldly goods I thee endow”. The ofciating
Wedding Rings
259
Minister is then expected to say, at the end of the formal ceremony, “Then let
the woman be given away by her father or by her friends”. Undoubtedly, this
is a trace of primitive sale by which the bridegroom paid a sum of money for
the transference to him of the wife (Thurston, 1999).
The wedding ring also served to reect aspects of the culture of different
societies. For instance, a variety of traditions account for the hand and specic
nger for wearing the wedding ring. The reason so frequently assigned to the
choice of the fourth (or ‘ring’) nger of the left hand {i.e. that a vein (or nerve)
runs directly from the nger to the heart} was documented in the work of early
writers like Pliny (a remarkable Roman poet born in Como, northern Italy, in
the winter of 61-62 AD (Robinson, 1939)). A practical reason might however
be that, anatomically, the ring nger is the only nger that cannot be fully
extended on its own, thus ensuring that the finger bearing this precious
metal is always aided when women have to work with a relatively less used
hand (Brasch, 1996). Three examples of such cultural adaptation of wedding
rings are given below.
First, the Claddagh ring (named for Claddagh, an Irish shing village
on Galway Bay) is shaped in the form of two hands holding a heart, which is
surmounted by a crown. The heart stood for love, whilst the crown expressed
unswerving loyalty. These rings served not only as wedding rings, but also
as friendship and engagement rings. Whichever of the three purposes it was
chosen for was cleverly indicated by the way in which it was worn. Placed on
the right hand with the crown nearest to the wrist, it signied that one’s heart
was still to be ‘conquered’. When married, one wore the ring on the left hand,
with the heart made to point away from the ngertip (Brasch, 1996).
Second, the Turkish puzzle ring, which is not one solid band, but made
from at least three bands, which are cleverly interlocked. Any attempt to put
them together once they re separated presents an exacting and formidable
puzzle. Traditionally, this ring was a gift from a mistrustful husband to his
wife! If he was about to go to war or take an extended trip, and was afraid that
during his absence she might get bored and be tempted to yield to other men’s
advances, the husband placed an assembled puzzle ring on her nger, and
she was to keep it there till his return. If she removed it to hide her married
status, she would have great difficulty rejoining them, thus revealing her
unfaithfulness (Brasch, 1996).
Third, the fede, or hand-in-hand rings appeared in Roman times, when
the two clasped hands (dextrarum ivnctio) represented a contract. Byzantine
marriage rings of the 6th and 7th centuries were often elaborately engraved,
and may depict the bride and bridegroom blessed by the gures of Christ
and the Virgin Mary. In accordance with old Roman custom, a distinction
was drawn between the preliminaries of marriage (sponsalia), and the actual
marriage itself. The sponsalia usually consisted of a promise ratied by the
260
giving of a ring, by the groom to the bride, as a pledge of his commitment to
the proposed marriage (Tait, 1986).
As may be inferred from the above, the functions served by wedding
rings in the pre-feminist era (i.e. adornment, capture, delity, property, signposts
to discourage adulterous men, and cultural icons) were primarily designed
to satisfy men’s needs. Wedding rings represented one of the ideas, symbols
and metaphors by which men institutionalised their domination over women,
following the creation of patriarchy as the dominant form of societal order
from about 6 BC (Lerner, 1986). Although the feminist movement did not
specically address issues related to the wearing of wedding rings highlighted
above, the changes in the male adoption, and signicance, of wedding rings
may be linked to the gains made by the feminist movement in minimising
spousal inequality.
Feminism, and the minimisation of spousal inequality
In the narrow sense of the term, feminism is a movement striving for
equal political and social rights for women. Lerner (1993) dened ‘feminist
consciousness’ as “the awareness of women that they belong to a subordinate
group; that they have suffered wrongs as a group; that their condition of
subordination is not natural, but is societally determined; that they must join
with other women to remedy these wrongs; and nally that they must and can
provide an alternative vision of societal organization in which women as well
as men will enjoy autonomy and self-determination”. The movement formally
developed around the question of women suffrage but took in also many other
issues, such as equal protection of the law, equal rights to property, equal
opportunity for education, equitable marriage relationships, and the right to
engage in professions. In its broader sense, feminism, as a concept, is used
to describe more than mere political and social equality with men. It aims
to further the potentialities of womanhood to their highest point (Daymond,
1996).
Since the Middle Ages, the major advocates of the feminist consciousness
were largely white, upper class, educated, and economically privileged
women. Working class women have had to sustain themselves for ages, even in
situations in which they were aware of their gender-related disadvantages. For
example, in the 1850s, a lower class woman named Sarah Grimke (1792-1873)
was enthusiastic to pursue a career in law, but the study of law was still closed
to women in the United States during her time. During the 19th century in the
United States, and until the mid-20th century in most parts of the world, women
were almost universally educationally disadvantaged in comparison with their
brothers, and formal education was, for those few women able to obtain it,
distinctly a class privilege (Lerner, 1993).
Until the rise of feminism in Victorian England, marriage laws and
common law in most parts of the world were based on the premise that a
Wedding Rings
261
wife was primarily a property of her husband – when a woman married, her
personality was subsumed in that of her husband. From this legal ‘unity’
of the husband and wife, it followed that a wife could not sign a contract
unless her husband joined her, and that a woman’s property prior to marriage
automatically passed on to the husband (Shanley, 1982).
Early feminists in 19th England tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to transform
the marriage laws from one of ‘tyrant and victim’ to one where the husband
and wife would walk ‘hand in hand, eye to eye, heart in heart’. The feminists
of the era actively campaigned to rid British law of the myriad injustices of the
common law doctrine of coverture. However, in their struggle, they did not
appear to have adequate understanding of the complexity of the educational,
social, economic, and political forces obstructing the realisation of spousal
equality (Shanley, 1982). For example, with the establishment of Universities
in Europe from the 14th century, education for the nobility and wealthier urban
middle class became institutionalised. The elites in this era needed to assure
their position in power by means of training a group to serve and perpetuate
their interests. Generally, males were preferentially educated, but daughters
of the elites, such as princesses and noble women, who might have to serve
as stand-ins for sons or husbands, were carefully tutored and trained as their
brothers. It was not surprising therefore to nd that almost all the known
educated women from antiquity to the 16th century were members of the
nobility (Lucas, 1983). The above issues were several of the many formidable
obstacles that the feminist movement had to address in order to minimise
spousal inequality.
The inuence of the Christian religion on minimising spousal inequality
was mixed. The insistence, from the 15th century, that the bride and groom must
present each other with a wedding ring during marriage rituals has already
been highlighted. Fundamentally, the post-14th century Catholic Church
aimed to establish Christian monogamy for life; and as generations passed,
the lay aristocracies of Western Europe, and even their monarchs, came to see
great advantages to them in monogamy. This coincidence of interests made it
feasible for marriage to become established as one of the seven sacraments of
the Catholic Church. Subsequently, the Church attempted to spiritualise the
institution of marriage (Brooke, 1989).
This aspect of marriage reform was apparently considered necessary
because of the primary rationale for marriage during the medieval period was
the protection, expansion, and preservation of material assets. For instance, in
early (French) Genoese aristocracy, fear of dividing up inheritance reinforced
obstacles to the marriage of all but the rst son, and made 12th century northern
France the age of juvenes, unmarried knights. The practice of marrying of all
daughters, and ensuring that all sons except the eldest remained unmarried
threatened medieval society’s social fabric, and deeply concerned the Church
(Duby, 1994). The eldest son’s marriage was usually a very lavish ceremony, in
262
which the bride’s family was typically provided fabulous gifts. In an attempt
spiritualise marriage, and liberate the institution from material considerations,
the Church banned the giving, by grooms, of silver pieces (or its equivalent)
to brides, decreed that consensus between the bride and groom triumph
over the ploys of families, and stipulated that a wedding ring, mutually
exchanged, should sufce to indicate love and affection between the bride
and groom.
These reforms apparently encouraged a changed perception of wedding
rings, to be viewed more as symbols of mutual, romantic love. The love
that the Catholic Church apparently sought to promote was one based on
choice, which claimed to unite rst and foremost two beings rather than two
families, or two networks of interest. However, the author was unable to access
any literature that veried whether the Church’s stipulation led to married
Christian men voluntarily wearing wedding rings from the Medieval period
to the end of the 19th century.
This pro-feminist policy of the Catholic Church was, however, more
than counterbalanced by pro-patriarchal Biblical doctrines, such as Ephesians
5:23 – “The husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the Church.”;
and the misogynist tradition in 1 Timothy 2:11 , that women “must learn in
silence and with all submissiveness. I permit no women to teach or to have
authority over men; she is to keep silent”.
The period of Reformation laid the basis for a measure of individualism
vis-à-vis religion. The extreme Protestant sects, such as the Quakers, who had
decided that God resided in the bosom of each person, could not deny that
a woman too was a person and that God equally resided in her. So, among
the Quakers, women were allowed to have equal rights with men in being the
embodiment of the holiness of God, and having the power to preach. Probably
as a response to the reality that married women were coerced into wearing
wedding rings while their husbands were not, the Quakers made the wearing
of wedding rings by married women and men optional. The Quakers were
destined to play leading roles in the Liberal Feminist Movement that sprung
up later. However, even among the Quakers in the United States, it was
not until 1878 that they voted full equality to their women with regards to
property rights (Escher, 1962).
In the United States, circumstances converged to precipitate earlier
than elsewhere a denitely organised movement of feminism. The Women’s
Rights Movement started out as a branch of the Abolitionists. This connection
was signicant because it was from the creation of Patriarchy in about 5 BC
that other forms of domination, such as slavery, developed (Lerner, 1993). The
freeing of slaves went hand in hand with a general democratic tendency to
consider every being, including women, as worthy of equal treatment. As a
platform for contributing to the anti-slavery movement, the National Society
Wedding Rings
263
of Anti-slavery Women was formed in 1839, and the rst National Convention
of the Women Rights Movement was held in New York in 1848. These activists
showed in words and deeds that they deserved equal status to men. For
instance, during the First World War, the Red Cross Women’s Bureau mobilised
the women effectively to produce surgical materials and hospital linen. In
social services attached to the Army, women were extremely valuable. Under
such conditions, it was impossible any longer to preclude women from political
participation. Immediately after the war, women’s suffrage was enacted. This
political emancipation was the beginning of a slippery slope of agitation for
equality that eventually extended to the marriage ritual (Sorin, 1971).
Relationships between minimisation of spousal inequality and changes in
the signicance of wedding rings in 2002
The relations between Feminists’ efforts to minimise spousal inequality
on one hand, and the changes in the use and signicance of wedding rings
on the other, are not well dened by writers on these subjects. Based on
the fragmentary pieces of evidence available to me, this connection may be
summarised thus: feminism facilitated the minimisation spousal equality, at
least in most democratic societies. Improved levels of spousal equality in turn
indirectly facilitated the voluntary use of wedding rings by men, as well as
entrenched romantic love as a primary reason for the use of wedding rings in
our era. I will explicate.
The groundwork laid by successive groups of feminists in previous
decades made it possible for the socio-economic and political emancipation
of women to become evident especially from the 1960s. For example, the
dual-career couple remains, in most Western countries, the new ideal middle
class marital relationship. Money has clearly enhanced the material well-being
of these couples. It is less often realised, however, how a woman’s enhanced
earning capacity apparently contributed to changing relations of dominance
that characterised most marriages in the pre-feminist era, when cloistering
women in the home made it more of a prison than a shelter, and supported the
unjust domination of husbands over wives (Hertz, 1986). Lake (1999) provided
a detailed account of how feminism improved socio-economic and educational
opportunities for Australian women since the 19th century, making Australian
women pacesetters in political, educational and socio-economic emancipation
of women. In her view, the fruits of feminism may be observed in rising
female enrolments in tertiary institutions, the signicant increase in female
breadwinners in Australian households (currently 20%), and the “equality in
the eyes of the law” principle in Australian Family Courts.
As the earlier signicance of wedding rings were largely designed to
massage the male ego in patriarchal societies, it was only a matter of time that
the signicance, and use, of wedding rings would change as gender relations
became less unequal. One aspect of the use wedding rings that has become
264
very fashionable in our era is the mutual exchange of wedding rings during
marriage, and the wearing of such rings by both brides and grooms long after
they are formally wedded. In Australia for example, an overwhelming majority
of married men and women wear wedding rings. Since most husbands and
wives currently wear wedding rings, whatever unattering connotations were
previously attached to women wearing them would now apply equally to
men. Interestingly, only a handful of the scores married individuals I held
discussions with while working on this article were aware of the misogynist
signicance of wedding rings discussed earlier.
Wedding rings continue to be used by women for adornments, but not
primarily to please men. Most women are socialised to value precious metals,
and they either buy the most desirable rings for themselves, or insist that their
spouses buy such rings. A cynical married colleague insinuated that such
adornments, because of their prohibitive cost, currently tended to displease
bridegrooms! In modern society, nubile, educated women are increasingly
playing active roles in choosing their marriage partners; thus the signicance of
wedding rings as a symbol of capture is currently irrelevant.
Currently, wedding rings continue to serve as a promise of mutual, not
exclusive female, delity. Although the wedding ring is today romanticised
as a circle of love, it still closely linked to the fact of jealousy in human sexual
relations. As shown by Martin Daly and Margo Wilson in fairly controversial
studies (1988, 1990), sexual jealousy is as fundamental to the human condition
as eating, sleeping and sexual desire. The married psychologists/sociologists,
who were based at McMaster University, Canada, asserted that although it
may have unpleasant consequences, sexual jealousy is designed to prevent
humans from being cheated or betrayed by the individuals in whom we need
to place our greatest trust: the long-term sexual partners with whom we create
and rear our children.
From this perspective, a man generally views the costs of a wife’s
sexual errantry as including a waste of time and resources in bringing up
another man’s child in the mistaken belief that it was theirs. He would have
wasted time and resources that had gone into acquiring his wife, and be unable
to use her as a vehicle for passing on his own genes during such pregnancy.
Bearing in mind these heavy costs, evolution (and sometimes the penal code)
was likely to favour sexually jealous men. Daly and Wilson (1988) suggest that
at least 20% of all male/male homicides may have sexual jealousy as their root
cause, while up to 50% of women at shelter for battered women were targets of
their husbands’ sexual jealousy.
As late as 1974, section 1225 of the Texas (United States) penal code
allowed that any man who found his wife in ‘agrante delicto’ with another
man could kill him and be guilty of nothing more than justiable homicide,
which wouldn’t even result in a crime, much less in a punishment. While on
a day-to-day basis these tendencies might only surface to a minor level, they
Wedding Rings
265
would blow up to epic proportions in response to real and concrete signs of
indelity or abandonment. The wedding ring is, in fact, one of the modern
signposts for discouraging the rival for his partner’s affections. Currently
in the Christian West, for example, the engagement ring, and the retention
of the centuries-old nine-month engagement period (during which signs of
an unwelcome pregnancy could be spotted and investigated) are generally
regarded as a hallmark of romance. In fact these rituals underlie the extent of
male sexual jealousy (Andrea, 1998).
Based on discussions with married women as part of my research into
this topic, it appears that women are usually aroused to greater sexual jealousy
by the sort of emotional withdrawal that might signal impending desertion by
their spouses. From experience, they were aware that the wedding ring would
discourage their potential rivals, who, as women, were very cognisant with
its implications. Hence wives not uncommonly pressured their husbands to
wear their wedding rings always (Buss, 1996). Thus, wedding rings currently
appear to serve a largely understated purpose – a constant reminder of an
individual’s marital status, while at the same time discouraging spouses’
potential rivals.
The socio-political emancipation of women, and the reform of marriage
laws (at least in Western countries) in order to make men and women equal
in the eyes of the law (Lake, 1999), have made the use of wedding rings in
classifying women as men’s property largely irrelevant. In fact, as women
became economically emancipated, wedding ceremonies, as well as nancial
arrangements following marriage increasingly became joint responsibility. In
fact, as part of feminists’ drive to erase the notion of marriage as a commercial
transaction in which the bride was the product, many contemporary books
on wedding etiquette suggest that brides’ families be the main bearers of the
nancial burden of weddings (Abeyfus, 1981). Although the groom is still
expected to purchase wedding rings in our era, the transaction is usually
with the brides’ involvement.
It must be noted that the credit for the increased socialization of men
to wear wedding rings is also shared by national and multinational jewellery
companies, such as Cartier and De Beers, whose marketing ploys helped to
further the romantic and class appeal of wedding rings. Especially since the
beginning of the 21st century, these companies aggressively promoted wedding
rings (for the bride and the groom) as a matter of course in a formal wedding.
For instance, the Cartier jewellery company designed unique, very expensive,
Russian wedding rings for the Tsars for decades, until the overthrow of the
Russian monarchy in 1917 (Brasch, 1996). Such rings are framed primarily
as symbols of love, fashion, and class. This marketing strategy apparently
contributed to socializing men to believe that the quality of the wedding
ring they give to their brides is a visible measure of their affection for her.
266
Consequently, rings currently constitute an important and expensive item
of wedding budgets.
Conclusion
As the changed signicance of wedding rings over the centuries
indicate, feminism’s largely understated victory with regards to socialising
both brides and grooms to wear wedding rings has not necessarily secured for
women the same symbols of domination which men gained over women in
earlier eras. However, in the context of the equality principle, it has minimised
the disadvantages suffered by women with regards to the ring’s symbol in
several respects. For example, because a substantial proportion of married
men (whether wearing a wedding ring or not) commit adultery at least once
in their married life, the wearing of the ring by men has exposed the hypocrisy
of punishing or isolating the woman for a ‘sin’ that is just as likely to be
committed by her equal partner.
In the pre-feminism era, adultery (by the wife and her male liaison,
of course!) incurred penalties from a simple ne to the ultimate punishment
– execution. For most of history, adultery has been a sex-specic offence,
committed only by married women and their lovers. Married men who had
sex with girls or widows were simply not classed as adulterers. Currently,
penalties for adultery apply equally, legally, to husbands and wife. Changing
community attitudes also ensure that, in most parts of the world, cheating
wives and their lovers are no longer subject to the fearful penalties for adultery
that characterised the pre-feminism era. Although adultery currently remains a
capital offence in northern Nigeria and six countries (Afghanistan, Bangladesh,
Iran, Pakistan, Somalia and Sudan), when such sentences were implemented,
they elicited widespread condemnation from most of the world’s nations. For
instance, worldwide condemnation of the death sentence handed down to a
married woman in northern Nigeria accused of adultery in 2001 (she claimed
that she was raped) contributed to the woman’s acquittal earlier this year.
Furthermore, while a husband’s penchant for committing adultery
indiscriminately in the pre-feminist era was condoned, the revision of marriage
laws in favour of women has apparently forced some adulterous men to
condone extramarital relationships by their wives. The increasing popularity,
at least in Australia, of “Swingers Clubs”- where husbands and wives swap
partners with each other’s full knowledge and permission – has provided some
women the sort of carnal pleasures that, for example, Geisha girls of Japan, made
available exclusively to married men in the pre-feminist era. It is interesting
to note that while the wearing of wedding rings is largely inconsequential
for married coupled who attend such clubs together, anecdotal evidence
indicates that married individuals who visit such clubs without their spouses’
knowledge tend to either conceal their marital status or lessen guilt feelings
by removing their wedding rings.
Wedding Rings
267
Wedding rings are currently marketed as romantic symbols of love.
The circular shape is supposed to represent endless affection owing from one
partner to another. Jewellers suggest that buying these ornaments in pairs
facilitates the ow of eternal romance between partners. Currently, Gold, one
of the world’s most precious and most durable metals, is the outstanding choice
for producing wedding rings. Books on wedding rings etiquette have devised
various rules for the purchase of wedding rings, such as the advice not to buy
the engagement ring and wedding ring at the same time, as it may signify ‘bad
luck’ during marriage (Abeyfus, 1981).
Interestingly, Love is one of the most difficult concepts to define.
Fromm (1995), asserted that a major reason for the disintegration of love in
modern society is that most people see the problem of love as that of being loved,
rather than that of loving. He further stated that love is best dened as what
it is not, and emphasised that sexual jealousy does not equate to love. Yet, a
signicant proportion of brides regard the giving of an expensive wedding ring,
by a groom, as a sign of being loved, while one of the understated functions
of wedding rings is to discourage potential mating partners. This suggests a
dissonance between what jewellers market wedding rings to be and what it
actually functions as in practice.
The future of the wedding ring in marriage rituals is difcult to predict.
The multibillion-dollar jewellery industry would undoubtedly innovate and
market new precious metals (such as platinum), and new meanings for wedding
rings in marriage. Already, such marketing has made wedding rings an integral
aspect of Muslim weddings, leading to an increased customer base of about 250
million adult Muslims. An evolving use of wedding rings is as part of a goal
celebration ritual during soccer matches. During the rst round matches of the
2002 Soccer World Cup, top strikers such as Spain’s Raul kissed their wedding
rings immediately after scoring a goal. The association of the world’s most
popular games with wedding rings is sure to increase its global popularity.
Also, the changing nature of work implies that with trade occupations and
some nursing specialities, married individuals may be prohibited, for safety
reasons, from wearing wedding rings even if they normally wished to do so.
The increasing emphasis on security, especially following the terrorist attack
of 11 September 2001, would make wedding rings unsuitable for workers in
occupations that require constant passage through metal detector machines.
Furthermore, as wedding ring design become more and more intricate, some
would become too cumbersome to wear routinely. For instance, the Jewish
wedding ring may be ornamented with the model of a house, or a Jerusalem
temple, all shown with intricate detail. Such designs would make intricately
designed rings too cumbersome to be worn constantly.
Thanks to feminism, the wedding ring appears to be undergoing a
silent revolution in our era. We can only hope that new meanings that may
be attached to this typically circular object in future would not lead to a
268
rediscovery of the wheel!
Works Cited
Abeyfus D. The Brides’ Book, London, Penguin Books, 1981.
Andrea S. Anatomy of Desire: the science and psychology of sex, love and marriage,
London, Little, Brown and Company, 1998.
Bass D, Malamuth M. N. Sex, Power, conict: evolutionary and feminist perspectives.
New York, Oxford University Press, 1996.
Book of Common Prayer (Church of England and the Anglican Communion).
Wedding ceremony, 1662. Internet communication, http://www.dfwx.com/
medieval.html
Brasch R. Circles of love, Sydney, HarperCollins Publishers, 1996.
Brooke C. N. L. The Medieval Idea of Marriage. New York, Oxford University
Press, 1989.
Daly M., Wilson M. Homicide, 1988, New York, Aldine, 1988.
Daly M., Wilson M. Killing the competition: female/female and male/male
homicide, Human Nature 1: 81-107; 1990.
Daymond M. J. South African Feminisms, New York, Garland publishing,
1996.
Duby G. Love and marriage in the Middle Ages. Cambridge, Polity Press, 1994.
Escher F. A brief history of the United States, New York, United States, 1962.
Fromm E. The art of loving. London, Thorsons, 1995.
Hertz R. More equal than others: women and men in dual career marriages. London,
University of California Press, 1986.
Lake M. Getting equal – the history of Australian feminism. Sydney, Allen
and Unwin, 1999.
Lerner G. The Creation of patriarchy. New York, Oxford University Press,
1986
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269
Lerner G. The Creation of Feminist Consciousness: from the Middle Ages to
Eighteen-seventy. New York, Oxford University Press.
Lucas A. M. Women in the Middle Ages: Religion, Marriage and Letters. Brighton,
Harvester Press, 1983.
Moustakas C. Heuristic Research. Newbury Park, Sage Publications, 1990.
Nair P. T. Marriage and dowry in India, Calcutta, Minerva Publications, 1978.
Robinson C. E. Pliny, Selections From the Letters. London, Martin and Hopkinson,
1939.
Shanley M. L. Feminism, Marriage and the Law in Victorian England, 1850-1895,
New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1982.
Sorin G. The New York Abolitionists: a case study of political radicalism, Westport,
Greenwood Publishing Company, 1971,
Tait H. Seven thousand years of jewellery, London, British Museum Publications,
1986.
Thurston H. The ritual of marriage, the Catholic Encyclopedia (Online edition).
Internet communication, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/o9703b.htm
About the Author: Niyi Awofeso ([email protected]) is a
physician, public health researcher, and a professional manager. He
recently submitted his doctoral thesis in Health Administration to the
University of New South Wales. His informal speciality is ‘Origins’
– of the most diverse kind. With about a tenth of the planet’s human
population currently wearing wedding rings, this mundane behaviour
is, in his opinion, collectively one of the most valuable items of movable
personal property in the world.
270
271
Behavioral Interference in Conceptual Model Formation
and Decision-Making
Joseph K. Wang
Pinetree Management
Abstract: Decision-making implies formation of conceptual models,
conscious or not, in order to prioritize available choices. Rational
ordering by decision utility value does not distinguish, however, within
ranges of choices perceived as nearly optimal. In such situations I
postulate that counteracting behavioral tendencies towards variance and
conceptual continuity and simplication lead to wave characteristics
in modeling and decision-making probabilities. This paper considers
behavioral wave interference phenomena, in which disparate parallel
applications or choices evolve from an original core value or priority.
Specific examples include evolution of conceptual paradigms in
societies and effects on decision-making induced by verbalization
of priorities.
D
ecision-making is traditionally assumed to be optimizing in theoretical
modeling. That is, a consumer or investor always chooses $2 values over
$1 values in transactions with fixed prices. Prominent economic theories
assuming decision-making optimization include expected utility optimization
theory and portfolio and efcient market pricing theories, which have attained
worldwide popular acceptance and application in nancial markets. These
theories assume rational optimization of quantiable expected monetary value
and/or perceived utility (Savage, 1954)
More recently, behavioral finance theorists have explored the role
of irrational decision-making in human economic behavior (Shiller, 1997;
Thaler, 1992). Decisions in their models are made based on systematic, i.e.,
deterministic, behavioral tendencies and perceptions (Day, 1997; Wang, 1998)
rather than on quantitative optimization of expected monetary gain or other
utility. In anchoring phenomena (Kahneman and Tversky, 1974), for example,
decision-makers repeat choices made earlier by themselves or by others,
even when aware that earlier choices, e.g., of regularly purchased consumer
brand, were partially arbitrary or random and not necessarily optimal. Magical
thinking (Skinner, 1948) occurs when decisions arise from irrational perceptions
of optimization, e.g., choosing lucky or favorite items, numbers and rituals.
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 271-289. © 2002, Joseph
K. Wang and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
272
Intrinsic randomness in choices and actions (Grobstein, 1994) has been
mostly neglected in theoretical modeling until very recently (McKelvey and
Palfrey, 1995, 1998). Behavioral forces driving choices often contain a signicant
random component, however. Many consumer and other mundane choices
in life are made not by consistent optimization of a utility function, but with
signicant dependence on arbitrary taste and/or mood at the time of decision.
Such choices exhibit limited impact on perceived utility return, resulting from
limited experience and discipline applicable, due to cost (time and effort) in
obtaining information, and/or simply due to desire for variety (Cox, 1969;
Grobstein, 1994).
In another paper (Wang, preprint) I have derived a theory of suboptimal decision-making behavior mathematically analogous to quantum
mechanical particle theories (Feynman and Hibbs, 1965; Landau and Lifshitz,
1977). Quantum theories postulate that particle motions are explicable only
in terms of probabilistic wavefunction amplitudes. The exact functional
distribution for a particle depends on the surrounding environment as well
as on parameters of the particle. As particle energy, momentum, and mass
increase, quantum mechanical behavior approaches the classical behavior of
particles under Newtonian laws.
A wavefunction theory of decision-making provides a framework
for unication of apparently disparate behavioral theories through the dual
principles of conceptual simplication and variability. In general, all choices
occur probabilistically, following frequency distributions dependent on choices
available, resources allocated to decision, and decision-maker characteristics.
Rational expected utility optimization theories, irrational behavioral anomalies
(Shiller, 1997; Thaler, 1992), and random variance (Grobstein, 1994; McKelvey
and Palfrey, 1995, 1998) describe behavior in different limiting regimes.
When choices are clearly prioritized by utility/value, individuals and groups
seek deterministically maximum expected utility in choices of actions and
preferences. Consumers will almost always prefer to buy the same or very
similar item at 30% sale discount to buying at regular price. This regime is
analogous to that of classical potential theory in physics, stating that particles
tend to move closer due to gravity.
When optimal choices are not obvious and essential, preferences for
conceptual simplication can dominate decision-making. Arbitrarily broken
symmetries in selecting among similarly optimal choices are manifested
in apparently irrational behavioral anomalies. Consumers and investors in
dynamic market environments arbitrarily “anchor” estimates of market values
with reference to prices earlier observed or obtained, waiting to “break even”
regardless of likely changes in underlying values with time. In magical thinking
arbitrary “lucky” numbers, clothing or rituals are identied as optimizing
outcome value. This regime is analogous to that of classical theories of motion,
in which particles possess inertia, tending to maintain position in the absence
Behavioral Interference
273
of strong forces.
An important identifying characteristic of areas of mundane behavior is
regular repetition of the same action, weekly, daily or with other frequency. The
same decision, e.g., exactly what to eat, wear, and read, is repeated over a range
of similarly optimal choices. “Classical” rational optimization then provides
minimal predictive power, for non-life-altering choices between different
cereals or color of ties and socks on a given day. This regime is analogous to
that of quantum theory, in which observations can only reveal a probability
distribution of results. Within this analogy, wave properties can arise from
countering decision-maker tendencies towards variation and continuity. In
seeking to improve understanding of such properties of mundane and other
behavior, this paper identies and examines a phenomenon of behavioral wave
interference, the evolution of disparate parallel applications of an original
core priority or concept.
Evidence for wave characteristics in decision- and conceptual modelmaking behavior will be most convincing from systems displaying continuous
evolution of behavior between “classical,” such that utility optimization
dominates, and “wave-like,” where the opposite is true. In the analogous
phenomenon of wave interference in physical systems, wave propagation
generates variations in wave intensity at distances from an isolated origin
of intensity. This paper identies and analyzes several familiar or readily
visualized cognitive and behavioral systems as behavioral interference
phenomena. Section I of this paper introduces a Hamiltonian formalism for
decision-making and conceptual modeling behavior and derives a unied
formalism for modeling of deterministic and probabilistic behavior. In Section
II I describe the phenomenon of physical wave interference and outline the
analogy to behavioral wave interference. In Section III analogies are identied
and dened in detail between physical wave interference and four examples of
behavioral interference in decision and conceptual model making: consumer
choices subsequent to stating reasons for choices, evolution of scientific
paradigms, reserve denition in insurance accounting, and sect formation
in Christianity.
I. Decisions Within Ranges of Near-Optimal Choices
A. Hamiltonian Formalism for Decision and Conceptual Model Making
An individual situated in an environment in stable equilibrium
(excluding, e.g., articial environments such as prisons) will seek to maintain a
spectrum of available choices for most activities and items under consideration
in the course of daily life. Even in the most primitive societies, food is prepared
in different ways and at different times. Clothing and shelter vary to suit each
individual’s taste and requirements. Daily and seasonal rituals and routines are
generally undertaken with at least minimal exibility in scheduling and details,
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albeit avoiding extreme variations. Rituals and holidays departing from regular
daily routine are necessary features of societal structure (Cox, 1969).
For a given choice i of activity or item to be made by an individual,
assume that all activities and/or items available can be identied by various
parameters. In Figure 1(a) different options concurrently available for a choice i
are “located” at various points x along the horizontal x-axis. The single variable
x may thus represent location of and/or relative magnitudes of resources
applied towards available items and/or pursuits (Goetzmann and Spiegel,
1997; Briley, Morris and Simonson, 2000). As a specic example, choices for
one meal might be classied as multi-dimensional variables x, parametrized in
terms of ingredients, preparation style, amounts, etc.
For choice i, the aggregate net amount of resources necessary to
undertake option x defines a “net cost” function U(x). In the example of
choosing food, U(x) equals cooking labor and costs minus net physical
nourishment for given choice x. When x represents choices requiring identical or
no material resource expenditure, U(x) may represent intangible quantities such
as motivation, experience, and training necessary to pursue the choice specied
by x, net of psychological reward. In games and laboratory environments
U(x) may represent perceived expectation of reward for correct or optimal
decisions. Finally, the concept of net utility return can be extended to conceptual
modeling, by dening in terms of total range or number of facts or observations
logically explained, or inverse of number of anomalies unexplained, given
choice of theoretical assumption x.
It is assumed that available options are such that x can be dened
“naturally,” so that U(x) is a smooth function of x. In this case, when U(x) is
near an optimal minimum Umin, U(x) can be visualized as a wide and shallow
“bowl” of height u resting at Umin [Fig. (1a)]. If a decision-maker has nite
resources u allocable towards choice i, then he/she can only afford options x
such that u exceeds U(x), “lling” the bowl U(x) up to height u. In this paper I
assume that U(x) does not vary within relevant time scales and that variations in
x do not alter available resources u; given x can occur more than once.
Even if U(x) is time-invariant, I have earlier noted that choices x(t)
change with time t. [Fig. 1(b)] Macroeconomic modeling may generate
continuous and deterministic average trends and parameters x(t), implicitly
assuming reduction of stochastic variance in large systems, i.e., the central
limit theorem or “law of large numbers.” The dependence of such trends on
U(x) is analogous to the inuence of potential forces in “classical” Hamiltonian
theories of physical motion. At the level of the individual or small group,
however, the relative impact of random unforeseeable events and variability
of behavior, or free will (Grobstein, 1994), causes future outcomes and actions
x(t) to evolve with signicant variance, discontinuously, and with less direct
dependence on environment U(x). [PROBABILISTIC curve in Fig. 1(b)] After
a brief duration of pursuing steady habits and lifestyle, consumers and even
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Figure 1: (a) Requisite resources U(x) as a function (dotted line) of choice of activities or
items (parametrized by horizontal axis coordinate x). The minimum value of U(x) is Umin
at x = 0 [u = U(x) - Umin]. (b) 2 separate choice functions x(t) plotted versus time t (vertical
axis), one continuous and deterministic (curved path, left) and one discontinuous and
probabilistic (solid vertical segments connected in sequence by dotted segments, right).
(c) Short-term measured frequency distributions P(x) for the deterministic (smooth
curve, left) and probabilistic (discrete solid bars, right) choice functions in (b). U(x)
and Umin from (a) are replotted for comparison (different scale from P(x)). Long-term
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probabilistic frequency distribution P(x) may be a continuous function.
serious investors may try “impulse buying” just for “a change of pace.”
Fractional percentage interest rate changes may predictably alter corporate
and national production and investment activity, but have indiscernible
effects on nancial habits of one individual or family. As discussed in
the Introduction, analogous empirical limitations on accuracy of particle
measurement and subsequent research historically necessitated fundamental
revisions to classical theories of particle motion, yielding the modern theory of
quantum mechanics.
B. Probabilistic Decision Functions Within Hamiltonian Formalism
Self-consistency at both the level of the individual and of large
populations is attained within a unied model of decision-making constructed
in terms of non-negative probability distributions P(x, t) for decisions (McKelvey
and Palfrey, 1995, 1998), where
∫ P(x, t) dx = 1, (1)
rather than in terms of deterministic dynamics. As discussed in preceding
subsection A., x(t) may in general vary discontinuously, with long-term
frequency determined by P(x, t). The curve P(x) to right in Fig. 1(c) labeled
PROBABILISTIC shows an example frequency distribution for discontinuous
x(t) observed over a nite time interval. For large heterogeneous populations,
the central limit theorem allows x(t) to approach deterministic behavior with
expectation values satisfying smooth Hamiltonian dynamics implied by U(x).
[DETERMINISTIC P(x) in Fig. 1(c), left] P(x) is intuitively expected to exhibit
continuity for all systems in general. That is, probabilities of two choices
should approach one value as two choices are made more similar. Evidence
in support of this appears in the success of mass production, commodities
and generic products, which succeed to the extent that consumer demand is
the same for similar products.
As discussed in the Introduction, decision-making does not depend
exclusively upon rational optimization of utility value when many near-optimal
choices are available (Grobstein, 1994). It instead exhibits discernible and
reproducible, if sometimes irrational and non-optimizing, patterns and/or
probability distributions. Review of literature on various anomalous behavioral
phenomena (Shiller, 1997; Thaler, 1992) suggests an underlying central theme
of simplication and “self-ltering” of perception, or non-equilibrium belief
formation (James, 1890; Lévi-Strauss, 1966; Costa-Gomes and Zauner, to be
published). “Anchoring” (Kahneman and Tversky, 1974), cognitive dissonance
(Festinger, 1957) and overconfidence, for example, all involve irrational
adherence of thought or opinion to initial assumptions. Cognitive dissonance
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is specically identied as denial of later contradicting information after initial
formation of a belief. Within probabilistic systems such adherence results in
arbitrary peaks in P(x), corresponding to the inertial resistance postulated to
exist in continuous, deterministic systems. In other experiments individuals
and entities evaluate and respond to a spectrum of choices or items in terms of
a few arbitrarily dened “mental compartments.” Magical and quasi-magical
thinking (Shar and Tversky, 1992; Skinner, 1948) involve arbitrary association
of causality between initial actions and events, resulting in adherence to
“false” optimal choices.
The analogous phenomenon of “broken symmetry” (Anderson, 1984)
occurs in physical systems in nature, such as particle spins and magnetic
materials which preserve xed magnetic alignment even after elimination of
external electromagnetic inuence. Broken symmetry occurs because interaction
energies are optimized when directional alignments are preserved over large
areas, countering entropic tendencies towards randomness. In behavioral
systems, in complete analogy, when no clear process exists for optimal decision,
effort and uncertainty are minimized by mental simplication, “self-ltering” to
form maxima in P(x), countering fears of sub-optimal choices.
Mental simplification will be greatest when resources such as
information and experience are most limited. Conversely, prior analysis and
decisions will be most complete for available choices x when resources are
sizeable, e.g., for macroeconomic and corporate entities. As an example, novice
investors might initially limit their choices to index funds such as the Dow Jones
Industrial and NASDAQ representing broad economic sectors. [Figure 2(a)]
As investors gain experience, wealth, and condence, i.e., decision resources
u, they expand investment choices among more specialized economic sectors
and individual business entities. A length ∆x can be dened corresponding
to characteristic distance between points x of maximal P(x, t). From the
above discussion, ∆x corresponds to degree of conceptual generalization and
simplication and will vary inversely with u. In the example of investors, ∆x
might equal % of total market capitalization represented by each of his/her
index fund choices.
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279
protability leads to conceptual interference and denition of separate reserves.
Irrational “self-ltering” of perception and multiple maxima in P(x,
t) are often direct consequences of prior external inuence on or restriction of
perception (James, 1890; Costa-Gomes and Zauner, to be published), manifested
in experiments as hinting or suggestive format of questioning (Shiller, 1997;
Briley, Morris and Simonson, 2000; Fitzsimons and Shiv, 2001). With initial
restriction of perspective, P(x, t) still ultimately depends on optimality
characteristics, “absolute” attractiveness, of available choices. An initial
external inuence may be manifested, however, via subsequent constructive
and destructive “behavioral interference” in the decision-making process,
enhancing or reducing the preference for various choices, generating several
maxima and minima in P(x, t). In the next two sections I attempt to dene
behavioral interference in decision-making via analogies to wave interference
in physics and examples in real life.
II. Behavioral Interference As A Wave Phenomenon
Light wave interference occurs when coherent light waves emit from
a small physical aperture, propagate in the absence of intermediate obstacles,
and illuminate distant surfaces in alternating concentric light and dark regions
silhouetting the original aperture shape. This interference occurs due to
superposition of light waves originating from different points of the aperture,
alternately enhancing and “canceling out” each other at different angles. [Fig.
2(b)] The angular width ∆θ of one light region depends on aperture width
w and wavelength λ as
∆θ ~ λ / w.
Figure 2: Probability distribution P(x) of investment selections by novice investor.
Investor analysis is constrained by risk and reward requirements; subsequent selection is
made from universe of stocks. Formation of “mental compartments” results in selections
with maximal P(x) from a few discrete broad categories of width ∆x as % of total
stock market capitalization. (b) Behavioral interference pattern in life insurance reserve
valuation measures originating from core objective of evaluating insurance business
protability. Concurrent insurance industry focus on different business components of
(2)
λ generally increases for different types of waves as wave energy density
decreases.
The proportional dependence between ∆θ and λ is intuitively clear, since
longer wavelength requires larger distances for wave phenomena to develop.
An inverse dependence between ∆θ and w arises because waves emerging from
the aperture are more uniform as w decreases. Wave interference effects then
only appear at larger angles ∆θ, as interference between waves originating at
various points of the aperture becomes signicant [Fig. 2(b)].
In the formalism of Section I, restrictive conditions on a decision
correspond to a restricted range of choices with low U(x). In behavioral
interference this region of acceptable choices or concepts is analogous to a
narrow physical aperture admitting light. wx represents “size” of this region in
decision or conceptual parameter-x space. Evolving probability P(x, t) of future
choices subsequent to satisfying initial restrictive conditions corresponds
to the propagation of light from an aperture. P(x, t) observed for specific
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future decision points x corresponds to the illumination pattern observed at
a distance from the aperture. In the investment example, wx might equal a
small fraction of all basic asset categories deemed desirable for investment
by restrictive criteria. P(x, t) then equals the actual asset allocation ultimately
made from available securities.
In behavioral interference, P(x, t) subsequent to an initial “successful”
choice exhibits multiple maxima analogous to the light and dark interference
patterns described in the preceding paragraph. ∆x, analogous to ∆θ in Eq. (2),
expresses the degree of conceptual simplication or “compartmentalization”
in choices from a spectrum of choices subsequent to an initial restricting
concept or value. Smaller u implies reduced resources available for evaluation
of optimal concepts or choices at conceptual “distances.” Less renement in
decision-making then occurs, corresponding to larger λ. This is analogous
to the energy dependence of physical waves on λ. Reduced resources u and
therefore larger λ clearly implies greater simplication necessary in decisions
and broader ∆θ in P(x, t), as in Eq. (2). Abundant applicable resources u and
small λ in contrast allows optimally rational choices and actions, corresponding
to a “classically” straight-line light beam projection without wave patterns
(innitesimal ∆x). Large conceptual restriction “width” wx implies a broadly
applicable initial core concept or set of decision-making criteria. Extension to
new decisions or situations is then easier. More acceptable and optimal choices
implies narrower maxima in P(x, t) and smaller ∆x.
III. Examples Of Behavioral Interference
Recent research on cultural mechanisms underlying consumer decisionmaking (Briley, Morris and Simonson, 2000) gives striking evidence for
the concept of behavioral interference. The authors themselves propose an
interpretation of cultural values as a lens which may or may not be applied
to shape behavioral disposition for any specic decision. Cultural lens and
behavioral interference are similar metaphors, both invoking perception altered
by interactions within a localized intermediate region.
The main body of their paper presents experimental data and analysis
supporting the postulate that cultural influences on individual decisionmakers are manifested through specic applications of reasons and values.
Absent prior questioning, subjects from different cultures exhibited similar
“conservative” tendencies towards choices compromising quality and low
cost. Probabilities of choices P(x) were signicantly altered, however, when
subjects rst specied their reasons prior to making their choices. Measures
of individual characteristics of disposition correlated poorly with choices
made, conrming that specication of reasons had a specic inuence on
decision-making apart from dispositional traits.
The studies by Briley, Morris and Simonson (2000) necessarily involved
simplied laboratory situations. Only three choices were made available for
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each decision under study, limiting the applicability of a continuous model.
The results can nevertheless be interpreted in terms of behavioral interference
as follows. Absent prior questioning regarding reasons for choices, consumer
choices of one product are analogous to an light beam propagating undeected
and therefore without dependence on λ. Asking specic reasons for consumer
decision-making is analogous to passing light through a restricted aperture.
Decision-making subsequent to providing reasons is analogous to light
emanating from the aperture. Probability distribution P(x) of reasons given
and choices made among available items is analogous to the resulting light
intensity pattern projected onto a distant surface parameterized by x, the degree
of preference for product quality versus low cost.
In studies of decision-making sans questioning, distributions of choices
centered on the compromise choice identically (40 to 50%) for groups from
various cultures. The compromise choice consistently predominated regardless
of actual items presented. This conrmed that items represented price/quality
trade-offs of approximately equal utility value U(x), analogous to smooth
surfaces well-centered beneath light projections. The dominance of compromise
choices presumably reects universal instinctive risk-avoidance at unfamiliar
choice extremes (Kahnemann and Tversky, 1979). This would be analogous to
the natural tendency of light beams to maintain initial direction in the absence of
interference effects, fading at extreme angles from the original direction.
In the study by Briley et al., requiring reasons for decision-maker
choices established awareness of restrictive priorities on decision-making.
Decision-makers were forced to consider the positions of choices relative to
each other, analogous to light passing through a narrow aperture. In light wave
interference waves emerge from all points of an aperture [as in Fig. 2(b)] and
recombine constructively along the path emerging straight ahead, at a zero
angle. At slightly different angles, waves from the two ends of the aperture
cancel out with each other, resulting in patterns of alternating brightness at
different angles. The appearance of light interference patterns corresponds
to the appearance of signicant variations in P(x) in behavioral interference.
For decision-makers under study by Briley et al., this arises from conscious
evaluation of two product qualities available only with trade-offs. Conicting
priorities for optimization of each quality can result in increased P(x) for
extreme choices.
Poor correlation between individual disposition and actual choices
made in the study by Briley et al. further supports interpretation of data in
terms of behavioral interference. Consumer decision-makers under questioning
seek to maintain conceptual self-consistency. Independent of disposition,
each reintegrates the original trade-off, quality versus low price, following
different priorities with different resulting choices x. An analogous property
of light wave interference is that pattern intensity regions are not identiable
with different points of the narrow aperture originating the light waves.
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Pattern regions arise simultaneously from each light wave passing through
and interacting with the aperture.
The behavioral interference model allows quantitative interpretation
and parameterization of decision-making behavior of consumers from different
cultures. A major nding of Briley et al. (2000) is that questioning of American
and East Asian consumers resulted in reduced and increased selection of
compromise options, respectively. As discussed above, controlled questions
and available choices correspond to constant wx. Differences in interference
effects in P(x) can therefore be attributed solely to differences in λ in Eq. (2).
Increased selection of compromise options by East Asians implies narrower
maxima in P(x), therefore smaller λ. This was argued in Section II to correlate
with greater resources u allocated to decision-making. Larger λ characteristic
of American decision-makers implies greater conceptual generalization in
decision-making. This is consistent with conclusions of Briley et al. (2000)
that American subjects tended to invoke absolute principles when giving
reasons for making choices. Japanese, in contrast, have been observed to review
attributes carefully for individual choices, allocating greater decision-making
resources u (Myers and Simonson, 1992). A nal observation in support of the
above analysis is that East Asian choices P(x) systematically changed less upon
questioning of reasons (3 – 6% versus 9 – 33% change by European-Americans).
Greater u allocated by East Asians should in fact result in more “classical,”
optimized decision-making, not subject to interference. In the analogous lightaperture system, high-energy low-λ light waves exhibit weakest interference
effects, minimally different from intensities emerging unrestricted through
large apertures.
In the above example of behavioral interference in consumer decisionmaking, data supports a model of individual decision-making shaped by
cultural lenses or restrictions triggered for specic decisions. As discussed
in Subsection I.A., analogy to wavefunction theory generally implies that
“average” choices by large populations should be more “classically” predictable
and optimal. This concept is in some sense a crucial premise favoring open
market over bureaucratic command economies. Relative benets are often not
easily and/or quickly valued, however, within ranges of abstract conceptual
choices, e.g., theologies and scientific models. Such choices are often not
readily parameterized for automatic use as with commodity prices, but must
be communicated between individuals. Behavioral interference characteristic
of individual decision-making may then be observed. This is analogous
to independent formation of light interference patterns by different color
components of initially white light on oil surfaces. The remaining examples
below identify behavioral interference in evolution of collective conceptual
model formation by intellectual and other communities.
A familiar example is evolution of scientic paradigms, or “thinking
within the box” (Kuhn, 1996). After initial success of an intellectual and/or
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cultural core conceptual theme, e.g., Galilean invariance in physics or
mass production in economics, the same concept is applied with imperfect
extrapolation throughout an expanded regime. Interference consists of
additional “dark region” caveats and assumptions that must be invoked,
afrming the original concept only with interspersed anomalies. Perhaps the
best-known example of scientific paradigm evolution is that of Ptolemaic
geocentric theory. Classical Greek and medieval European astronomers sought
to incorporate all astronomical data within models of circular orbits around the
Earth in this theory. As data was obtained with increasing precision, modeling
inconsistencies and complexities required introduction of increasingly complex
and unwieldy modications to the theory, e.g., including orbits within orbits
and exceptional non-circular paths. The development of heliocentric and
eventually relativistic models ultimately allowed successful unied modeling of
all observed stellar and planetary motions based on a few axiomatic (Newton’s
and ultimately Einstein’s) equations.
Geocentric theory represents a narrow conceptual restriction in
astronomical theory. Advancements and error levels in measurements
correspond to resource level u and wavelength λ in Eq. (2). With the earliest
measurement accuracy, modeling reveals few anomalies and geocentric theory
is appealing in its simplicity. In terms of Eq. (2), λ and ∆ are so large that
interference is not visible within a diffuse conceptual projection. As inaccuracy
and decrease, modifications to geocentric orbits necessary in modeling
newer data correspond to dark anomalous regions in developing conceptual
interference patterns. The eventual generalization to orbit centers other than
the Earth represents conceptual aperture enlargement, allowing consistent
extrapolation to improved data and elimination of conceptual interference. As
an aside, modern advances in air and ocean navigational tools and techniques
correspond to λ and ∆ reduced such that restriction to geocentric maps and
globes induces no conceptual interference for modern pilots.
The historical development of life insurance accounting in the United
States provides a second example of conceptual interference. Life insurance
risk is conceptually unique as a business liability, involving contractual
events highly uncertain in both time and magnitude, and therefore difcult
to evaluate although of substantial social utility (Black and Skipper, 1994). In
consequence, accounting principles have developed over decades dening
numerous different life insurance liability components, each subject to different
oversight and calculation. [Fig. 2(b)] Life insurance companies in the United
States must calculate separate reserves for guaranteed interest and mortality
contracts, premium deciency, asset default risk (AVR), crediting guarantees
(IGR), and separate accounts (NY State Reg. 128, SSA). Asset categories must
be reserved for deferred acquisition costs (DAC), for first year expenses
(CRVM), for interest rate uctuation risk (IMR), as well as other conventional
business depreciation. Statutory company surplus moreover must exceed
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calculated minimum values (RBC) to cover nancial risks over a range of
probabilities.
The initial core concept in this example is viability of managing
contractual insurance risk, through receipt and investment of policyholder
premiums over time exceeding contractual payments and administrative
expenses. Insurance businesses can be characterized in a conceptual space
parameterized by various accounting quantities, e.g., insurance in-force,
rate of sales, premium rates, contract durations, crediting rates, etc., both
in total and by type. Viability occurs in a restricted optimal region in this
space yielding positive expected prot u over time, with discounting for risky
business parameter congurations (e.g., speculative investments). The historical
development of a variety of separate and distinct calculated reserves [Fig. 2(b)]
represents a conceptual spectrum of modern business accounting valuation
measures evolved from the core concept of viability. Relative size of different
reserves x provides a measure of P(x, t) as the relative importance of valuation
measure x in evaluating insurance business viability.
A traditional pairing between investment assets and policy reserves
represented a natural formation of mental compartments in evaluating
insurance activities, between simple contractual obligations to receive and to
pay out monies, not distant from the original concept of business viability. In
recent decades, however, many business tools and practices, swaps and other
derivatives, synthetic GIC contracts, and reinsurance, are no longer easily
classied within traditional accounting reserves (Donahue, 2001). Reserve
categories have consequentially proliferated and increased in complexity in
response to the modern expanded continuum of business practices. Resulting
interference patterns appear in the arbitrary distinctions based on restrictive
perceptions of insurance business.
Consistent with this interpretation, increased computing power in
recent years has allowed innovations in business valuation based on techniques
such as cash ow testing and stochastic scenario and sensitivity analysis. These
techniques project business operations and results with unsimplied realistic
assumptions, directly addressing the original core theme of long-term business
viability. Increased computing power corresponds to larger u and smaller λ.
Consistent with Eq. (2), this allows more accurate projection and evaluation in
terms of the original core concept of viability, reducing interference effects and
returning to analysis of “the bottom line.”
The historical development of Christianity provides the nal example
of behavioral interference. The initial core concept here is proper lifestyle,
dened as worship of Jesus Christ as divine Messiah and intercessionary for
humanity, according to His own teachings. P(x, t) equals the percentage of
population at time t espousing religious interpretation or denomination x
dened within a space parameterized by different philosophical and theological
themes and values. The ascetic lifestyle of early Christians (at time 0) represents
285
a restricted region of low requisite resources U(x, 0) isolated within the diversity
of sophisticated and hedonistic lifestyles in the early Roman Empire (Kiefer,
1971). The corresponding high surplus u allocable by early Christians fueled
the focused evangelical drive with which Christianity has since propagated
throughout the world (Chidester, 2000). Propagating the concept of the life
of Christ sacriced for all humanity encouraged expansion of Christianity
both to new populations as well as to previously neglected social classes
such as slaves, throughout and eventually beyond the Roman Empire. This
social expansion was facilitated by and concurrent with evolution of a broad
underlying intellectual framework (Kiefer, 1971; Küng, 1976), built upon the
written New Testament, subsequent theological writings and thought, and
adaptations from other religions, most notably Judaism. To summarize, the
historical evolution of Christianity over two millennia has extended broadly
in many dimensions since its early restrictive heritage of asceticism and
persecution by the state.
Richly detailed cultural and intellectual structure, corresponding to
small ∆x, characterizes modern Christianity. A myriad different denominations
have developed, Catholic, Protestant, Greek and Russian Orthodox, each with
its own emphasis on distinct essential rituals and beliefs, corresponding to
different peaks in P(x, t). This diversity originates in part from secular social
and geopolitical forces, corresponding to non-uniform U(x, t) and interactions
among various demographic groups. But to signicant extent, diversity has
resulted from purely intellectual developments in Christian theology (Kiefer,
1971). Many denominations are distinguished primarily by different selfconsistent interpretations of the fundamental nature of Jesus Christ, as human
or divine, and of God, as Unity or Trinity, mystical or rational. Associated
behavioral interference is even a familiar theme in literature, e.g., in resolving
the paradox of an omnipotent God allowing injustice and evil:
Human beings, in their generous endeavor to construct a hypothesis
that shall not degrade a First Cause, have always hesitated to conceive
a dominant power of lower moral quality than their own; and, even
while they sit down and weep by the waters of Babylon, invent excuses
for the oppression which prompts their tears. (Hardy, Thomas, The
Return of the Native (1955), p. 434.)
In terms of Eq. (2), small ∆x and diverse denominations characterizing P(x,
t) results from large u (small λ) of the early Christians propagating their
all-inclusive theology (large w x). Modern Christian missionary efforts in
underdeveloped nations provide a supplementary case study, wherein available
local resources u are low (large λ). Consistent with larger ∆x expected from
Eq. (2), Christian missionary theology has conformed more to broad core
themes of faith in God and dignity of life, without signicant formation of
286
287
new theological schisms.
Works Cited
IV. Conclusions
References throughout this paper conrm that behavioral interference,
the imperfect cognitive extension of an initial core concept, is a familiar
phenomenon in social sciences dealing with cognitive and behavioral anomalies.
I have attempted to establish formal analogy between behavioral and physical
wave interference through analysis of four example applications. Oscillatory
wave-like characteristics in conceptual model and decision-making probabilities
arise under restrictions of limited resources for decision-making, due to
simultaneous behavioral preferences for variance and conceptual continuity and
simplication. In a more complete extension of the analogy between behavioral
and physical wave theory, I derive elsewhere (Wang, preprint) that
Allais, M. “Le Comportement de l’Homme Rationnel devant le Risque,
Critique des Postulats et Axiomes de l’Ecole Americaine.” Econometrica 21
(1953): 503-46.
P(x, t) = Ψ(x, t)2, (3)
where Ψ(x, t) is a complex scalar wavefunction analogous to quantum physical
wavefunctions obeying Schrödinger’s equation under inuence of arbitrary U(x)
(Feynman and Hibbs, 1965; Landau and Lifshitz, 1977). Underlying P(x, t) of
non-negative magnitude, Ψ(x, t) is thus a wave intensity, summed directly when
superposing two or more initial component behavioral wavefunctions.
Wavefunction continuity simultaneous with variance implies practical
absolute limits on predictability and control even of mundane behavior, (Cox,
1969; Grobstein, 1988, 1994; McKelvey and Palfrey, 1995, 1998). Anomalous
behavioral interference frequency patterns arise not from errors but from
balancing conflicting requirements for efficiency and minimal error given
limited resources available in evaluating new situations and information.
In two of the examples in this paper, scientific paradigms and insurance
reserve accounting, increased conceptual resources, data and computational
power have eventually exceeded initial limits, reducing anomalous behavioral
interference effects. In the other two examples, however, limits have not been so
readily overcome. Fundamental cultural values and priorities can signicantly
inuence resource allocation towards consumer decisions. Intellectual resources
are nite in extending knowledge of an innite God. Such intrinsic limitations
can be ignored in social, economic, and educational planning only at great
cost and inefciency. Recognition and quantitative understanding of these
limitations can aid towards minimal unnecessary conflict and discomfort
and maximal enhancement of individual satisfaction and productivity in
societies.
I wish to acknowledge invaluable discussions with and/or helpful criticism from John
Kao, Scott Schaffer, Susan C. S. Wang, and the reviewers of this paper for JMB.
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About the Author: Joseph Wang ([email protected]) originally
obtained M. A. and Ph. D. degrees at Princeton University in condensed
matter physics. Following interests in mathematical modeling in
social sciences, he completed actuarial examination work for an
F.S.A. designation with specialization in Investments and is currently
a pension investment product actuary. Research interests are in
mathematical modeling of behavioral phenomena in social sciences,
economics and nance theory in particular.
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291
Sense-Memory: The Search for a Meaningful Milieu at
the Concerts of Godsmack, Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts
and Bob Dylan
Linda Forman
Abstract: This article is a lighthearted, reported essay on the
surroundings and attributes of three very different musical milieus
that convened during the summer of 2001: 1) the predominantly male
crowd that bought tickets to see the heavy-metal group Godsmack
in Orange County, CA, 2) the predominantly female “movie star”
contingent that turned out for Oscar-winner Russell Crowe’s band
TOFOG in Austin, TX, and 3) the family-oriented, county-fair audience
that attended a Bob Dylan concert outside Los Angeles at the Antelope
Valley Fair & Alfalfa Festival. In the same way that each artist
brought something unique to the stage, so, too, did the crowds and
their surroundings, adding to the total experience—mundane and
otherwise—of each event.
O
nce upon a time, it was the summer before September 11th. It wasn’t that
I was a juvenile then, but I sure wasn’t this old. I am reminded of this
each time I clamp on my cushiony clamshell headphones, assume a position of
repose, and lose myself in the pipeline of music that flows my way.
This was how I lived in the days before September 11th—nodding off
in a fuzzy cocoon of sound, fed by a continuous audio drip in which even
slumber took on the texture of a gentle tutorial. Although I had no memory
of what, exactly, occurred in sleep class, the wake-up bell always had the
same familiar ring of the Weezer, Waterboys or Barry White riff that played
in my head the night before.
Which left me wondering: Could my nightly diet of alphabetical Rock
Blocks/slow-jammin’ hits/gooey power ballads/discourses on the recorded
output of Bad Company actually be having some effect on my waking life?
Because, to a disconcertingly tolerant degree, I now found that I liked
almost everything I heard. Even more alarming was that, where once I could
envision myself as a member of a recognizable musical tribe—a fan of bluegrass,
an acionado of Old School, a devotee of speed metal—I found I could no
longer make such distinctions. Everything in Clamshell Land, it seemed, had
some appeal, if only to stimulate a fevered interest in whom else might be
riding the Clamshell Line at 2 a.m.
Was it a person I might admire? Or just another jerk bent on making
my car insurance skyrocket? Mightn’t we share some other common ground?
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 291-300. © 2002, Linda
Forman and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
292
Perhaps a premium cable service? Or the whoosh of mechanically ionized
bedroom air?
What, exactly, did this person wear?
What did he or she eat?
More importantly, were my unseen clamshell counterparts now nding
themselves in such a state of sonic indolence that, like me, they would just
as happily submit to four hours of the denture-clacking deejay as, say, an
evening of electronically masticated tone poems on NPR? Or the incomparable
Love Line?
In search of answers, I recalled a time when it was self- awareness that
dictated my personal playlist, not the absence of static. I called to mind an era
when it didn’t matter if anyone was in the room with you when you dipped
into your treasure trove of albums (and not necessarily because, chained up
in orthopedic headgear, you couldn’t hear their nasty remarks about ELO or
Wang Chung). No, I returned to a place where I could frolic for hours, clutching
a logo-encrusted cup holder in my beer-sticky st.
I retraced my steps to the concert venue, looking for my people.
July 18, 2001: Godsmack
Verizon Wireless Ampitheatre, Irvine, CA
I’ve always harbored a soft spot for mullet and muscle shirt, and so it
was with buoyant anticipation that I whizzed along a California highway to
witness rst-hand the growling harmonics of neo-metalists Godsmack.
It is still daylight as I thread my way into the parking lot behind
a bumper sticker with the words “Proud To Be A Union Carpenter” on it.
There are many work vehicles in my immediate group, a signal that perhaps
Godsmack is a “guy thing.” Sure enough, a phalanx of young men sporting
shaved heads and spidery type on their tattooed necks roams the blacktop.
They stop to emit a shrill war whoop as a lone hatchback discharges its load of
females, each decked out in the same long, crinkly hairdo.
The overriding choice of attire for both sexes is the black T-shirt—either
plain or emblazoned with the tour dates of Slayer, Disturbed, Tool or, of course,
Godsmack. (In some cases, the shiny new Godsmack T has simply been added
to a pre-existing outt, one that perhaps already included a Disturbed T, or
an Ozzy Osbourne T, and is worn with knee-length swim trunks, extra-large
sweats, skin-tight calypso pants or jeans belted at the perineum.)
Judging from the scatter of broken glass, this is not a night for strappy
sandals. Rather, the savvy Godsmack fan opts for the venerable Doc Marten
oxford, the steel-toed jackboot or the three-inch platform mule.
It is an outgoing group, with one passerby even running to his car
(or maybe a stranger’s car?) for a video camera, which he uses to record
the plight of one fan, whose trip to see Godsmack has been cut short by the
Sense-Memory
293
Orange County police and what looks to be a backpack lled with controlled
substances.
In the line to get in, I nd myself mulling the state of my diet as I
overhear a barrel-chested young woman (black leather pants, “wife-beater”
singlet, zebra-patterned hat) earnestly extolling the virtues of the Whopper malt
ball. The woman is explaining that she had planned to send her companion
a jumbo-sized bag of the treats, but, crikey, she’d gone and eaten the whole
passel before she could box it up and buy stamps. Although I am tempted
to warn her of the possible inclusion of waxy food additives in Whoppers,
my overture is cut short by the flinty-eyed security gal whose job it is to
pat me down for any concealed weaponry I might be carrying toward the
Godsmack stage.
Once inside the concert grounds, I reconnoiter my food choices,
stopping at the Pringles “Pop Quiz” station to watch contestants rally around
the central idea of rock trivia and the synchronized “popping” of potato
snacks. I winnow my selections down to the freshly poached Garlic Fries, the
pre-packaged Kettle Korn and the intriguing Funnel Cake (which, as the chef
in the Funnel Cake tent points out, comes with a variety of toppings, including
jam). At the last minute, however, I opt for the free Mudslide, an alcoholic
drink that is dispensed, like polio vaccine of yore, in a miniature cup. As I
savor each tiny sip, the air around me crackles with the animated chatter
of the metal milieu: Who went to OzzFest? Who has to get up early? Who
wants another Mudslide?
And then it is show time. While I am wholly entertained by opening
act Puddle Of Mudd, from my vantage point in row QQQ (the last row before
the cheaper, bring-a-blanket lawn area), I am under the impression that it is
an entirely different band, owing to the distant celebratory banner on which
the D’s in MUDD have been reversed. Luckily, I am saved the embarrassment
of having publicly lauded the musical prowess of Puddle Of Mugg by the fact
that the closest person—a heavyset man in a Harley T-shirt scissored off at the
waist and armpits—is 16 feet away from me and throwing all his attention into
a precision dance that resembles stair stepping.
On the overhead video screen, a Godsmack cartoon plays. It’s
subterfuge, of course, artful distraction to allow the crew time to change out the
single Puddle Of Mudd drum kit to the elaborate Godsmack stage set, which
features stone-like columns that spit real re. There’s a torch-lit, Egyptian feel
to the whole thing, and, as recrackers explode, the band steps out from billows
of smoke. In response to this primitive motif, a bonre immediately erupts
in the bring-a-blanket lawn area. (Since no one, technically, was permitted to
cart an actual log into the venue, the conagration is fueled almost entirely by
paper products—napkins, pizza cartons, rolls of toilet paper, plates from the
Funnel Cake tent—and their glowing, tissue-y forms waft pleasingly skyward.)
As shirtless revelers dance around the fire, their shadows play spookily
294
on the faces of the yellow-jacketed security folk charged with overseeing
the merriment. Soon, a ght breaks out, and everyone’s shadows dance all
over each other.
“Get up off your fuckin’ asses!” yells Sully Erna, the lead vocalist for
Godsmack. Erna, a diminutive, hirsute man, will come back to this theme
throughout the night, just as he will continue to compliment our crowd as the
“best fuckin’ ever” on the band’s “entire fuckin’ tour.” Somewhere, in the back
of my mind, a voice is calling out, “It’s the Florida cheese!” and “It’s the fuckin’
North Dakota cheese!” and it occurs to me that such thoughts not only call
into question the veracity of the “California Cheese” campaign, but Mr. Erna’s
statements and the trusting nature of my shared milieu. I push those ideas
away, however, and concentrate on enjoying the elaborate doodles my fellow
Godsmack fans are making with their laser pens all over Mr. Erna’s face as
he exhorts us, in a close-up on the video screen, to send him all our “fuckin’
energy for this next fuckin’ song.”
Right about then, the rst of what will be many aming rolls of toilet
paper comes shooting out of the bring-a-blanket lawn area, flying across
the sky like medieval cannon fodder and slamming into the crowd below.
I expect a shriek, maybe a few groans, but there is only a single, silent beat
before the burning wad is neatly barehanded back, landing squarely in the
bring-a-blanket lawn area.
I know, at that moment, that I am among kindred souls.
August 18, 2001: Thirty Odd Foot of Grunts
Stubb’s BBQ, Austin, TX
I was sitting at my computer when an email from the Thirty Odd
Foot Of Grunts fan site arrived at my electronic door. I sensed the wave of
a new musical milieu forming, lapping like primordial stew at the rim of
my clamshell crock pot.
The e-mail’s purpose: to invite me to a dinner party heralding the
performance of Australian band Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts, a.k.a. TOFOG.
I quickly realized that such a prospect would not come without its
commitments. There were issues to deal with, such as ordering food. However,
it appeared that this (and many other details of substance) had already been
carefully worked out by the letter’s originator, one JJTOFOGSWORLD.
“For people that do not eat red meat (like yours truly), I will probably
go with a chicken dish,” JJTOFOGSWORLD advised, “and for those that are
strictly vegetarian/vegan…” I pictured an impossibly adorable robot whirring
up our dinner aisle, a tray of bow-tie pasta balanced in its forklift arms. As
I continued reading, however, I discerned that JJTOFOGSWORLD not only
intended to order a “special cake” for the occasion but also planned to wear
a “nice blouse” to it. From this diary of information (which also included
Sense-Memory
295
notes on air conditioning and tips on socializing), I deduced not only that
JJTOFOGSWORLD was female, but that the followers of Thirty Odd Foot
Of Grunts—not unlike the denizens of the Godsmack bring-a-blanket lawn
area—were hell-bent on living up to an aesthetic they deemed worthy of
their musical heroes.
Utterly charmed by the prospect of a sheet cake with a cartoon dingo
etched in its frosting, I seriously began to entertain the idea that this TOFOG
thing might offer the musical camaraderie I hungered for.
First of all, there was a kind of symmetry here, starting with the way
Godsmack’s cantankerously madcap Erna—a self-professed witch in his off
hours—underscored his music with elements both primal and present-day. It
seemed to me that TOFOG offered those same qualities in its own front man,
the well-known actor and bovine enthusiast Russell Crowe. Here, after all, was
an individual who not only knew his way around an overhead video screen
but the pasture of the ruminant farm creature, too. This compelling blend of
techno-savvy and animal husbandry made me think there was something on
the TOFOG menu I could actually chew on.
And so it was with heady exuberance that I chucked my invitation
from JJTOFOGSWORLD, drew upon my store of free air miles and reserved
a ticket at Stubb’s B-B-Q in Austin to see TOFOG. My rationale was simple: If
Laurence Harvey had fronted a rockin’ little combo back in the 60’s, would I
have donned a rib bib to listen in? Hell, yes!
Though I have been warned in advance that the Texas weather can be
a tad enervating in August, I place my fate in the ery context of barbecue and
forge ahead. I spend my rst night bellying up to the bar at the Continental
Club, twirling in the arms of strangers at the Broken Spoke dancehall and
sucking on the air-conditioning vent in my rented car. As the saying goes,
“It’s all good.”
On concert night, the temperature hovers at 100 degrees as the rst
wave of glistening, sweat-toweled TOFOG fans is herded into the backyard of
Stubb’s. (In keeping with the rustic ambience of the eatery, the venue is carpeted
in dirt.) Here, the audience—some of whom have waited on the sidewalk for an
entire day—will remain corralled for the evening’s festivities. Since my place is
at the end of the thousand or so people in line, I entertain myself by observing
this slow march of the glassy-eyed devoted.
In contrast to Godsmack, the TOFOG contingent is chiey female,
over 30 and, based on the number of handmade placards it carries, big on
written communication. Also, compared to the strict dress code of the average
Godsmack follower, this group clearly likes to have fun in the wardrobe and
sewing room. Interspersed among clusters of tank tops bearing Shiner Bock
Beer and Intel logos, I spy a safari hat, several colorful leis, a blue lamé pantsuit,
black knee socks with matching tennies, a headdress of stuffed fabric antlers
and a woman in a bra. (Later, an Australian aboriginal dancer will inspire
296
the ultimate fashion envy, bringing his message of peace to the TOFOG stage
wearing only a diaper and a liberal dusting of talc.)
Then, it is time for Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts and I am glad to be
outdoors, where the spike in collective body heat and its attendant vapors can
only travel heavenward. As the band takes the stage, I immediately notice that
lead guitarist Dean Cochran bears a striking resemblance to Laurence Harvey,
circa Summer And Smoke (1962). Although Mr. Crowe will affectionately refer to
Mr. Cochran throughout the evening as the “right, reverend Billy Dean,” I see no
evidence of ministerial collar and cannot recall, offhand, a role in which Harvey
ever played a clergyman, save for his turn as a phony fundamentalist preacher
in WUSA (1970). (Fashion note: Mr. Cochran has chosen for this performance a
sleeveless top in a bold, oral print—possibly Cacharel?)
There is a gargantuan squeal of appreciation for Mr. Crowe, who,
dressed in his signature TOFOG garb—a clever knock-off of a gas-station
attendant’s work shirt stitched with the band’s emblem where the word Exxon
would be—resembles nothing less than an astutely buff version of the Jiffy
Lube man. In this new exalted form, Mr. Crowe approaches the microphone.
Gone are the gelatinous thighs of The Insider, the burlap skirt of Gladiator, the
shoe-polished nose of Proof Of Life. Instead, Mr. Crowe leans toward us, strums
his guitar and, brown bangs lifting off his meaty brow, turns to the side and
demonstrates a completely serviceable headbanger chin snap—fore and aft, fore
and aft—just like one of the guys in Poison, or Alien Ant Farm.
“I feel like I’m in the shoe department at Nordstrom,” the man next
to me complains to his wife. “I dare you to find anyone here with an IQ
over one-oh-six.”
Funny, I’ve always thought of Nordstrom as a Southern California retail
chain, not a Texas outlet. Could his remark have something to do with waiting
while women try on shoes? And, while I’ve only been tested for my IQ once (on
a date), I was assured that it ranked above average. I return my attention to Mr.
Crowe, who is polling the audience on which version of “The Legend Of Barry
Kable,” a kind of heartrending drinking song, it wants to hear.
“Sad Barry or Happy Barry?” Mr. Crowe queries. “Let’s see a show
of hands.” The crowd overwhelmingly thrusts its arms into the air for Happy
Barry, to which Mr. Crowe responds, “Okay, it’s Sad Barry.” To our cries of
disappointment he rejoins, “Well, what did you expect? This is America. Don’t
you know your vote doesn’t count?” A-ha! —a shared memory of the Florida
presidential vote! We all nod to each other. A millisecond later, Mr. Crowe seems
to remember that Governor Rick Perry, a Republican (and 1972 graduate
of Texas A&M University, where he was yell leader and an animal science
major), is ensconced in the balcony with his daughter and a bunch of her
friends. The crowd quickly gets its version of Happy Barry and everyone
seems happy, too. All except for the morose-looking man who again appears
Sense-Memory
297
next to me. “This guy has thirty-two fans,” he snorts loudly, “they all just
bring their friends.”
As I inch away from the party-pooper, the carpet of women before
me raises its hands in unison for a spirited round of over-the-head clapping.
I see wristwatches, wedding rings, French nail tips and band-aids. Looking
out over this sea of knobby wrists and slim index ngers, I think of Elvis, The
Beatles, Debbie Gibson and Peter Frampton, and I consider the prescience
of females throughout the history of Rock & Roll to pick out its luminaries
way ahead of the curve.
At this moment, Mr. Crowe—abandoning his guitar for a hand-held
microphone—has beguilingly hitched up one pant leg ever so slightly, in the
manner of a great French lady stepping over a muddy wheel rut. As his ngers
pick and worry at the fold in his jeans, I think of art school, where, on paper
at least, a gnarled hand could turn into a gnarled tree and back into a gnarled
hand again without a whole lot of nagging hypercriticism.
Tonight, I tell myself, I will be that hand, and when I get back to Los
Angeles, I will try on every shoe at Nordstrom—just because I can.
August 25, 2001: Bob Dylan
Antelope Valley Fair & Alfalfa Festival, Lancaster, CA
Like so many pledged to uphold the tenets of our shared musical past, I
have to admit that, on learning that Bob Dylan plucked his stage name not from
a volume of Dylan Thomas but from Gunsmoke’s Marshal Matt Dillon—the
1950s-TV lawman—I felt a little woozy.
It wasn’t so much that I had to rearrange my sensibilities around
Romantic poets into a construct that now included Doc Adams, the town
physician, who spent many hours chugging beers at the Long Branch Saloon,
which was owned and operated by the shapely Kitty Russell. No, it was that
this new piece of information seemed to t a striking pattern in Mr. Dylan’s
choice of concert stage. Once again, he was playing the state fairs, and not
in Vermont or Hawaii but in Arizona, Nevada, Oklahoma and Colorado—all
citadels of our TV-western history.
In bringing his music to California, it would not be to the citied
shores of Menlo Park or San Diego, either, but to the scorching high desert
of Lancaster—home to the Canyon Coyotes 4-H Club and the Aerotech Job
Fair. Here, where the space shuttle nestles against a blanket of cactus and
tumbleweed, Mr. Dylan would headline—sandwiched between Wynnona on
Friday and Glen Campbell’s “Tribute to Seniors and Other Special People” on
Tuesday—the 63rd Annual Antelope Valley Fair & Alfalfa Festival.
I had to wonder: Given that the handle for this year’s gathering was
“Space Suits & Cowboy Boots” (the follow-up to last year’s thirst-themed
298
“H2O, Best Of Show”), could it be the Minnesota native planned to return to
his Dillonesque roots for this particular engagement?
Fueling my fantasy were the prophetic words of fair manager Dan
Jacobs: “If you enjoyed last year’s fair, mark your calendars right now. We
are very serious about fun.”
So, too, I hoped, might be Mr. Dylan.
Would he, I wondered, stick around for the Rural Olympics, in which
contestants steal hay, haul gravel and spear potatoes from speeding classic
cars? I could picture Marshal Dillon himself ofciating the rules for the Antique
Car Potato Race: “Now, Festus, you know your car has to be stock with all the
original running gear. And Chester, listen up: Potatoes are to be picked up and
put into the car after each stab by the passenger—that’s you, Chester—with
this here regulation spear, which is painted black twenty-four inches above
the spike. Make no mistake: If’n I catch you with your hand on the spike,
you will be penalized. Now, each of the potatoes will be placed fifty feet
apart. Miss Kitty, I’m gonna pace it off for you. Remember, all ve tubers
have to be in the car…”
Perhaps it was just this singsong of authority that appealed to the
young Dylan so long ago (at a time when, apparently, he also considered the
moniker Elston Gunn—an evocative hybrid that grafted the concept of Elvis
Presley onto the head of Craig Stevens, star of the TV-detective series Peter
Gunn.) Since almost any combination of sonorous tones and informative text
has the ring of authority to me, the communal keening of Dillon/Dylan/Dan
Jacobs was just too seductive to resist. Here among the livestock juries and
potato spearers was where I might belong.
I arrive early, just in time for the Goat Show, where, amid animal pens
and a bank of baby strollers, the characteristics of meat, dairy and show goats
are patiently explained to me by a darling lad with a meat goat on a leash.
Soon, I will make my way to the auction arena to witness the high drama of an
actual meat-goat contest, in which animals are judged, among other attributes,
by the steepness of their rumps.
After that, it’s off to the swine pavilion (or pig barn), where an invisible
wall of smell bars my repeated attempts at entry. Instead, I mosey over to the
exhibition space that houses, in the straightforward language of 4-H, “Beef.”
Here, huge Black Angus calves are urged into docility by their teenaged mentors,
restlessly tapping at their charges’ bellies with pointer-like sticks.
While the thrum of cow-belly tapping is mesmerizing, it is not the
reason I have come to Antelope Valley. And so, as the crowd begins to thin out
near the Write Your Name On A Grain Of Rice booth, I guess that it is close
to concert time. I head past a squadron of frenzied, square-dancing couples
in bolo ties and petticoats, propelled in a dozen different directions by the
amplied cries of “Ping Pong!” “Recycle!” and “U-Turn!” My destination is the
raceway, site of savage Monster Truck Pulls and tonight’s venue for Mr. Dylan’s
Sense-Memory
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music. On the way, I stop to feast on a basket of sizzled vegetables—babysized chunks of onion, potato and squash—which I observe, through their
nursery window, being slathered in mayonnaise, patted in breadcrumbs and
rolled in hot canola oil. (Sadly, the cherry Sno-Kone I choose for dessert is a
disappointment, redolent of a certain children’s cough medicine and barely
gnawable after I suck out the juice.)
As a cacophony of screams from an adjacent thrill ride permeates the
air, I notice from my seat in the bleachers that all around me it is a celebration of
hair. Corkscrewed ponytails, newly mown goatees, grizzled sideburns and rope
lengths of braids peek out from under Stetsons, trail down tie-dyed sleeves,
dangle beside buckskin fringe. It is a pastiche of age, too: Right behind the
80-year-couple wobbling in on canes and dressed in matching promotional
clothing are three college-aged longboarders and a 50-ish man with two little
girls in party dresses.
At exactly 15 minutes after the appointed time, Mr. Dylan and his band
take the stage. There is no opening act, no “Halloo, Antelope Valley,” just the
announcer’s booming caveat that “There Will Be No Big Screen Tonight.”
Even without towering projected images the show has the feel of a
motion picture—albeit one that might benet from sub-titles, since Mr. Dylan
(who will refrain from actually speaking to the audience tonight), has elected
to perform his set of time-honored originals in what sounds like a syncopated
form of pig Latin amid a wash of Nigerian guitar licks. “Was that ‘Tangled
Up In Blue’?” a woman behind me querulously asks. As Mr. Dylan continues
down this bouncy artistic road, the evening’s repertoire takes on a kind of
World-Music bravado. “Hey, it’s ‘The Times, They Are A ’Changin’!” a man
shouts in the voice of discovery, though he’s hard pressed to sing along with
“Um-kay ather-gay ound-ray eeple-pay enever-whay oo-yay oam-ray and-ay
mit-aday at-thay otters-way round-ay oo-yay ave-hay oan-gray.” This is not
to say we are not captivated by Mr. Dylan’s performance (or what may well
be his insight into the secret language of twins). Mantis-like, in pale suit
and matching boots, he casts an imposing silhouette, even if he does look
like a gauzy speck.
Identifying the songs, then, becomes a kind of game, as my benchmates
and I attempt to parse the lyrics of a jangly “Desolation Row.” Soon, people are
going out to the concession stand for beers.
Furthering the cinematic mood, the stage dims to black between
each song, leaving us to wonder what exactly is going on down there. The
long-boarders take matters into their own hands by leaping the low wall that
separates the grandstand from the oor seats. I follow, threading my way
through a labyrinth of plumbing pipe.
Closer to the stage there is not only better sound and picture, but more
beer—much of which is coursing the gullets of the couple in front of me (he
of the fuzzy-fonted SPEED LIMIT 325 insignia, she of the aforementioned
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Whopper malt ball). The two stand swaying, garrulously toasting Mr. Dylan
and braying the perceived lyrics of each song as they slop the contents of
their beer cups onto the heads of testy concertgoers still in their seats. The
dramatic tension is resolved when the woman’s knees neatly buckle and
she topples backward onto me, emptying the remainder of her refreshment
into my shoes.
It is a magical moment, worthy of a page in my clamshell memory
book. For, in a ash, the woman is back on her rubbery legs, her part of the
lm having only temporarily jammed in its sprocket. Then, just as Mr. Dylan
launches into the full-tilt boogie of “Blowin’ In The Wind,” a cloud of marijuana
smoke drifts onto the raceway and, mingling with the perfume of the pig barn,
it all comes blowing our way.
I know, right then, that I am home.
But oh, that I were so young again, too.
Sacred Servants in the Popular Cinema: Research Notes
Towards a Taxonomic Survey of the Mundane Holy
Anton Karl Kozlovic
Humanities, The Flinders University of South Australia
Abstract: The average person in today’s Western society rarely comes to
intimately know their local religious servants, whether they be priests,
nuns, rabbis, pastors, ministers, monks, reverends, preachers, imams,
gurus, spiritual leaders, shamans, witch doctors, Zaddik, holy men etc.
These mundane holy characters regularly appear in the popular cinema
as either: (a) hero- or villain-protagonists, (b) secondary characters
to graphically symbolise religion/ authority/the transcendent, or (c)
just colourful screen ll with a high recognition factor for essentially
amusement purposes. Since public attitudes are informed and shaped
by ctional portrayals, an examination of how their religious vocation is
treated within the popular cinema is automatically warranted. Drawing
upon a review of the contemporary film and religion literature, a
preliminary taxonomy of eight basic themes was identied and briey
explicated. Copious lmic exemplars and character-actor details were
provided to complement the research notes. Further investigation into
this interdisciplinary led is warranted, highly recommended and
certainly long overdue.
About the author: Linda Forman ([email protected]) is a free-lance
writer living in Los Angeles who has spent 20 years in the music
business, most of them in the service of creative departments at major
labels. In the course of her 13-year career as an ad writer at Warner
Bros. Records, she was frequently struck by how much one could
glean about an artist’s audience just by cruising the parking lot of a
concert venue. Not infrequently, that experience was as interesting
as the concert itself.
R
eligionists who reexively examine their own profession within the popular
cinema is a new growth area. For example, biblical scholar William Telford
recently proffered a preliminary taxonomy of lms that was of interest from a
religious, biblical and theological point of view, but surprisingly, he overlooked
the signicant category of Sacred Servants. That is, the mundane holy who are a
religions’ ofciating ritual experts, the human repositories of sacred knowledge,
and the ofcial proclaimers of the faith (as opposed to the non-mundane Holy
such as God, Jesus, the Saints and other fantastic celestial beings). Yet, priests,
nuns, rabbis, pastors, ministers, monks, reverends, preachers, imams, gurus,
spiritual leaders, shamans, witch doctors, Zaddik, holy men etc. (i.e., the
“professional” religious class who derive their livelihood and/or social status
from their holy vocation and services) are an unavoidable fact-of-life in society.
Whether they be ancient or modern, local or foreign, relevant or irrelevant
to one’s personal life. These mundane characters regularly appear in the
popular cinema as either: (a) hero- or villain-protagonists, (b) secondary
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 301-316. © 2002, Anton
Karl Kozlovic and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
302
characters to graphically symbolise religion/authority/ the transcendent,
or (c) just colourful screen ll with a high recognition factor for essentially
amusement purposes.
So, the omission of these earthly religious agents in Telford’s lmic
taxonomy is surprising and regrettable. Especially considering that, in the
minds of most people, the image of missionaries, for example, have “been
shaped far more by ctionalised portrayals of mission and missionaries than
by respected historical or biographical accounts” (Neely 452). One strongly
suspects that for the average citizen, watching a potentially interesting video
from the local video shop is far more attractive, convenient and cheaper than
buying or borrowing a weighty tome from the local theological library or
visiting monasteries, nunneries etc. to know them better. Consequently, a
“Hollywood” view of them must inevitable result, especially if not balanced by
large doses of other sourced “true” facts. Indeed, Ronald Pies argued that the
general public was ambivalent about priests, prophets and psychiatrists because
they were “simultaneously revering and reviling them, wishing for their benign
intercession while fearing their malign control” (Pies 1).
Film-Watching as a Consciousness Raising and Shaping Activity
Given the cinema’s undeniable consciousness raising and shaping
effects, public attitudes toward Sacred Servants derived from mundane lmwatching needs to be investigated more thoroughly than currently evidenced to
date within the literature. Especially considering that the average person rarely
knows their local Sacred Servants intimately because they may not go to church
regularly, and may only briey interact with them at infrequent weddings,
funerals, christenings and other traditional religious occasions. Consequently, it
behoves one to take seriously how this vocational group is being cinematically
portrayed. Although such research is valuable Cultural Studies work in its
own right, it is also a necessary precursor to addressing any grievances Sacred
Servants themselves may have resulting from their media distortions. Many
scholars have begun this important work (Medved), and there are certainly
many avenues of the mundane holy to explore. For example, a particular
Hollywood favourite is the Christian nun.
The Film Nun: Hollywood’s Brides of Christ
These cinematic brides of Christ are frequently reduced to the “status
of absence, silence, or marginality” (Schleich 41), or are forced to “carry a load
of sentiment and religious fervour (often of the ultra-pious variety)…in habits
that may or may not have been realistic” (Malone, Nun 47). In many nun lms,
“the convent serves as the metaphor for a repressive environment bent on
crushing individualism” (Nolletti Jr. 84).
Sacred Servants
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Hollywood, of course, has traditionally preferred its nuns to be worldly,
glamorous, and spunky, like Ingrid Bergman in Going My Way and Bells of
St. Mary and Loretta Young and Celeste Holm in Come to the Stable, among
others. Europe, on the other hand, has generally taken a more serious attitude
toward nuns and the convent, but also a more schizophrenic one, especially
after the 1960s when convents could serve as metaphors of various kinds, e.g.,
sensual excess (Browoczyk’s Behind Convent Walls [L’Interno di un convento]), the
Watergate scandal (Lindsay-Hogg’s Nasty Habits), and repression in Spanish life
(Almodovar’s Dark Habits [Entre Tinieblas]), etc. In fact, lms dealing with nuns
practically constitute a genre in their own right (Nolletti Jr. 97).
At the very least, screen nuns constitute a sub-genre in an overarching
Religion-in-Film genre (a/k/a Cinematic Theology, Celluloid Religion, TheoFilm). Indeed, the “images of the movie nun -- her appearance, her demeanour,
her speech -- are so embedded in the audience consciousness that serious
attempts to portray a credible nun of the past or the present are almost
impossible” (Malone, Nun 47). Such is the power of the screen.
Cinematic Character Assassination?
Yet, what exactly do these powerful screen images of the nun and her
mundane holy peers say to the public about the religious vocation as a whole?
What further elements constitute these stereotypic distortions, and why do they
persist? Much insight can be derived from investigations into the phenomenon.
Part of the answer is rooted in the nancial calculations behind the lmmaking.
Religious reality “probably wouldn’t sell many tickets. So Hollywood opts
instead to promote a view of women and religion that really doesn’t exist”
(Schleich 41). In fact, it is rare to portray Hollywood nuns as respected, downto-earth persons living life more fully in the religious mode (i.e., not modern
day freaks escaping reality). For example, the caring, devout nun Sister
Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon) in Dead Man Walking is the exception, not the
rule. More amazingly, this secular lm even had profound religious effects
for A/Prof. Jennifer Rike. She reported: “After rst viewing the lm, I felt
though I had been struck by lightning, transformed forever by a fresh vision
of the power of love to break down walls. Move mountains -- in a word, to
redeem” (Rike 353).
Public perceptions of Sacred Servants have, of course, changed
throughout the decades, as has the status of religion in society, including the
religious practitioners’ own self-understandings of their place, role, function,
effectiveness and future. Generally speaking, nun lms have tried to nd a
delicate balance between self-abnegation and heroic purposefulness, between
piety and idealism, between patriarchy and feminism, and even between
patriarchy and femininity. In fact, the American “nun in lm helped to reinsert
feminine ideals of compassion, atonement, and sacrice into the public arena
and recongure political concerns into pietic or moral concerns” (Sullivan 71).
304
Other nun lms were not as noble in intent, execution or effect, but just as
interesting. Overall, the whole Sacred Servants category is worthy of deeper
scholarly investigation. A good rst step in this research process is to survey the
scholarly lay of the land before embarking upon any detailed analyses.
Toward a Preliminary Taxonomy of the Mundane Holy
Interest in representations of Sacred Servants in the popular cinema
has enjoyed recent academic attention (Grignafni; Iwamura; Janosik; Malone,
Priests; Sullivan), as well as being of occasional interest in the past (Gordon;
French; Jones; Lacy; Lindvall; Malone, Century, Medved). However, rarely has
anyone surveyed the eld and attempted to construct a taxonomy of the basic
thematic issues found therein. This is a regrettable scholarly oversight. The
following research notes are an introductory response to this deciency that
hopefully will identify important contours and caricatures of the Sacred Servant
cinema hitherto missed, ignored or devalued to date.
After reviewing the contemporary lm and religion literature within
the Judeo-Christian tradition, eight basic thematic categories of almost Jungian
style archetypal status were identied. Namely: (a) mature, loving, passionate
& dedicated; (b) immature, naive, timid, bumbling, ineffectual or clown-like;
(c) fundamentalist, rigid, ascetic, puritanical, fascist or just nasty; (d) tent show
evangelists & religious showmen; (e) struggling with vocational, psychotic,
erotic or neurotic tensions; (f) breaking vows/rules/ethics, affairs, mistresses &
children; (g) conict & change: social, religious, political, spiritual, personal and
interpersonal; and (h) scheming, corrupt, frauds & tricksters: real & implied.
Each thematic category was briey explicated. In addition, copious examples of
representative lms (historically ordered) were provided, plus character, actor,
director and release date information. The following notes and taxonomic lists
were not meant to be denitive, but rather indicative of the themes discussed,
but it is a good starting point for further investigation and analysis.
1.0 Mature, Loving, Passionate & Dedicated
This category reects a positive image of the holy vocation that many
true believers like to see promulgated and/or wished existed in their own
congregations. It frequently utilises the gentle Jesus model and thus portrays
the holy practitioners as up-right citizens doing God’s work in a way that
the Lord and their congregations would have sanctioned and wholeheartedly
approved. These sacred practitioners are not perfect human beings (who is?),
but they possess enough maturity, understanding and wisdom to successfully
navigate the major shoals of life for themselves and their holy charges. Their
sacred mission is an act of diligently applied piety, as they work with, and
sometimes battle against, the nature of contemporary secular society. They
exhibit many of the positive qualities we would all would like to see exist in the
mundane world, especially by persons in whom we are supposed to trust in
Sacred Servants
305
because they represent and mirror a wise and loving God.
For example, the seless Vicar of Bray (Stanley Holloway) in The Vicar
of Bray (1937, Henry Edwards), prison chaplain Fr. Dolan (William Gargan) in
You Only Live Once (1937, Fritz Lang), Rev. Jim Casey (John Carradine) in The
Grapes of Wrath (1940, John Ford). Salvation Army Major Barbara Undershaft
(Wendy Hiller) in Major Barbara (1941, Gabriel Pascal). Rev. William Spence
(Fredric March) in One Foot in Heaven (1941, Irving Rapper). The congenial
Fr. O’Malley (Bing Crosby) and equally approachable Sr. Benedict (Ingrid
Bergman) in Going My Way (1944, Leo McCarey) and The Bells of St. Mary’s
(1945, Leo McCarey). The brave, Fascist-resisting Catholic priest Don Pietro
Pellegrini (Aldo Fabrizi) in Open City (aka Rome - Open City) (1945, Roberto
Rossellini). The dedicated St. Vincent de Paul (Pierre Fresnay) in Monsieur
Vincent (1947, Maurice Cloche) and the equally dedicated Fr. Peter Dunne
(Pat O’Brien) in Fighting Father Dunne (1948, Ted Tetzlaff). The French nuns
Sr. Margaret (Loretta Young) and Sr. Scolastica (Celeste Holm) in Come to
the Stable (1949, Henry Koster). The anguished Anglican Rev. Msimangu
(Sidney Poitier) in Cry, the Beloved Country (1952, Zoltan Korda). The dying
but still helping-to-the-end Rev. William Thorne (Robert Donat) in Lease of
Life (1954, Charles Frend). The hard working and dedicated Scottish chaplain
Peter Marshall (Richard Todd) in A Man Called Peter (1955, Henry Koster).
Fresh-faced and eager Rev. William Macklin II (Mickey Rooney) in The Twinkle
in God’s Eye (1955, George Blair). Sincere parish priest Fr. Conroy (Bing Crosby)
in Say One For Me (1959, Frank Tashlin).
Brave, compassionate, and ecumenically-focused Italian Mother
(Superior) Katherine (Lilli Palmer) and her Jewish children charges being
hidden from the authorities and nasty Nazis in Conspiracy of Hearts (1960,
Ralph Thomas). Christ-like Fr. Matthew Doonon (Spencer Tracy) in The Devil
at 4 O’Clock (1961, Mervyn LeRoy). Female tomboy nun with guitar Sr. Ann
(Debbie Reynolds) in The Singing Nun (1966, Henry Koster). The take-charge
Rev. Frank Scott (Gene Hackman) in The Poseidon Adventure (1974, Ronald
Neame). Pious, but on-the-run Polish Rabbi Avram Belinski (Gene Wilder)
in The Frisco Kid (1979, Robert Aldrich) who would rather be captured than
violate his religious obligations. Idealistic Scottish Presbyterian missionary
and part-time Olympian Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson) in Chariots of Fire (1981,
Hugh Hudson). Pragmatic, cigarette smoking, but caring Mother Miriam
Ruth (Anne Bancroft) in Agnes of God (1985, Norman Jewison). Determined
Br. Thadeus (Donald Sutherland) in Catholic Boys (aka Heaven Help Us) (1985,
Michael Dinner). Polish hero-cum-political-religious-icon Fr. Jerzy Popieluszko
(Christopher Lambert) in To Kill a Priest (1988, Agnieszka Holland). Oppressionghting Archbishop Oscar Romero (Raul Julia) in Romero (1989, John Duigan).
Upright and forgiving London cleric Anthony Campion (Hugh Grant) in Sirens
(1994, John Duigan). Compassionate Sr. Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon) who
walked a moral tightrope between the murderer and the victim’s family in Dead
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Man Walking (1995, Tim Robbins). However, Hollywood frequently eschewed
positive images of religionists in favour of negative portrayals. Particularly, sin
which has always been a bigger draw card in Hollywood than boring piousness,
and if not sin, then social incompetence of the unsettling kind:
2.0 Immature, Naive, Timid, Bumbling, Ineffectual or Clown-Like
This thematic category emphasises the ineffectual, negative qualities
of Sacred Servants. They are not negative in the sense of being bad or evil,
but rather, they somehow missed out in the lottery of life and fell into their
religious vocation because they could not survive within society in any other
practical way. The historical antecedence of this category is the medieval use
of the Church as a dumping ground for the poor, the damaged and societal
failures. Alternatively, these Sacred Servants are so heavenly that they are of no
earthly use. For example, they are so loving that they are the perpetual targets
of exploitation, and so forgiving that it would make even Jesus sick. In short,
they were not really meant for this tough human world. If they do not pull up
their pragmatic socks quickly, they will be either heading for the next world
sooner than they think, or become the sacred equivalent of the village idiot
(if they are not that already). Poor social skills are a traditional give-away
sign of their archetypal kind.
For example, the aging country vicar Rev. Martin Gregory (Ralph
Richardson) in The Holly and the Ivy (1952, George More O’Ferrall). The painfully
idealistic priest Nazarin (Francisco Rabal) in Nazarin (1958, Luis Bunuel) and
the simplistic, easily manipulated Rev. John Smallwood (Peter Sellers) in
Heavens Above (1963, John Boulting) who both tried to emulate Christ literally
and suffered repeatedly because of it. Simple-minded (mentally damaged?) Sr.
Winifred (Sandy Dennis) in Nasty Habits (1977, Michael Lindsay-Hogg). The
comical, bug-eyed and physically deformed Br. Ambrosia (Marty Feldman)
in In God We Tru$t (1980, Marty Feldman). The sexually naive rape victim
(possibly angel-raped) Sr. Agnes (Meg Tilly) in Agnes of God (1985, Norman
Jewison). Ineffectual Br. Timothy (John Heard) in Catholic Boys (aka Heaven Help
Us) (1985, Michael Dinner). The effervescent Sr. Mary Patrick (Kathy Najimy)
who gave enthusiasm a bad name in both Sister Act (1992, Emile Ardolino)
and Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit (1993, Bill Duke). Bumbling and comical Fr.
Gerald (Rowan Atkinson) in Four Weddings and a Funeral (1993, Mike Newell).
The faithful, if nerdy futuristic priest Vito Cornelius (Ian Holm) in The Fifth
Element (1997, Luc Besson). At least he physically met his god-gure, and in that
process saved Earth from total destruction because of his faithful devotion to
duty in a futuristic world that appeared to have passed him by.
Sacred Servants
307
3.0 Fundamentalist, Rigid, Ascetic, Puritanical, Fascist & Nasty
This category emphasised the undesirable, inexible streaks within
their personalities, sometimes bordering on the mentally unstable, which is
sometimes taken to the level of an art form. It is as if these Sacred Servants failed
normal human socialisation or enculturation in the process of choosing their
religious vocation, or at least they had forgotten the love and tolerance lessons of
Jesus, their supposed mentor and role model. Alternatively, they were originally
“normal” people who were somehow perverted by religious exposure, which
is then characterised as a corrosive social agent and a personality warper that
had turned them into human “beasts.” These Sacred Servants are so bad that
it is enough to make parents glad they did not send their children to private
religious schools and/or had stopped them from taking up the religious life
behind cloistered walls. Parents may want their children to be religious, but
not that religious! Personal power, enforcing rules, focusing on the letter of the
law instead of the spirit of the law, revenge, manipulation and inexibility are
their archetypal give-away signs.
For example, the jealous and tormented Sr. Marie Theresea Vauzous
(Gladys Cooper) in The Song of Bernadette (1943, Henry King). The soldier-priest
Rev. Captain Samuel Johnson Clayton (Ward Bond) in The Searchers (1956,
John Ford). Sadistic Mother Sainte Christine (Francine Berge) in The Nun (La
Religiouse) (1965, Jacques Rivette). Rigid schoolmaster Fr. Goddard (Richard
Burton) in Absolution (1978, Anthony Page). Fire-and-brimstone Rev. Shaw
Moore (John Lithgow) in Footloose (1984, Herbert Ross). The tyrannical Sr.
Thomas (Anna Massey) in Sacred Hearts (1984, Barbara Rennie). Sadistic Br.
Constance (Jay Patterson) and ultraconservative Fr. Abruzzi (Wallace Shawn)
in Catholic Boys (aka Heaven Help Us) (1985, Michael Dinner). The stern and
sterile Protestant Pastor (Pouel Kern) in Babette’s Feast (1987, Gabriel Axel). The
sadistic Br. Leon (John Glover) in The Chocolate Wars (1988, dir. Keith Gordon).
The dynamic preacher-boy Danny (Will Oldham) in Matewan (1987, John Sayles)
and the austere Mother Superior (Maggie Smith) in Sister Act (1992, Emile
Ardolino). All the Calvinistic Elders of the Free Presbyterian Church in Breaking
the Waves (1996, Lars von Trier) who looked like death warmed up.
4.0 Tent Show Evangelists & Religious Showmen
This is religion with a showmanship avour that would have made
P. T. Barnum or Cecil B. DeMille proud. This thematic category emphasised
religious hucksterism in the pursuit of prots using God as their primary
selling tool. Private prot is the true reason for their sacred service. As long as
they get to keep the bulk of the donation money, God can keep all the glory for
the number of conversions achieved. However, they must get co-credit when it
actually counts (i.e., putting the donation money in their coffers and not some
other agent of God’s coffers). Like all forms of entertainment, these religious
practitioners appeal to emotionalism. Traditionally, it is either applied fear
308
(e.g., of the God will abandon you avour), or an appeal to holy greed (e.g.,
do God’s will and earn yourself a place in heaven as a “chosen” or “favoured”
one). All you have to do to get into heaven is humble yourselves long enough
to fork over your money to them, God’s divinely chosen agents on earth (i.e.,
as part of His divine religious franchise). Life was not meant to be easy, which
is the message they run with all the way to the bank. Their spirit-on-re,
God-infused enthusiasm coupled with repeated pleas for money, interspersed
with Lord-praising, is a sign of their archetypal kind, especially evident in the
mundane world with God TV channels and their donation hot lines.
For example, Paul Strand (George Hamilton) and Sarah Strand
(Mercedes McCambridge) in Angel Baby (1960, Paul Wendkos). Salesmanevangelist Elmer Gantry (Burt Lancaster) and Sr. Sharon Falconer (Jean
Simmons) in Elmer Gantry (1960, Richard Brooks) who both made selling
religion as easy as selling soap. The ery tent preacher (John Dierkes) in X
- The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963, Roger Corman), and the more subdued
blind preacher Asa Hawkes (Harry Dean Stanton) in Wise Blood (1979,
John Huston). The calculating Rev. Freddy Stone (Ned Beatty) in Pray TV
(1982, Robert Markowitz), and the false TV evangelist Rev. Edward Randall
(Stephen McHattie) in Salvation! (1987, Beth B.). Money-grabbing, manipulative
televangelist Jimmy Lee Farnsworth (R. Lee Ermey) in Fletch Lives (1989,
Michael Ritchie). Street-smart conman Jonas Nightengale (Steve Martin) whom
God got back at lm’s end in Leap of Faith (1992, Richard Pearce). The sincere
but severely sinning Pentecostal preacher Euliss “Sonny” Dewey/Apostle E.
F. (Robert Duvall) in The Apostle (1997, Robert Duvall) who demonstrated that
you could be a faithful hypocrite.
5.0 Struggling With Vocational, Psychotic, Erotic or Neurotic Tensions
This category focused upon the painfully human side of their Jesus
role model. These Sacred Servants are so human that sex must inevitably rear
its ugly head to emphasise the depths of the struggle for their faith. Typically, it is
a battle as profound as that to be fought with Satan himself. This battle usually
takes two forms, one internal and the other external. The internal battle is rooted
in ghting the physical sexual urges consuming their body as it struggles to
naturally express itself. Their religious vocation is characterised as an unnatural
inhibiter to the biological thrust of life. This life/nature “perversion” process
is either resisted agonisingly, or they succumbed to its potent drive with a
variety of tragic consequences ranging through guilt, disgrace, illness, death
and babies. The external battle typically revolves around resisting the “attacks”
of sexually frustrated others who nd them desirable, and so these Sacred
Servants must deal with them tactfully, cunningly or brutally (not necessarily
in that order). Since they have given their life (and frequently their body)
Sacred Servants
309
to God, all else is a distraction from their true vocation. It is a battle that
they may or may not win, with varying degrees of neuroticism involved and
hopefully resolved. Interpersonal and intrapsychic conict is a frequent sign
of this archetypal kind.
For example, the sexually troubled Priest (Alex Allin) in The Seashell
and the Clergyman (La Coquille et le clergyman) (1927, Germaine Dulac). The
tension between Rev. John Hartley (Clark Gable) and Polly Fisher (Marion
Davies) in Polly of the Circus (1932, Alfred Santell). American missionary Megan
Davis (Barbara Stanwyck) and General Yen (Nils Asther) in The Bitter Tea
of General Yen (1933, Frank Capra). Scottish minister Gavin Dishart (John
Beal) and the Gypsy Babbie (Katherine Hepburn) in The Little Minister (1934,
Richard Wallace). Sexually frustrated Sr. Ruth (Kathleen Byron) with her
coveted bright red lipstick in Black Narcissus (1946, Michael Powell & Emeric
Pressburger). Episcopalian Bishop Henry Brougham (David Niven) and the
strained relationship with his wife Julia (Loretta Young) in The Bishop’s Wife
(1947, Henry Koster), remade as The Preacher’s Wife (1996, Penny Marshall)
starring Rev. Henry Biggs (Courtney B. Vance) and Julia Biggs (Whitney
Houston). Methodist circuit-rider Rev. William Asbury Thompson (William
Lundigan) and his long-suffering wife (Susan Hayward) in I’d Climb the Highest
Mountain (1951, Henry King).
Beautiful Irish Sr. Angela (Deborah Kerr) and tough US marine
corporal Allison (Robert Mitchum) trapped together in Heaven Knows, Mr.
Allison (1957, John Huston), and so they are forced to dance a sex-avoiding
jig throughout the lm. Secret nun, the Sea Wife (Joan Collins) and Biscuit
(Richard Burton) in Sea Wife (1957, Bob McNaught) who also had to deal with
sexual tension in conned locations. Rev. Anthony Anderson (Burt Lancaster)
and potentially straying wife Judith (Janette Scott) in The Devil’s Disciple (1959,
Guy Hamilton). Troubled Sr. Gerta (Yvonne Mitchell) in Conspiracy of Hearts
(1960, Ralph Thomas). Psychotic Mother Joan (Lucyna Winnicka) with her
“devil” infected nuns in Mother Joan of the Angels (1961, Jerzy Kawalerowicz).
The enforced pairing of the nun (Anna Stern) and the sergeant (Robert Webber)
in The Nun and the Sergeant (1962, Franklin Adreon). If it worked with Kerr and
Mitchum, it could work again. Cool, leather-jacketed missionary Fr. O’Banion
(William Holden) and sexy Chinese maiden (France Nuyen) in Satan Never
Sleeps (aka The Devil Never Sleeps) (1962, Leo McCarey). The proto love-affair of
Cardinal Stephen Fermoyle (Tom Tyron) in The Cardinal (1963, Otto Preminger).
Postulate-governess Maria (Julie Andrews) and Baron Von Trapp (Christopher
Plummer) in The Sound of Music (1965, Robert Wise) coupled with annoying
singing nuns going on about the trouble with Maria. Spunky nun Sr. Michelle
(Mary Tyler Moore) and cool physician Dr. John Carpenter (Elvis Presley) in
Change of Habit (1969, William Graham) who engaged in a ritualistic dance that
had nothing to do with blue suede shoes.
310
Neurotic Mother Superior, Sr. Jeanne of the Angels (Vanessa
Redgraves) and her “possessed” Ursuline nuns in The Devils (1971, Ken
Russell). If Polish Jerzy Kawalerowicz could do it so could Britain’s Ken Russell.
Courageous, religious radical Monsignor Don Mario (Marcello Mastroianni)
and the voluptuously sexy but vexing Valeria Billi (Sophia Loren) in The Priest’s
Wife (1971, Dino Risi). The demonic/ mentally disturbed nuns in The Sinful
Nuns of St. Valentine (Le Scomunicate di san Valentino) (1973, Sergio Grieco).
The worrying Mother Superior (Suzy Kendall) in Story of a Cloistered Nun
(Storia di una Monaca di Clausura) (1973, Domenico Paolella). Sexually frustrated
and inquisitive Br. Francine (Arthur Dignam) in The Devil’s Playground (1976,
Fred Schepsi), and you thought a boy called Sue had problems! Sr. Emanuelle
(Laura Gemser) and gangster Rene (Gabriele Tinti) in Sister Emanuelle (Suor
Emanuelle) (1977, Joseph Warren [Giuseppe Vari]). Unsuspecting Fr. Rivard
(Dick Van Dyke) and troublesome young extrovert Sr. Rita (Kathleen Quinlan)
in The Runner Stumbles (1979, Stanley Krammer).
Anglican Rev. Charles Fortescue (Michael Palin) and his very friendly
prostitute charges in The Missionary (1981, Richard Loncraine). The Chaplain
(Manuel Zarzo) and the slippery Sr. Snake/Viper (Lina Canalejas) in Dark
Habits (1983, Pedro Almodovar). The psychotic Rev. Peter Shayne (Anthony
Perkins) in Crimes of Passion (1984, Ken Russell) with Perkins apparently
replaying his bad habits from Psycho (1960, Alfred Hitchcock). The amorous,
cloistered Carmelite nun Lucie (Helene Alexandridis) bothering the future Saint
Therese Martin of Lisieux (Catherine Mouchet) in Therese (1986, Alain Cavalier).
Fr. Michael Pace (Tom Berenger) and Mexican lover Angela (Daphne Zuniga)
in Last Rites (1988, Donald P. Bellisario). The aging but proper Rev. Francis
Ashby (Michael Palin) and the young, in-trouble Miss Elinor Hartley (Trini
Alvarado) in American Friends (1991, Tristram Powell). Anglican representative
of the Church Mission Society, Oscar (Ralph Fiennes) and his fellow gambling
addict-cum-lover Lucinda (Cate Blanchett) in Oscar and Lucinda (1998, Gillian
Armstrong). Regrettably, these two young people in a glass house did throw
stones and paid the inevitable price.
6.0 Breaking Vows/Rules/Ethics, Affairs, Mistresses & Children
This category is a more potent extension of the above-mentioned
inner/external battles. Its emphasis is not so much upon the struggle, but
rather, the actual breaking of their sacred vows and the nasty repercussions
for doing so. It appears to be designed to highlight the hypocritical nature of
Sacred Servants, and reinforce the idea that you really cannot trust them if
you left them alone unguarded. It also implies that without the controlling
rigidity of their holy orders and structured life styles, they would be a menace
to society, especially when “nature” reasserted its powerful, overriding control
in the presence of temptation (usually in the form of an erotic woman). As
Fr. Peter Malone put it: “there is always better box-ofce prot in presenting
Sacred Servants
311
priests with problems rather than priests as heroes. And it is even better
when the problems are those relating to celibacy” (Priests 48). Personal moral
failure and the horrors of both the transgressive and the transgression are
archetypical signs of this kind.
For example, Pastor Joseph Beaugarde (Ivor Novello) and his
illegitimate child with Bessie “Teazie” Williams (Mae Marsh) in The White
Rose (1923, D. W. Grifth). Anglican curate-cum-Bishop Cyril Maitland (John
Longden) and his illegitimate child with Alma Lee (Charlotte Francis) in
The Silence of Dean Maitland (1934, Ken G. Hall). Lesbian seducer Mother
Superior, Mme. de Chelles (Liselotte Pulver) and the forced upon nun Suzanne
Simonin (Anna Karina) in The Nun (La Religiouse) (1965, Jacques Rivette).
Sexual libertarian Sr. Ottavia Ricci (Anna Maria Alegiani) in The Awful Story
of the Nun of Monza (aka The Nun of Monza; The Lady of Monza) (1969, Eriprando
Visconti). The over-friendliness of Augustinian monk Fr. Michael Ferrier
(Donald Sutherland) and Anglican choir singer Martha Hayes (Genevieve
Bujold) in The Act of the Heart (1970, Paul Almond). Womanising Jesuit priest
Fr. Urbain Grandier (Oliver Reed) in The Devils (1971, Ken Russell). Abbess
Flavia Orsini (Gabriella Giacobbe) trying to keep naughty nuns Sr. Clare (Ligia
Branice), Sr. Veronica (Marina Pierro) and Sr. Martina (Loredana Martinez)
away from the sins of the esh in Behind Convent Walls (Interno di un Convento)
(aka Sex Life in a Convent; Within a Cloister) (1977, Walerian Borowczyk). Fr. John
Flaherty (Christopher Reeve) proves that he is no Superman when it comes
to the temptations of the glamorous postulant nun Clara (Genevieve Bujold)
in Monsignor (1982, Frank Perry).
Lesbian Mother Superior (Julieta Serrano) and her delicious younger
charges in Dark Habits (1983, Pedro Almodovar). Young Adso of Melk (Christian
Slater) and his romantic experiments with peasant girl (Valentina Vargas) in
The Name of the Rose (1986, Jean-Jacques Annaud). TV evangelist Rev. Edward
Randall (Stephen McHattie) who succumbs to female esh and blackmail
in Salvation! (1987, Beth B.). Elderly, career-trapped, and hypocritical Fr.
Leclerc (Giles Pelletier) with his understanding younger mistress Constance
(Johanne-Marie Tremblay) in Jesus of Montreal (1989, Denys Arcand). Fr. Mathew
Thomas (Tom Wilkinson) and his intimate relations with housekeeper Maria
Kerrigan (Cathy Tyson) in Priest (1995, Antonia Bird), but at least he was a more
acceptable heterosexual hypocrite and not a homosexual hypocrite like his gay
holy peer. Voyeuristic Archbishop Richard Rushman (Stanley Anderson) and
his performing, fornicating alter boys in Primal Fear (1996, Gregory Hoblit).
Pentecostal preacher Euliss “Sonny” Dewey/Apostle E. F. (Robert Duvall)
and his various lovers in The Apostle (1997, Robert Duvall). Comical Mormon
missionary-cum-reluctant porno star Joe Young/Orgazmo (Trey Parker) and his
excited stunt cock double in Orgazmo (1997, Trey Parker). One waits for future
cinematic forays into the theme of choirboys and the sexually abusing priest
that is currently consuming contemporary media. This category of offender
312
would match Ronald Pies category of “The Vampire,” that is, professionals
who are “cultivated and intelligent on the outside, Pure Evil on the inside”
(Pies 2), the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing.
7.0 Conict & Change: Social, Religious, Political, Spiritual, Personal and
Interpersonal
This thematic category serves to emphasise the unhappy state of Sacred
Servants living their religious lives. They always appear to be in conict on
multiple levels. This is the social-political-spiritual equivalent of the biological
sex troubles documented above. Issues of old versus young, traditional versus
experimental, conservative versus radical are the basic sub-themes that sustain
this archetypical category. One suspects that it was designed, in a neo-social
engineering fashion, to provide a media platform for changing the Church
without confronting the church directly. It being ideational pre-trialing, a
cinematic form of applied gossiping to test the congregational waters by
advancing radical propositions (e.g., gay priests) that may not have any
hope of success in real-world churches. Alternatively, it is a cinematic cry
for help because the hierarchies of the real-world churches will not face up
to the problems of modernity (e.g., the homosexual priest issue). Therefore,
lmmakers rub their ecclesiastical noses into it to force a response, hopefully
followed by a reasoned debate on the issues. Conict, change, resistance, and
hang-on are the signs of this archetypical kind.
For example, Sr. Joanna (Dorothea Wieck) and her foundling in Cradle
Song (1933, Mitchell Leisen). Dominican novice Anne-Marie Lamaury (Renee
Faure) and prisoner-cum-murderess Therese (Jany Holt) in Angels of the Streets
(Les Anges du peche) (1943, Robert Bresson). The oppressed Cardinal (Alec
Guinness) and the Interrogator (Jack Hawkins) in The Prisoner (1955, Peter
Glenville). The aging Fr. Matthew Doonon (Spencer Tracy) and Fr. Joseph
Perreau (Kerwin Matthews) in The Devil at 4 O’Clock (1961, Mervyn LeRoy). The
formal Mother Superior (Rosalind Russell) and trouble-making school girls
Mary Clancy (Hayley Mills) and Rachel Devery (June Harding) in The Trouble
With Angels (1966, Ida Lupino). Conservative Mother Superior Simplicia
(Rosalind Russell) versus progressive teacher Sr. George (Stella Stevens) in
Where Angels Go--Trouble Follows (1968, James Neilson). Orthodox Hasidic
Rabbi Reb Saunders (Rod Steiger) and son Danny Saunders (Robby Benson)
versus Zionist Prof. David Malter (Maximilian Schell) and son Reuven Malter
(Barry Miller) in The Chosen (1982, Jeremy Paul Kagan).
Traditional Fr. Tim Farley (Jack Lemon) versus angry liberal seminarian
Mark Dolson (Zeljko Ivanek) in Mass Appeal (1984, Glenn Jordan). Progressive
newcomer Br. Timothy (John Heard) and sadistic disciplinarian Br. Constance
(Jay Patterson) in Catholic Boys (aka Heaven Help Us) (1985, Michael Dinner).
Troubled, on-the-run monk Fr. Michael Lamb (Liam Neeson) and his young
pupil (Hugh O’Conor) whom he absconded with and eventually murdered
Sacred Servants
313
for the boy’s own good in Lamb (1986, Colin Gregg). This was one Lamb
who had turned the tables on traditional sacrice offerings. The intrafaith
rivalries between Rabbi Hartmann (Bernard Bresslaw) and Rabbi Jobson
(Peter Whitman) in Leon the Pig Farmer (1992, Vadim Jean & Gary Sinyor). The
valiantly persistent Sr. Mary MacKillop (Lucy Bell) versus the depressing,
patriarchal Church hierarchy in the biopic Mary (1994, Kay Pavlou) about
Australia’s rst saint-to-be. Gay Catholic Fr. Greg Pilkington (Linus Roache)
and his gay pick-ups, plus disapproving congregation in Priest (1995, Antonia
Bird). Being a sexual hypocrite and gay was a double blow against the true
believers of his Catholic parish.
8.0 Scheming, Corrupt, Frauds & Tricksters: Real & Implied
This category is a form of institutional character assassination. It
appears to be designed to suggest that Sacred Servants are really and truly
corrupt, as many atheists had suspected all along! They are situated one level
above the greedy evangelist showmen as documented above, for they have
no real need for prancing public pretence (as opposed to scamming tactics).
Corruption is the name of their game, and the audience is invited to observe
the sophistication of their devious machinations, whether nancial, political or
religious (sometimes tinged with the erotic for good salacious measure). Even
if some of them may be ultimately innocent of the “crime” they are accused
of, they are certainly not treated that way for the duration of the lm. This
category aims to prove that nothing in this world is perfect; corruption exists
everywhere, even among those supposedly seeking to be as perfect as possible.
The subtext appears to be: “Since it is impossible to achieve “perfection,”
then do not bother to even try! If supposedly pious priests with God on their
side cannot do it, then what hope has the mundane believer got?!” They may
have a valid point here.
For example, sham evangelist Florence Fallon (Barbara Stanwyck)
in The Miracle Woman (1931, Frank Capra). Black-souled, manipulative and
malevolent Rasputin (Lionel Barrymore) in Rasputin and the Empress (1932,
Richard Boleslavsky) and its many cinematic descendants. Plotting Preacher
Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum) with his good-and-evil sermon using his
distinctive “love” and “hate” nger tattoos in The Night of the Hunter (1955,
Charles Laughton). Ex-disgraced-seminarian-cum-salesman-cum-evangelist
Elmer Gantry (Burt Lancaster) in Elmer Gantry (1960, Richard Brooks).
Conniving Abbess Alexandra (Glenda Jackson) in Nasty Habits (1977, Michael
Lindsay-Hogg). Preacher of The Church Without Christ, Hazel Motes (Brad
Dourif) in Wise Blood (1979, John Huston). The Right Rev. Monsignor Desmond
Spellacy (Robert DeNiro) in True Confessions (1981, Ulu Grosbard). Aciddropping Sr. Manure/Sordid (Marisa Paredes) and drug-dealing Mother
Superior (Julieta Serrano) in Dark Habits (1983, Pedro Almodovar). The
perturbed dissident Russian Fr. Carafa (F. Murray Abraham) in the Russicum
314
Sacred Servants
315
(1987, Pasquale Squitieri). Suspected baby-killing Seventh Day Adventist pastor
Michael Chamberlain (Sam Neill) in A Cry in the Dark (aka Evil Angels) (1988,
Fred Schepisi). Maa-connected Fr. Michael Pace (Tom Berenger) in Last Rites
(1988, Donald P. Bellisario). Razzamatazz sham faith healer Jonas Nightengale
(Steve Martin) in Leap of Faith (1992, Richard Pearce). Scheming Cardinal Vinci
(Adolfo Celi) in Monsignor (1992, Frank Perry). The lying Fr. Bobby (Robert De
Niro) in Sleepers (1996, Barry Levinson) who deliberately committed perjury for
a “good” cause (a cinematic metaphor for the religious enterprise?).
and Popular Culture in America. Ed. Bruce D. Forbes and Jeffrey H. Mahan.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. 25-43.
Conclusion
Many more basic Sacred Servant categories are possible. The above
taxonomic roadmap and accompanying research notes is a precursory sketch
of the rich vein of scholarship still waiting to be mined. Each thematic category
can itself be expanded and typologically rened into sub-themes and sub-subthemes that in due course may also pay attention to the various differences
per issue amongst the various Christian denominations (e.g., Catholic versus
Protestant). The pedagogic utility of Sacred Servants in the classroom is another
area currently under-utilised to date, and yet it contains much unexpressed
potential. For example, James Henderschedt screened Mass Appeal (1984,
Glenn Jordan) starring Jack Lemon (playing Fr. Tim Farley) because it depicted
four major preaching techniques he discussed in his theology classes. More
of this type of research and other proactive applications of applied popular
lm can be performed, and is hereby recommended. It is needed, warranted
and certainly long overdue.
Lacy, Allen. “The Unbelieving Priest: Unamuno’s Saint Emmanuel the Good,
Martyr and Bergman’s Winter Light.” Literature/Film Quarterly 10.1 (1982):
53-61.
Works Cited
French, Brandon. On the Verge of Revolt: Women in American Films of the Fifties.
New York: FredericUngar, 1978.
Gordon, Mary. “Father Chuck: A Reading of Going My Way and The Bells
of St. Mary’s, or Why Priests Made Us Crazy.” South Atlantic Quarterly 93.3
(1994): 591-601.
Grignaffini, Giovanna. “Sisters and Saints on Screen.” Women and Faith:
Catholic Religious Life in Italy from Late Antiquity to the Present. Ed. Lucetta
Scaraffia and Gabriella Zarri. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1999. 294-302, 366.
Henderschedt, James L. “ML Preaching: The Centrality of Preaching.” Modern
Liturgy 14.7 (1987): 28.
Iwamura, Jane N. “The Oriental Monk in American Popular Culture.” Religion
Janosik, MaryAnn. “Madonnas in Our Midst: Representations of Women
Religious in Hollywood Films.” US Catholic Historian 15.3 (1997): 75-98.
Jones, Sara G. “Sexing the Soul: Nuns and Lesbianism in Mainstream Film.”
Perversions: The International Journal of Gay and Lesbian Studies 4 (1995): 41-59.
Lindvall, Terry. “The Faint Image of the Chaplain in Twentieth Century Combat
Films.” Military Chaplain’s Review 16 (1987): 1-26.
Malone, Peter. “The Nun and the Bandit.” Cinema Papers 95 (1993): 47-48.
------. “A Century of Priests on Screen.” Media Development 42.4 (1995): 22-24.
------. “Priests on Screen.” Compass: A Review of Topical Theology 32.3 (1998):
46-49.
Medved, Michael. Hollywood vs. America. New York, NY: Harper Perennial,
1992.
Neely, Alan. “Images: Mission and Missionaries in Contemporary Fiction and
Cinema.” Missiology: An International Review 24.4 (1996): 451-478.
Nolletti Jr., Arthur. “Spirituality and Style in The Nun’s Story.” Film Criticism
18.3-19.1 (1994): 82-100.
Pies, Ronald. “Psychiatry in the Media: The Vampire, the Fisher King, and
the Zaddik.” Journal of Mundane Behavior 2.1 (2001): 1-7. HYPERLINK “http://
mundanebehavior.org/issues/v2n1/pies.htm” http://mundanebehavior.org/
issues/v2n1/pies.htm.
Rike, Jennifer L. “Dead Man Walking: Criminal Justice on Trial.” Encounter
58.4 (1997): 353-367.
Schleich, Kathryn. “Extreme Images: Christian Women in Film.” Christianity
and the Arts 2.4 (1995): 38-39, 41.
316
317
Sullivan, Rebecca. “Celluloid Sisters: Femininity, Religiosity, and the Postwar
American Nun Film.” The Velvet Light Trap 46 (2000): 56-72.
Mundane Manifesto:
Telford, William R. “Religion, the Bible and Theology in Recent Films
(1993-1999).” Epworth Review 4 (2000): 31-40.
Severyn T. Bruyn
About
the
Author:
Anton
Karl
Kozlovic
(anton.kozlovic@inders.edu.au) (MA, MEd, MEdStudies) is a PhD
Screen Studies candidate in the School of Humanities at The Flinders
University of South Australia. He is interested in religion, lm and
philosophy and has published articles in Australian Religion Studies
Review, Compass: A Review of Topical Theological, Journal of Christian
Education, Journal of Religious Education, The Journal of Religion and Film,
Labyrinth: An International Journal for Philosophy, Feminist Theory and
Cultural Hermeneutics, Marburg Journal of Religion, Nowa Fantastyka,
Organdi Quarterly, Religious Education Journal of Australia, Teaching
Sociology and 24 Frames Per Second.
Studies of the Mundane by Participant Observation
P
articipant observation is a method that can be used to study the mundane
as a paradox. A paradox is created in the tension of human differences and
in the pressure of opposing beliefs. We shall see shortly how the mundane is a
paradox and studied in the midst of conicting views, but let me rst note how
the method of observation is a paradox. This method stands with two opposite
standpoints, both of which are true. The question is how that opposition gets
resolved in a study of the mundane.1
The method is based on the idea that truth is found inside one’s
self and outside at the same time. It is a tension between two very different
sources of truth.
We are personally involved inside a mundane world and simultaneously
outside it. We are participants in the mundane, but equally separated from it
as observers. We live in this tension of difference between involvement and
detachment, constantly. We are between our identity with the world and our
non-identity with it. The answer to what is mundane stands in the tension
of such opposite standpoints. The question is how we can get to the truth
about our subject.2
So, studies of the mundane in this opposition of different standpoints
begin with what we think is true inside, but it must be reconciled by what
we see outside. We become the subject and the object of our own inquiry.
And for this reason, serious students of the mundane know that this method
will lead them toward things they would have never before imagined. Let
me explain.3
When we start exploring what is mundane, we think at rst that the
subject can be depicted as simple, or that it is plain. We might think that it is
earthy, depending on the context. As we pursue such meanings, however, the
mundane becomes more than what we rst thought.
Observers of the mundane have begun to see that the subject is not just
simple, alone. The data have shown that the mundane is also complex, especially
when observers take a long hard look at data. After searching, observers see that
the mundane cannot be just plain, alone. The mundane is not always “out there”
clear to see, as something obvious, rather, it is often hidden. After searching, other
observers see that the mundane is not earthy, alone. Indeed, some data show it
to be unearthly, depending upon the observer and the context. 4
Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 3, number 2 (June 2002), pp. 317-326. © 2002,
Severyn Bruyn and Journal of Mundane Behavior. All rights reserved.
318
Does this sound strange? Let me illustrate what you might think
is absurd.
Certain observers have already dened what we think mundane as
divine and heavenly, not earthy at all. Buddhists argue that when ordinary
words and plain phrases used everyday are repeated like a mantra, they are
brought into a state of bliss. The ordinary leads some observers to ecstasy.
The routine can be hypnotic. Christian mystics see the divine hidden in the
mundane. It is in the boring routines of life that they nd sacred moments.
A cloistered monk, devoted to the contemplative life, saw the divine in the
routine of dish washing.5
Take another angle on how observers go from the mundane to the sublime.
When Brandeis sociologist Morrie Schwartz was dying of ALS, he said the
mundane was a heavenly place to be. Morrie’s last days on earth involved much
suffering, and so when Mitch Albom at one point asked him what he would do
if he had only one day of perfect health. Morrie said:
“Let’s see...I’d get up in the morning, do my exercises, have a lovely
breakfast of sweet rolls and tea, go for a swim, then have my friends
come over for a nice lunch...Then I’d go for a walk, in a garden with
some trees, watch their colors, watch the birds, take in the nature that
I haven’t seen in so long now...”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it.” 6
Mitch the observer then reects on how this moment of happiness for Morrie
was so mundane, “so simple, so average,” he said. But it was heaven for
Morrie.
What is going on here?
This subject of the mundane is part of the paradox of being human.
It keeps revealing new dimensions of the human subject as we study it.
It leads toward contradictions, and in the process it brings us to a better
understanding of ourselves.
Whatever is contradictory to a subject at hand gives it distinction,
and could give it more denition. The opposite of any object of inquiry is
actually a partner in the formation of its meaning. Its partner supplies insight
into its character.
How does this work? How do we learn what is mundane?
Studies of the Mundane
319
If we want to understand the mundane, we start with what we think
it is, but also with what it is not. We look into the entire context in which
we see it. We look around it, behind it, above it, and below it. We look at
the web of connected meanings that dene the mundane in a setting, just
to get it right.
Consequently, the mundane is not fully understood ahead of time, not
demystied prior to its investigation, not that plain. The subject is understood
only slowly, through long-range inquiry, only context by context. What is
mundane can be right under our nose, beyond our eyes. We need in some cases
to look in a mirror to see it. But then we would see it in reverse.
So, the mundane can be unnoticed and different observers can have
different interpretations. This keeps the subject full of mystery.
The Mundane: Its Mystery and Meaning
The method of participant observation suggests that the long-range
study of the mundane is a rounded inquiry. It is a cyclical search, not just a
linear pursuit. Any effort to know the mundane will require cycling back to the
subject again, and again, to understand it. We have to learn it from the outside,
then again from the inside. We need to experience it in a personal way. You
cannot know the mundane as something simply “out there” as though it were
on some printed page, or as resting in the mind alone. It is in the body, mind,
and spirit, and in the patterns of society.
The mundane begins with some feature of everyday life. But then
when we interpret it, we move up higher in the mind. We move into the realm
of thought. We attempt to understand our subject at a level more elevated
than our eyes can see. Now it is not just plain and straight; its meaning enters
maximum thought.
For example, “cause and effect” is an ordinary basis for explaining
what goes on each day. If we see the word “cause” in our data (indicating the
reason why an ordinary event occurred), we would soon see that this simple
term is also complex. Interpreting our data on “cause” brings us up and
outside the data into “causation.” We are now into theory. We remember that
Aristotle described types of causes with different meanings. We ponder. We
are into our head, and in a very different mood. We are on a diametrical path
to know our subject. But we still keep learning what the mundane means
as we circle around it.
As we explore different dimensions of the mundane, we see the
paradoxes of humanity. Some observers of the mundane see it as “the minor,
redundant and commonplace scenes of life” that are part of the secular order. A
steady study of what is secular, however, should lead these observers to see its
opposition, the sacred. Some observers then might deconstruct it. On the other
hand, some might nd a moment to go into rapture. Observers are that different
in their perception of things. How do we get to the fact and the truth?
320
Human nature is brimming with contradictions (e.g. secular/sacred,
ordinary/extraordinary) that must be seen in order to get to the fact. In my next
essay, I will explain how I saw words in my eldwork data that were ordinary
until I looked again and found them extraordinary.
We think that the mundane begins and ends in everyday life. But each
contrary angle leads us further into what it means to be human.
Being Human: The Perennial Paradoxes
Studying the mundane in the long run should account for opposing
standpoints. Not one standpoint is sufcient alone to explain the mundane,
but they all make a contribution.
When we study the mundane from a scientic standpoint, for example,
we learn a lot. But over time by this pursuit alone we will fail to understand the
non-sense and non-empirical nature of our subject.
When we explore the mundane from an intellectual standpoint, we
learn a lot. But again over time we will lose our subject, failing to grasp the
feeling that resides in it.
We can distort our subject by staying aloof with scientic reasoning
and intellectual reections. Indeed, we could destroy what is most fascinating
about a mundane subject. Every subject has some absurdity and some emotion
in it. We understand it partly through – but also apart from – science and the
intellect.
If we believed that the mundane were only a type of behavior, limiting
our inquiry to the meaning of observable conduct alone, we would miss its
inner meaning. It would be a study with meaning drawn from the standpoint of
behaviorism. The behavioral approach is a beginning, but not the end of this
inquiry into what is human.7
If we believed that the mundane was only a political subject, we should
learn a lot. But over the long haul we would miss our subject. We could begin
to believe that everything is political. Then, we would miss the non-political
nature of the mundane.
What is non-political? Well, the non-political mundane could mean
that the subject has no device. The mundane in this sense is outside politics
and is viewed as having a non-strategic and non-pragmatic character. Being
political is always strategic in some way. But our subject is equally “being,” not
political. Notice the subtle play in this change of perspective.
The non-political could mean that we see the mundane in the cadence
of some music or in the rhythmic movement of human bodies. The mundane
could be a work of art. A discerning observer could see people talking and
notice the synchronic movement of their bodies, as coordinating with each
other’s thoughts unconsciously. They might even respond together with the
sound of passing trafc. This is a social rhythm of bodies, a behavior unnoticed
321
by the people talking. And these bodies have no politics or public motivation.
Myron Orleans at one point considered the mundane to be majestic.
The tangible sense that we all have to ignore the majesty of the obvious
is itself puzzling. Why do we not continuously encounter others who
are aware of their artistic work in constructing the routine routinely?8
The long-range study of the mundane is an open attack on ideology, an
assault on one perspective claiming the truth. But let me go further with this
point.
The participant observer examines the mundane from different
standpoints such as the political, intellectual, behavioral, scientic, or artistic,
but the long-range task for theorists is in nding balance and connection
and new perspectives on the subject. Finding “balance” is being able to see
the mundane in the round of life, from many different standpoints. Finding
“connection” means being able to see associations developing among these
standpoints. Finding “perspective” means gaining new insight on the subject
in light of all angles. 9
Some philosophers take the essence of different standpoints like those
we have just mentioned and link each into a larger perspective. They seek
to name the “essence in each standpoint” as the philosophers say, and then
convert them into a new understanding. They try to capture each essence, and
bring them all together in a new light. But if we were to stay here and cogitate
more, we would soon be in another single perspective. We do not have time to
stay with philosophy as though it was the end of inquiry, and not just part of
it.
So, what can we conclude?
A careful study of the mundane requires a suspension of belief.
Observers should always be aware of what lies beneath.
When observers assume one standpoint on what is mundane (e.g.
“everything is political”), others will move in patiently to discover what is
unseen. Observing the “unnoticed” is staying alive to the subject. The mundane
will then tell us more about what it means to be human.
The Mundane with Many Meanings: Working with Opposites
It is good to take one outlook on what is mundane and then stay open
to opposite outlooks. The larger truth is in the contradiction. If we are curious
about our nature, we embrace the paradox. Here is an example.
The anthropologist Robert Redeld completed a study of the mundane
in a Mexican village called Tepoztlan in 1930. He saw people in their common
life as friendly, affectionate, and cooperative. Oscar Lewis re-studied the village
in 1950 and criticized his interpretation. Lewis saw village life as virtually
322
the opposite, full of hostility, jealousy, and suspicion. His ndings produced
considerable controversy among anthropologists.10
Which observer represents the truth?
Here are two hypotheses that throw some light on the problem.
First hypothesis: Redeld looked at what was manifest (i.e. the obvious)
in village life. Oscar Lewis looked at what was hidden (i.e. latent and
unnoticed). Lewis used psychological tests, like the Rorschach and the
Thematic Apperception Test (T.A.T.), to determine what was happening
everyday. In the light of these tests, we can pose a corollary: Redeld
looked at what was conscious to the villagers. Lewis looked at what was
unconscious to villagers. He could have seen what lies beneath.
Second hypothesis: Redeld and Lewis were both biased in what they
saw to be mundane. They each programmed attributes of their own
personality into the study. In other words, what they saw in the nal
analysis was a mirror of their own mind and temperament.
What does this teach us?
It was common knowledge that the two anthropologists had very
different personalities. One critic of the two Tepoztlan studies put the problem
succinctly to me one day in a way that supplies a sense of the difference:
“Robert Redeld was a gentleman and Oscar Lewis was a rascal, in fact, a
scoundrel.” he said. (Lewis, by the way, was my teacher at the time.) Many such
onlookers argued that they each projected their personal dispositions into the
study.
I do not mention this case to make a serious analysis of the problem. I
simply point to the challenge it presents for ethnographers of the mundane.
Hypothesis #1 challenges us to be aware of what is manifest versus
latent in the life of villagers. Correspondingly, it summons us to be alert about
what is conscious versus unconscious in ordinary life.
Hypothesis # 2 heightens our awareness of the observer’s role in
programming and shaping data. It suggests that we should be alert to what is
conscious and unconscious to the observers.
An ethnographer’s “bias” does not invalidate a study. Bias is inevitable.
But more, bias is revealing. It tells us to examine how connections are made
between what the observer sees and what actually exists in the subject. A
careful observation could lead us back to hypothesis # 1. One observer may see
what is manifest in the mundane by his/her bias while the other may see what
is hidden.
The two hypotheses above are thus closely related. They remain as
lessons for students of the mundane. They tell us about an intricate complexity
323
in the observer, and equally in that which is observed. Questions about
what is “unconscious” vs. what is “conscious” can be posed evenly about
the “observer” and the “observed.” The difference in what is latent and
manifest, conscious and unconscious remains to be examined in studies of the
mundane.
In sum, studies of the mundane from the standpoint of participant
observation reveal how the subject is lled with paradox. The paradox is about
contradictions in a world that we see on the outside, but interpret from the
inside. Future studies should tell us still more about how we are involved and
detached and how people have a personal and collective unconscious.
Most of the world goes unnoticed. People live by the conventions of
society and therefore they miss a lot. This is why mundane studies should be
around a long time. They keep informing us about unseen mysteries, about a
world that is ordinary and plain enough it seems, but which we have yet to
fully see and understand.
Notes
Participant observation emphasizes human experience as the ground for knowing the
world, but the whole story does not come easily. David Garson argues that special
emphases can be given to participant observation as both a phenomenological method
and an empirical technique. The method emphasizes intersubjective understanding and
empathy. Garson says that I emphasized four elements in this approach:
1
1.Awareness of time: Record the temporal phases of research according to the
sequence of experience of the observer in relation to the milieu (e.g. newcomer,
provisional member, categorical member, personalized rapport, and imminent
migrant—that is, as the researcher is about to leave the community).
2.Awareness of the physical environment: Record the relations of people to their
physical environment as they perceive it, not as the researcher conceptualizes
or even experiences it.
3.Awareness of contrasting experiences: Record the experiences of people under
contrasting social circumstances; meanings cannot be assessed under one set of
circumstances because they are relative to the setting.
4.Awareness of social openings and barriers: Record the changes in meaning as
the participant observer is admitted into narrower social regions, transitioning
from stranger to member to insider. Determining vocabulary concepts is a
major focus of participant observation, seeking to illuminate the intersubjective
meanings of critical terms. In general, the participant observer seeks out the
meaning of the experiences of the group being studied from each of the many
different perspectives within it. Severyn Bruyn (The Human Perspective: The
Methodology of Participant Observation (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall,
324
1966)
On the other hand, Morris Zelditch emphasizes participant observation as
an empirical technique. Here it is an opportunity for in-depth systematic study of a
particular group or activity. He outlined three elements of this approach: enumeration,
interviewing, and an involved detailed study of social settings. Zelditch and others
emphasized the 1.Enumeration of frequencies of various categories of observed behavior,
as in interaction analysis. Often there is an explicit schedule of observation geared
to hypotheses framed in advance of participation. Participation observation in this
case may lead to an alteration of hypotheses and observation schedules. 2.Informant
interviewing to establish social rules and statuses. There may be systematic sampling
of informants to be interviewed, content analysis of documents encountered, and even
recording of observations in structured question-and-answer format. 3.Participation
may also be used to observe and detail illustrative incidents.
Where the phenomenological approach emphasizes the participant observer
experiencing the world through empathy, the empirical approach emphasizes the
scientist making systematic observations and recordings of the milieu. This distinction
is more a matter of emphasis than a dichotomy. Morris Zelditch, “Some methodological
problems of eld studies,” American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 67, No. 5: 566-576. (1962)
See David Garson, http://www2.chass.ncsu.edu/garson/pa765/particip.htm.
In philosophy, a paradox is a statement that contains conicting ideas. It is a statement
in which two ideas are given to be true and is thus contradictory. In studies of the
mundane, however, the conict can be in a social setting as well as equally in the mind
of the observer.
2
Observers of the mundane should be aware of standing in a tension of differences.
When they study an organization, they should look at the mundane from every
angle, imagine themselves in opposite roles in the hierarchy, and observe events
from contrasting positions and perspectives. They should assume different gender
perspectives insofar as they can, take different appraisals on their subject from different
status positions, looking at every obtuse angle for what is mundane. The mundane is
studied in this tension of difference in any location, for example, looking at it on the
street, in the family, the ofce, in body movements, anywhere, observing the unseen
regularities of things and people in ordinary settings.
3
Articles in the Journal of Mundane Behavior illustrate how observers are aware of the
paradox and the way opposites are part of this type of study. The Editors point to
the contradiction between the “noticed” versus the “unnoticed,” while other writers
make different points. Gerard DeGroot shows how “the mundane” contrasts with “the
unusual, the exciting, or the bizarre.” He describes how historians have missed that
latency in the mundane. See his article, “’When Nothing Happened’: History, Historians
and the Mundane,” Journal of Mundane Behavior (JMB), Vol.2, number 1 (Feb. 2001).
Shauna Frischkorn says that the photograph has been a kind of paradox, existing
simultaneously as both document (decisive evidence) and artice (subtle deception
or trickery). She argues that by acknowledging this dual nature, many contemporary
artists nd that the photograph remains not only a provocative medium, but also
4
325
the strongest way in which to communicate their ideas. See her article,“(In)Decisive
Moments: Photographing the Commonplace,” JMB, Vol. 1, Number 3, October, 2000.
5
The Cloud of Unknowing, http://ccel.org/u/unknowing/cloud.htm
6
Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie, (NY: Doubleday, 1997) p. 175-76
The mundane is a type of behavior. It is a repeated course of action, but it cannot
be understood from that one perspective alone. This inner-outer tension in knowing
any subject keeps its meaning unfolding before us. We keep learning what we observe
outside in terms of what it means inside our lives.
7
Myron Orleans, “Why the Mundane? Or, My “Unassailable Advantage”: Reections on
Wiseman’s Belfast, Maine,” Journal of Mundane Behavior, volume 1, number 1 (February
2000).
8
I gain perspective from my eld notes. I notice how people who work intensely in
one institution tend to reify what is common. The mundane becomes supreme. For
people who are deep into government, “everything is political.” For people who are into
religion, “everything is sacred.” For people who are deep into business, “everything is
the bottom line.” The student of the mundane who specializes in one order of society
could become entrained in the standpoint of an institutional order. Yet, as students of
the mundane we know that not everything is political. Not everything is spiritual. Not
everything is sacred. Not everything is a bottom line. Not everything is a market. Do
students of the mundane allow for this mystery in the subject?
9
Redeld had worked in the Mexican village of Tepoztlan in the early days of
anthropology, publishing a monograph on the people in 1930. Years later, Lewis and
a team of ethnographers revisited the site, publishing a monograph in 1951. The two
works diverged on more points than could be accounted for by the passage of time.
Ethnographic validity became a central issue in cultural anthropology. The problem of
validity was rst tackled through the use of linguistics. The discovery of the phoneme,
the smallest unit of a meaningful sound, gave anthropologists the opportunity to
understand and record cultures in the native language. This was thought to be a way
of getting around the analyst’s imposition of his own cultural bias on a society. See Tara
Robertson, Anthropological Theories, http://www.as.ua.edu/ant/Faculty/murphy/
436/coganth.htm.
Such tests as the Rorschach and the T.A.T. were not available to Redeld. Their
use by Lewis to assess what was ordinary could have revealed what was hidden, and
simply unnoticed by Redeld standing in a classic perspective. We have not yet fully
evaluated the case. We do not know with certainty how to assess what is conscious
versus unconscious in the observer or in community life.
The pursuit of the mundane should keep us informed about how we study the
human condition. The differences on what was deemed mundane in Tepoztlan could
have been located in the observers and village culture itself. Robert Redeld, Tepoztlan:
10
326
A Mexican Village (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1930); Oscar Lewis, Life in a
Mexican Village: Tepoztlan Restudied (Urbana, Ill: University of Illinois Press, 1951).
About the Author: Severyn Bruyn ([email protected]) is Professor
Emeritus of Sociology at Boston College, and a member of the Journal of
Mundane Behavior editorial board. More information and further works
can be found on his web site at http://www2.bc.edu/~bruyn.

issue 3.2 - Journal of Mundane Behaviour

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