For a German and a Finn, the truth is the truth. In Japan and Britain it is all right if it doesn’t rock the boat. In China there is no absolute truth. In Italy it is negotiable.
Comparisons of national cultures often begin by highlighting differences in social behavior. The Japanese do not like shaking hands, bow when greeting each other and do not blow their nose in public. Brazilians form unruly bus lines, prefer brown shoes to black and arrive two hours late at cocktail parties. Greeks stare you in the eye, nod their heads when they mean no and occasionally smash plates against walls in restaurants. The French wipe their plates clean with a piece of bread, throw pastry into their coffee and offer handshakes to strangers in bistros. Brits tip their soup bowls away from them, eat peas with their forks upside down and play golf in the rain.
These various manners and mannerisms cause us great amusement. We smile at foreign eccentricity, congratulating ourselves on our normality. And yet we are aware that these idiosyncrasies are largely superficial. If we stay in France a while, we are sooner or later happy to dunk our croissants and make a mess; we discover the unhurried delight of turning up outrageously late in Brazil; we throw vodka glasses over our shoulders with abandon in St. Petersburg. Such adaptation of our behavior leaves no scars on our psyche. We join strangers in their social ways partly to conform and partly for fun. We can become French or Greek for an evening, we can sit on tatami with Japanese colleagues and eat legs of lamb with one hand among Arabs. But what goes on in our heads remains a private, well-protected constant. We may put on a show for others, but all the while we follow our own silent program.
Part of the superficial public behavior cited here is cultural in origin, and yet we can adopt these manners without prejudice to our own core beliefs. Actions are not difficult to emulate, and even different varieties of speech can be imitated to some extent. Thought is a different matter. We cannot see it; we cannot hear it; it may be revealed to us with reluctance, simulation or cunning. Cross-cultural problems arise not so much on account of our unfamiliarity with a bow, a Gallic shrug or chopsticks. Neither do they crop up because of certain concepts, because many of these concepts are shared by other cultures. We can teach a Spaniard nothing about honor; the Japanese are masters of courtesy. Swedes, Brits and Germans are all convinced of their own honesty; honor, duty, love, justice, gratitude and revenge are basic tenets of the German, Chinese, Arab and Polynesian alike. A Tasmanian knows his or her duty as clearly as a Greenlander does. Given the size of the world, its long history and immeasurable variety, it is remarkable how many common concepts are rooted so firmly in a similar manner in very different societies. What we often overlook is the fact that everyone has different notions of these concepts that appeal to so many cultures. Romantic love is seen differently in France and Finland, and the English notion of revenge bears little similarity to the Sicilian.
We readily accept that cultural diversity is vast and formidable. If we take an extreme example, the barriers against communication or mutual comprehension between an Inuit hunter and a Nigerian herdsman might prove insurmountable. Given their different backgrounds, what could they talk about? They probably would be completely unaware of the structure or politics of each other’s society; it is hardly likely that they could imagine the opposite extremity of climate; their religions, taboos, values, aspirations, disappointments and lifestyle would be in stark contrast. Available subjects of conversation (if they had some mode of communication) would be minimal, approaching zero.
The wildly differing notions of time, space, life after death, nature and reality held by isolated societies will have little impact on international business (although they may contribute usefully to our morals or philosophy). The Navahos with their nuclear concept of speech, the Zulus with their 39 colors of green, the Aborigines with their dreamtime, the Inuit with their 42 types of snow and the Lapps with their eight seasons provide us with striking insights and unique thought and speech processes that intrigue and fascinate those of us who have time to study them. We can observe, learn about and sometimes understand some of these groups’ world views, but deceived we are not. We know, more or less, where we stand with these people. They live in their worlds and we live in ours.
In our world, there are others who are more like us. They have modern civilizations, political parties, industrial complexes and stocks and shares. Their clothes resemble ours. We appear to have similar concepts and values. Yet for some reason, the French and Germans don’t always get on. In Belgium half of society dislikes the other. The Chinese and Japanese are wary of each other, to say the least; neighborly Swedes and Norwegians snipe at each other, and the mutual exasperation that British and American cousins experience is only too well documented.
Truth. The concepts are shining and clear; our notions of them are different. The German notion is that truth, absolute honest truth, even if somewhat unpalatable, will allow participants to achieve a successful outcome to a business meeting. “Die Wahrheit ist die Wahrheit,” say the Germans. Not so, the Chinese would argue—there is no absolute truth. These two conflicting views may both be correct. Many Americans, Norwegians and Finns would agree with the Germans; most Asians and many Italians would agree with the Chinese.
In Germany, Sweden and Finland, where people are generally concerned about what the neighbors think, the drive toward conformity imposes checks and constraints on a person’s ability to refashion veracity. The French, Italians and other Latins are not famous for their candor, which might interfere with the smooth social intercourse they are so fond of. In Japan, where no one must face exposure, be confronted or lose face, truth is a dangerous concept. In Asia, Africa and South America, strict adherence to the truth would destroy the harmony of the relationships between individuals, companies and entire segments of society. Only in Australia is a spade called a spade continent wide, and even there truth often occasions dismay and leads to fistfights.
Contracts and Ethics. As the globalization of business brings executives more frequently together, there is a growing realization that if we examine concepts and values, we can take almost nothing for granted. The word contract translates easily from language to language, but like truth, it has many interpretations. To a Swiss, Scandinavian, American or Brit, a contract is a formal document that has been signed and should be adhered to. Signatures give it a sense of finality. But a Japanese businessperson regards a contract as a starting document to be rewritten and modified as circumstances require. A South American sees it as an ideal that is unlikely to be achieved but that is signed to avoid argument.
Members of most cultures see themselves as ethical, but ethics can be turned upside down. The American calls the Japanese unethical if the latter breaks a contract. The Japanese says it is unethical for the American to apply the terms of the contract if things have changed. Italians have very flexible views on what is ethical and what is not, which sometimes causes Northern Europeans to question their honesty. When Italians bend the rules or “get around” some laws or regulations, they consider they are less ideal-bound than, say, the Swiss, and cut actually closer to reality. They do not consider themselves corrupt or immoral, nor do they admit to illegality. There are many gray areas where “shortcuts” are, in Italian eyes, the only intelligent course of action. In a country where excessive bureaucracy can hold up business for months, currying favor with an official is a matter of common sense.
Common Sense. The very term common sense has to be treated carefully, for it is not as common as it seems. British dictionaries define it as “judgment gained from experience rather than study”; the American lexicon describes it as “judgment that is sound but unsophisticated.” Academics are uncomfortable with common sense, which tends to pre-empt their research by coming to the same conclusion months earlier. But we must not think that this rough-and-ready wisdom will unite our mix of nationalities. Common sense, although basic and unsophisticated, cannot be neutral. It is derived from experience, but experience is culture-bound. It is common sense in Germany and Sweden to form an orderly bus line. In Naples and Rio it is common sense to get on the bus before anyone else. It would seem common sense for the Japanese to have discarded the Chinese writing system, which does not suit their language and which takes ten years for Japanese children to learn, but they have not done so.
Gossip. Gossip has negative connotations in the Nordic countries and hardly a good name in the Anglo-Saxon world. Yet gossip proves far more important to us than we would at first admit. It is a vital source of information in business circles in many countries. In Spain, Italy, Brazil and Japan, gossip quickly updates and bypasses facts and statistics, provides political background to commercial decisions and facilitates invaluable debate between people who do not meet officially. The cafés of Madrid and Lisbon overflow with businesspeople, and the whole of Central and South America “networks” merrily until one or two in the morning.
The corridors of power in Brussels, where European business and political legislation are inevitably intertwined, reverberate with gossip. Countries that do not have access to this hot-house exchange of information will be severely disadvantaged.
Another positive aspect of gossip is that it appears to be good for us—that is to say, in line with our natural evolution. Professor Robin Dunbar of University College London points out that humans live in much larger groups than other primates and that language may have evolved as a form of social glue to hold us together. While some animals obviously communicate well in small groups, it is hardly likely that they can gossip about third parties. This ability enables us to form large social or working groups of up to approximately 150 members. This number holds true for ancient “clans,” military fighting units (a company) and even modern firms. Once a commercial enterprise swells well beyond that magic number, it has to be organized into divisions or it becomes less manageable. Intense interest in what other people are doing, finding out from our “group” the latest news about third parties, enables us to network on a large scale and calculate our positions and reactions accordingly. So the Latins, Greeks, and Arabs have got it right after all!
Silence. Silence can be interpreted in different ways. A silent reaction to a business proposal would seem negative to American, German, French, Southern European and Arab executives. In countries as dissimilar as the United States, Peru and Kuwait, conversation is a two-way process, where one partner takes up when the other one leaves off. The intervening silence is two or three seconds in Britain and Germany, less than that in Greece and Kuwait and hardly noticeable in France, Italy and the U.S. However, East Asians and Finns find nothing wrong with silence as a response. “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know,” says an old Chinese proverb. In these countries silence is not equated with failure to communicate, but is an integral part of social interaction. What is not said is regarded as important, and lulls in conversation are considered restful, friendly and appropriate. Silence means that you listen and learn; talking a lot merely expresses your cleverness, perhaps egoism and arrogance. Silence protects your individualism and privacy; it also shows respect for the individualism of others. In Finland and Japan it is considered impolite to force one’s opinions on others—it is more appropriate to nod in agreement, smile quietly, avoid opinionated argument or discord.
As international trade and scientific and political exchange intensify, there is a growing effort on the part of academics, multinational organizations and even nations and governments to improve communication and dialogue. It is becoming increasingly apparent that in pursuit of this goal it is desirable not only to learn foreign languages on a much wider scale but to show a sympathetic understanding of other peoples’ customs, societies and culture. Many binational and international bodies have been created to further this aim, and the personnel and training departments of many large companies have invested substantial sums of money in cross-cultural and internationalization programs and briefings for those staff members who will represent them abroad.
The question I would like to raise is whether or not cross-cultural training and a willingness to adapt will achieve anything at the end of the day, in view of the interlocking nature of our own language and thought. I am not necessarily suggesting that cross-cultural training might eventually be seen to be in vain—I believe the contrary to be true—but I would like to play devil’s advocate for a little while and consider how powerful mental blocks may hinder our ability to change our attitudes or adopt new approaches. From infancy we are conditioned by various factors and influences—not least by the behavior and guidance of our parents, teachers and society. But they and we are subjected at every turn to that dominating and pervasive “conditioner”—our common language.
Many linguists adhere to anthropologist Benjamin Whorf ’s hypothesis, which states that the language we speak largely determines our way of thinking, as distinct from merely expressing it. In other words, Germans and Japanese behave in a certain manner because the way they think is governed by the language in which they think. A Spaniard and a Briton see the world in different ways because one is thinking in Spanish and the other in English. People in the British Isles act and live in a certain way because their thoughts are channeled along Anglo-Saxon grooves which are different from neo-Latin, Japanese or Chinese grooves.
The Briton, the German and the Inuit may share a common experience, but it appears to each as a kaleidoscopic flux of impressions that has to be organized by the mind. The mind does this largely by means of language. Thus the three individuals end up seeing three different things. What is fair play to the Briton may be something else to the German, who needs to translate the concept into different words, and it may mean nothing at all in a society where there are no organized games.
If you think the notion of fair play is rather abstract, let us go to another instance where a very basic concept is seen in completely different ways by two people of diverse origins. My example involves an Englishman and a Zulu. While the cultural chasm is clear, it is the linguistic factor that dominates this instance.
As mentioned earlier, the Zulu language has 39 words for green. I was interested in how the Zulus could build up 39 one-word concepts for green, while English has only one, and discussed this at length with a former Zulu chief who had earned a doctorate in philology at Oxford. He began by explaining why Zulus needed 39 words for green. In the days before automotive transport and national highways, the Zulu people would often make long treks across their savannah grasslands. There were no signposts or maps and lengthy journeys had to be described by those who had traveled the route before. The language adapted itself to the requirements of its speakers. English copes with concepts such as contract deadlines and stock futures, but our tongue is seen as poverty stricken and inadequately descriptive by Africans and Native Americans, whose languages abound in finely wrought, beautifully logical descriptions of nature, causation, repetition, duration and result.
“Give me some examples of different green-words,” I said to my Zulu friend. He picked up a leaf. “What color is this?” he asked.
“Green,” I replied.
The sun was shining. He waited until a cloud intervened. “What color is the leaf now?” he asked.
“Green,” I answered, already sensing my inadequacy.
“It isn’t the same green, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“We have a different word in Zulu.” He dipped the leaf in water and held it out again. “Has the color changed?”
“Yes.”
“In Zulu we have a word for green shining wet.”
The sun came out again and I needed another word (leaf-green-wet-but-with- sunshine-on-it!).
My friend retreated 20 yards and showed me the leaf. “Has the color changed again?”
“Yes,” I yelled.
“We have another word,” he said with a smile.
He went on to indicate how different Zulu greens would deal with tree leaves, bush leaves, leaves vibrating in the wind, river greens, pool greens, tree trunk greens, crocodile greens… He got to 39 without even raising a sweat.
It was evident that my Zulu friend and I saw the world through different eyes. And yet it was not a question of eyes. However international, multicultural or all-embracing I wished to be, there was no way I could perceive or feel about nature the way he did, because I didn’t have the language to do it with. It was not just a matter of familiarizing myself with the cultural habits, preferences and taboos of his tribe or even adopting his religion and philosophies. I could only experience reality as fully as he did by learning his language and escaping (in terms of descriptive ability) from the straitjacket of my own.
Just as seeing with two eyes gives us stereoscopic vision and a sense of depth, thinking in two different languages gives us added dimensions of reality. The bilingual Swedish Finn is a case in point. A striking idea is that while French (a language very similar to English) would expand our world view by maybe an extra 10 percent, a “primitive” language totally different from our own, with its other logic and set of assumptions, might show us things we have never dreamed of !
The Greeks, who were the first people to inquire in depth into logic and reason, assumed that language was a universal untampered-with element of reason. They believed it was a phenomenon shared by all mankind and, in the case of educated people, would provide a standard yardstick for comparison of ideas, experience and reality. They also assumed that ideas could be translated freely into any language. This is only true up to a point.
Those of us who have learned languages at school have noticed the difficulty our teachers have in translating such words as panache, esprit de corps, Gemütlichkeit and Zeitgeist into English. Interpreters at the United Nations are faced daily with similar problems, even with languages that are closely related. In one recorded case, the English speaker said “I assume,” the French interpreter translated it as “I deduce,” and this was rendered by the Russian as “I consider”—by which time the idea of assumption had been lost!
If this can happen working with three close relatives of the Indo-European group, we see that two languages as different as English and Navaho literally operate in two different worlds. I think it is important for businesspeople to consider carefully the implication of the expression in different worlds. All observers are not led by the same physical evidence to the same picture of the universe, unless their linguistic backgrounds are similar, or can in some way be calibrated. English, French, German, Russian and other Indo-European languages can be roughly calibrated (although not always satisfactorily), but where does this leave us with Chinese, Indonesian, Finnish or Japanese? If the structure of a person’s language influences the manner in which he or she understands reality and behaves with respect to it, then we could have four individuals who will see the universe through Sino-Tibetan, Polynesian, Altaic and Japanese eyes respectively and then comport themselves accordingly.
There is a good deal of scientific support for the hypothesis that higher levels of thinking depend on language. Thought can be regarded as internalized language. Most of us conduct an interior monologue, often accompanied by visual imagery. The more educated and literate the individual, the more complex and sophisticated this monologue becomes, and there is no doubt that most of this goes on “in words,” whether expressed aloud or not.
We can assume that German, Italian and Malaysian businesspeople do the same thing in their own language. When each speaks, we merely glimpse the tip of a huge iceberg of verbal activity that never breaks the surface of audibility. If you make this reasonable assumption, then you can presume that whatever is said to you will be a brief projection of the inner world of the other person’s thoughts. What is said may be grammatically accurate or erroneous in the extreme, but it will be colored by the person’s view of reality, which is itself influenced by the rigidity of his or her own language structure. This line of reasoning tends to become somewhat involved, but to clarify the point, let’s take a few practical examples.
The German language is a tightly disciplined, no-nonsense entity with long, compound words often expressing complex concepts. We might therefore expect the internal monologue of a German person to be serious rather than casual, concentrating on weighty issues, and resulting in verbalized thoughts that will be anything but flippant.
Contrast this with the interior monologue of an American counterpart. The nature of American English is interwoven with the character and history of the youthful United States. American speech or thought is mobile and opportunistic; it shifts quickly for advantage or compromise and excels in casual and humorous shafts. Germans will take Americans seriously when they do not intend to be taken as such. A further complication is the deep slide that American English has taken into clichés and “tough talk.” Such expressions as gotta deal, gotta be jokin’, no way, full of shit, over the top, you can’t do this to me and give away the store fail to indicate properly what the American is really thinking, but are verbal escape routes to simplified analyses or solutions not necessarily in their favor. Britons are guilty of other clichés indicative of near-stultifying vagueness of thought, well designed to convey very little or nothing at all to their foreign interlocutors. Such expressions, occasionally derived from sport, include fair play, sticky wicket, a good innings, good show, bad news, not on and a bit thick.
The French thought monologue is quite different. They have dissected their universe better than most of us, and they try to think about it clearly. They know where they are going and what it is that they want. Their clinical vocabulary is conducive to quick thinking, its lack of vagueness leads to a cutting directness, and their ruthless pursuit of logic will often irritate Anglo-Saxons or Japanese, who tend to “feel their way” toward a solution. The Spanish speaker’s monologue is earthy, emotional and generous. The wealth of Spanish vocabulary and the wide range of endearments and diminutives (shared with Italian and Portuguese) enable the Spaniard to communicate in a warm, human manner indicative of an expansive character and a lack of cunning. One should not, however, read this warmth as a sign that the Spaniard can easily be taken advantage of.
The Japanese have the most difficult task of all in making the transition from their internal monologues to actual verbal utterances. In their thoughts they agonize over striking a balance between gaining advantage and correctness of behavior. Their internalized speech has to be polite in the extreme in view of the fact that they are to address others. But the speech mechanisms involved in such politeness often lead to incredible vagueness of expression, so that whatever message they seek to convey may well get lost in a fog of impeccable behavior. On top of that, their formidable battery of honorific expressions—so useful in communication between Japanese—are rendered useless in the face of the impossibility of translation, so that their conversation with their foreign counterpart emerges as terribly platitudinous, even if grammatically correct.
It has been said that humor crosses national boundaries with difficulty, especially when heading east. If we analyze this assertion for a moment, several implications emerge. First, it is self-evident that the victim of a humorous attack is hardly likely to see the funny side of it. French anecdotes depicting the Belgians as a collection of slow-witted yokels fail to gain appreciation in Brussels. The Dutch resent similar treatment at the hands of the Belgians.
Secondly, failure to appreciate the funny side of an anecdote does not necessarily depend on one’s being the victim. Serious-minded, factual Germans do not split their sides on hearing American jokes about Texas, which usually depend on gross exaggeration. The story about the Mexican driving just as fast as he could for 24 hours to get out of Texas but finding he had not managed it, thrills the American imagination but sounds far-fetched to the German, who might reply, “He should have used a German car.” This reply would be considered very funny in Germany and fairly humorous in England and Scandinavia.
Apart from the Koreans, who seem to like everybody’s jokes, few Asians are amused by American or (most) European jokes. The Confucian and Buddhist pre-occupation with truth, sincerity, kindliness and politeness automatically eliminates humor techniques such as sarcasm, satire, exaggeration and parody. They also find little merit in jokes about religion, sex and underprivileged minorities. Sick or black humor is definitely out.
So what is left, you might ask? Eastern humor, such as we understand it, is couched in subtlety, gentle, indirect reproach or reprimand, occasionally victimizing listeners in a sly but nonaggressive manner that yet leaves them room for response and stops short of depriving them of their dignity. Even the rougher, occasionally bawdy Koreans take great care to protect the listener’s “wholeness” or standing. Chinese are noted for their aphorisms and proverbs, and they and Indians find great sources of humor in parables, which we in the West find only moderately funny, although they do combine wisdom, moralizing and a sense of perspective
Is there such a thing as a “national style” of humor? Before answering this question directly, one must accept the fact that there is such a thing as international humor—that is to say, some types of humor and some jokes gain international acceptance. In particular, this is true of slapstick, which is age-old in its use and laughed at by Europeans, Americans, Africans and Asians alike. It is very much in evidence, for instance, on Japanese television. There are also “international” jokes repeated across many borders, such as the one about who must jump first out of the airplane, elephant jokes, restaurant jokes and hilarious stories about golfers.
Even in the area of international jokes, however, the national “rinse” begins to show. Take, for example, the old joke about the journalists who organized a competition to write an article about elephants. The titles were as follows:
| English | Hunting Elephants in British East Africa | |
| French | The Love Life of Elephants | |
| German | The Origin and Development of the Indian Elephant from 1200 to 1950 (600 pages) | |
| American | How to Breed Bigger and Better Elephants | |
| Russian | How We Sent an Elephant to the Moon | |
| Swede | Elephants and the Welfare State | |
| Spaniard | Techniques of Elephant Fighting | |
| Indian | The Elephant as a Means of Transportation before Railroads | |
| Finn | What Elephants Think about Finland |
This joke, which probably originated at a conference of journalists, pokes fun at various national faiblesses (weaknesses): French lust, German seriousness, American bragging, British colonialism and so on. The punch line is the Finns’ preoccupation with what others think about them. In Helsinki, however, the Finns developed an alternative punch line by adding a Norwegian title: “Norway and Norway’s Mountains.” Finns, Swedes and Danes find this alternative absolutely side-splitting. The Norwegians, who consider themselves a humorous people, do not find this ending funny at all. In fact, they do not understand it. Do you?
As world trade becomes increasingly globalized, businesspeople meet their foreign partners more frequently and consequently feel that they know each other better. It is only natural that when they develop a closer relationship, they begin to converse in a more relaxed manner. A funny incident involving some personal discomfort or embarrassment is a good start; a sly attack on a “common enemy” may soon follow.
Humor during business meetings is not infrequent in most European countries, although it is less common among Latins than with Northern peoples, where it is a valuable tool for breaking the ice. Perhaps among the Spaniards, Portuguese and Italians, there is little ice to break. Their own racy, gossipy, confiding conversation style constitutes in itself a valid humorous element.
It is in the Anglo-Saxon countries that humor is used systematically. Relaxed in Canada and New Zealand, it can be barbed and provocative in Australia. In the United States, particularly, sarcasm, kidding and feigned indignation are regarded as factors that move the meeting along and help get more done in less time. Time is, after all, money. It is perhaps in Britain, though, that humor is most intertwined in business talks. The British hate heavy or drawn-out meetings and will resort to various forms of humor and distracting tactics to keep it all nice and lively.
However, two nationalities in particular avoid jokes and other forms of humor during the actual business sessions. Germans find it out of place during negotiations. Business is serious and should be treated as such, without irrelevant stories or distractions. If you do not concentrate on the issue, you are not showing respect to your interlocutor. Kidding is, in their eyes, not honest and creates confusion in business discussion. They want to know about price, quality and delivery dates, with some precision, please.
After the meetings are over, Germans are quite willing to relax and joke with their partners in bars, restaurants and at home. Humor and anecdotes are more than welcome in these circumstances. Relaxation, like business discussion and many other activities in Germany, is fairly strictly compartmentalized.
The Japanese also fail to see any benefit in introducing humor into business meetings. They will laugh if they are aware that you have told a joke (it is unlikely they will have understood it), but that is out of sheer politeness. They are normally nervous about understanding your straight talk in the first place, so that any clever nuances or tongue-in-cheek utterances will leave them floundering. They take anything you say quite literally. Americans using expressions like “You are killing me” or “Say that once again and I’ll walk away from this deal” will cause great consternation among their Japanese partners. One U.S. executive, who said a certain clause would “blow the deal out of the water,” was asked, “What water?”
While the introduction of humor in international business talks may bring considerable gain in terms of breaking the ice, speeding up the discussion, escaping from deadlock, putting your partners at ease and winning their confidence in you as a human being, the downside risks are often just as great. What is funny for the French may be anathema to an Arab; your very best story may be utterly incomprehensible to a Chinese; your most innocent anecdote may seriously offend a Turk. Cultural and religious differences may make it impossible for some people to laugh at the same thing. Who can say with certainty what is funny? If all values are relative and culture based, then these include humor, tolerance, even truth itself. And remember that laughter, more often than not, symbolizes embarrassment, nervousness or possibly scorn among Asians.
International businesspeople cannot escape the “bottom line”—a good American expression—of the considerations just mentioned. The picture of the universe shifts from tongue to tongue, and the way of doing business shifts accordingly. There is no one metaphysical pool of human thought—or of behavior. Different languages provide different “segments of experience,” and there is little we can do about it, except to learn more languages. But at least being aware of cultural differences, and being sensitive to those differences, will help us establish whatever degree of communication our different mentalities permit.