Croatian Simplest Sentences

Like my friend Kylie read this to me "**Civil Disobedience** By Henry David Thoreau 1849 I heartily accept the motto, "That government is best which governs least"; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe- "That government is best which governs not at all"; and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have. Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be brought against a standing government. The standing army is only an arm of the standing government. The government itself, which is only the mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it. Witness the present Mexican war, the work of comparatively a few individuals using the standing government as their tool; for, in the outset, the people would not have consented to this measure. This American government- what is it but a tradition, though a recent one, endeavoring to transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but each instant losing some of its integrity? It has not the vitality and force of a single living man; for a single man can bend it to his will. It is a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves. But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy that idea of government which they have. Governments show thus how successfully men can be imposed on, even impose on themselves, for their own advantage. It is excellent, we must all allow. Yet this government never of itself furthered any enterprise, but by the alacrity with which it got out of its way. It does not keep the country free. It does not settle the West. It does not educate. The character inherent in the American people has done all that has been accomplished; and it would have done somewhat more, if the government had not sometimes got in its way. For government is an expedient by which men would fain succeed in letting one another alone; and, as has been said, when it is most expedient, the governed are most let alone by it. Trade and commerce, if they were not made of india-rubber, would never manage to bounce over the obstacles which legislators are continually putting in their way; and, if one were to judge these men wholly by the effects of their actions and not partly by their intentions, they would deserve to be classed and punished with those mischievous persons who put obstructions on the railroads. But, to speak practically and as a citizen, unlike those who call themselves no- government men, I ask for, not at once no government, but at once a better government. Let every man make known what kind of government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward obtaining it. After all, the practical reason why, when the power is once in the hands of the people, a majority are permitted, and for a long period continue, to rule is not because they are most likely to be in the right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they are physically the strongest. But a government in which the majority rule in all cases cannot be based on justice, even as far as men understand it. Can there not be a government in which majorities do not virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience?- in which majorities decide only those questions to which the rule of expediency is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or in the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislation? Why has every man a conscience, then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so much as for the right. The only obligation which I have a right to assume is to do at any time what I think right. It is truly enough said that a corporation has no conscience; but a corporation of conscientious men is a corporation with a conscience. Law never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice. A common and natural result of an undue respect for law is, that you may see a file of soldiers, colonel, captain, corporal, privates, powder- monkeys, and all, marching in admirable order over hill and dale to the wars, against their wills, ay, against their common sense and consciences, which makes it very steep marching indeed, and produces a palpitation of the heart. They have no doubt that it is a damnable business in which they are concerned; they are all peaceably inclined. Now, what are they? Men at all? or small movable forts and magazines, at the service of some unscrupulous man in power? Visit the Navy-Yard, and behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such as it can make a man with its black arts- a mere shadow and reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and standing, and already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniments, though it may be, "Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried." The mass of men serve the state thus, not as men mainly, but as machines, with their bodies. They are the standing army, and the militia, jailers, constables, posse comitatus, etc. In most cases there is no free exercise whatever of the judgment or of the moral sense; but they put themselves on a level with wood and earth and stones; and wooden men can perhaps be manufactured that will serve the purpose as well. Such command no more respect than men of straw or a lump of dirt. They have the same sort of worth only as horses and dogs. Yet such as these even are commonly esteemed good citizens. Others- as most legislators, politicians, lawyers, ministers, and office-holders- serve the state chiefly with their heads; and, as they rarely make any moral distinctions, they are as likely to serve the devil, without intending it, as God. A very few- as heroes, patriots, martyrs, reformers in the great sense, and men- serve the state with their consciences also, and so necessarily resist it for the most part; and they are commonly treated as enemies by it. A wise man will only be useful as a man, and will not submit to be "clay," and "stop a hole to keep the wind away," but leave that office to his dust at least: "I am too high-born to be propertied, To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man and instrument To any sovereign state throughout the world." He who gives himself entirely to his fellow-men appears to them useless and selfish; but he who gives himself partially to them is pronounced a benefactor and philanthropist. How does it become a man to behave toward this American government today? I answer, that he cannot without disgrace be associated with it. I cannot for an instant recognize that political organization as my government which is the slave's government also. All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. But almost all say that such is not the case now. But such was the case, they think, in the Revolution Of '75. If one were to tell me that this was a bad government because it taxed certain foreign commodities brought to its ports, it is most probable that I should not make an ado about it, for I can do without them. All machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough good to counterbalance the evil. At any rate, it is a great evil to make a stir about it. But when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer. In other words, when a sixth of the population of a nation which has undertaken to be the refuge of liberty are slaves, and a whole country is unjustly overrun and conquered by a foreign army, and subjected to military law, I think that it is not too soon for honest men to rebel and revolutionize. What makes this duty the more urgent is the fact that the country so overrun is not our own, but ours is the invading army. Paley, a common authority with many on moral questions, in his chapter on the "Duty of Submission to Civil Government," resolves all civil obligation into expediency; and he proceeds to say that "so long as the interest of the whole society requires it, that is, so long as the established government cannot be resisted or changed without public inconveniency, it is the will of God... that the established government be obeyed- and no longer. This principle being admitted, the justice of every particular case of resistance is reduced to a computation of the quantity of the danger and grievance on the one side, and of the probability and expense of redressing it on the other." Of this, he says, every man shall judge for himself. But Paley appears never to have contemplated those cases to which the rule of expediency does not apply, in which a people, as well as an individual, must do justice, cost what it may. If I have unjustly wrested a plank from a drowning man, I must restore it to him though I drown myself. This, according to Paley, would be inconvenient. But he that would save his life, in such a case, shall lose it. This people must cease to hold slaves, and to make war on Mexico, though it cost them their existence as a people. In their practice, nations agree with Paley; but does any one think that Massachusetts does exactly what is right at the present crisis? "A drab of state, a cloth-o'-silver slut, To have her train borne up, and her soul trail in the dirt." Practically speaking, the opponents to a reform in Massachusetts are not a hundred thousand politicians at the South, but a hundred thousand merchants and farmers here, who are more interested in commerce and agriculture than they are in humanity, and are not prepared to do justice to the slave and to Mexico, cost what it may. I quarrel not with far-off foes, but with those who, near at home, cooperate with, and do the bidding of those far away, and without whom the latter would be harmless. We are accustomed to say, that the mass of men are unprepared; but improvement is slow, because the few are not materially wiser or better than the many. It is not so important that many should be as good as you, as that there be some absolute goodness somewhere; for that will leaven the whole lump. There are thousands who are in opinion opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do nothing to put an end to them; who, esteeming themselves children of Washington and Franklin, sit down with their hands in their pockets, and say that they know not what to do, and do nothing; who even postpone the question of freedom to the question of free trade, and quietly read the prices-current along with the latest advices from Mexico, after dinner, and, it may be, fall asleep over them both. What is the price-current of an honest man and patriot today? They hesitate, and they regret, and sometimes they petition; but they do nothing in earnest and with effect. They will wait, well disposed, for others to remedy the evil, that they may no longer have it to regret. At most, they give only a cheap vote, and a feeble countenance and God-speed, to the right, as it goes by them. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue to one virtuous man. But it is easier to deal with the real possessor of a thing than with the temporary guardian of it. All voting is a sort of gaming, like checkers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally accompanies it. The character of the voters is not staked. I cast my vote, perchance, as I think right; but I am not vitally concerned that that right should prevail. I am willing to leave it to the majority. Its obligation, therefore, never exceeds that of expediency. Even voting for the right is doing nothing for it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should prevail. A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, nor wish it to prevail through the power of the majority. There is but little virtue in the action of masses of men. When the majority shall at length vote for the abolition of slavery, it will be because they are indifferent to slavery, or because there is but little slavery left to be abolished by their vote. They will then be the only slaves. Only his vote can hasten the abolition of slavery who asserts his own freedom by his vote. I hear of a convention to be held at Baltimore, or elsewhere, for the selection of a candidate for the Presidency, made up chiefly of editors, and men who are politicians by profession; but I think, what is it to any independent, intelligent, and respectable man what decision they may come to? Shall we not have the advantage of his wisdom and honesty, nevertheless? Can we not count upon some independent votes? Are there not many individuals in the country who do not attend conventions? But no: I find that the respectable man, so called, has immediately drifted from his position, and despairs of his country, when his country has more reason to despair of him. He forthwith adopts one of the candidates thus selected as the only available one, thus proving that he is himself available for any purposes of the demagogue. His vote is of no more worth than that of any unprincipled foreigner or hireling native, who may have been bought. O for a man who is a man, and, as my neighbor says, has a bone in his back which you cannot pass your hand through! Our statistics are at fault: the population has been returned too large. How many men are there to a square thousand miles in this country? Hardly one. Does not America offer any inducement for men to settle here? The American has dwindled into an Odd Fellow-one who may be known by the development of his organ of gregariousness, and a manifest lack of intellect and cheerful self-reliance; whose first and chief concern, on coming into the world, is to see that the almshouses are in good repair; and, before yet he has lawfully donned the virile garb, to collect a fund for the support of the widows and orphans that may be; who, in short, ventures to live only by the aid of the Mutual Insurance company, which has promised to bury him decently. It is not a man's duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous, wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support. If I devote myself to other pursuits and contemplations, I must first see, at least, that I do not pursue them sitting upon another man's shoulders. I must get off him first, that he may pursue his contemplations too. See what gross inconsistency is tolerated. I have heard some of my townsmen say, "I should like to have them order me out to help put down an insurrection of the slaves, or to march to Mexico;- see if I would go"; and yet these very men have each, directly by their allegiance, and so indirectly, at least, by their money, furnished a substitute. The soldier is applauded who refuses to serve in an unjust war by those who do not refuse to sustain the unjust government which makes the war; is applauded by those whose own act and authority he disregards and sets at naught; as if the state were penitent to that degree that it differed one to scourge it while it sinned, but not to that degree that it left off sinning for a moment. Thus, under the name of Order and Civil Government, we are all made at last to pay homage to and support our own meanness. After the first blush of sin comes its indifference; and from immoral it becomes, as it were, unmoral, and not quite unnecessary to that life which we have made. The broadest and most prevalent error requires the most disinterested virtue to sustain it. The slight reproach to which the virtue of patriotism is commonly liable, the noble are most likely to incur. Those who, while they disapprove of the character and measures of a government, yield to it their allegiance and support are undoubtedly its most conscientious supporters, and so frequently the most serious obstacles to reform. Some are petitioning the State to dissolve the Union, to disregard the requisitions of the President. Why do they not dissolve it themselves- the union between themselves and the State- and refuse to pay their quota into its treasury? Do not they stand in the same relation to the State that the State does to the Union? And have not the same reasons prevented the State from resisting the Union which have prevented them from resisting the State? How can a man be satisfied to entertain an opinion merely, and enjoy it? Is there any enjoyment in it, if his opinion is that he is aggrieved? If you are cheated out of a single dollar by your neighbor, you do not rest satisfied with knowing that you are cheated, or with saying that you are cheated, or even with petitioning him to pay you your due; but you take effectual steps at once to obtain the full amount, and see that you are never cheated again. Action from principle, the perception and the performance of right, changes things and relations; it is essentially revolutionary, and does not consist wholly with anything which was. It not only divides States and churches, it divides families; ay, it divides the individual, separating the diabolical in him from the divine. Unjust laws exist: shall we be content to obey them, or shall we endeavor to amend them, and obey them until we have succeeded, or shall we transgress them at once? Men generally, under such a government as this, think that they ought to wait until they have persuaded the majority to alter them. They think that, if they should resist, the remedy would be worse than the evil. But it is the fault of the government itself that the remedy is worse than the evil. It makes it worse. Why is it not more apt to anticipate and provide for reform? Why does it not cherish its wise minority? Why does it cry and resist before it is hurt? Why does it not encourage its citizens to be on the alert to point out its faults, and do better than it would have them? Why does it always crucify Christ, and excommunicate Copernicus and Luther, and pronounce Washington and Franklin rebels? One would think, that a deliberate and practical denial of its authority was the only offence never contemplated by government; else, why has it not assigned its definite, its suitable and proportionate, penalty? If a man who has no property refuses but once to earn nine shillings for the State, he is put in prison for a period unlimited by any law that I know, and determined only by the discretion of those who placed him there; but if he should steal ninety times nine shillings from the State, he is soon permitted to go at large again. If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of government, let it go, let it go: perchance it will wear smooth- certainly the machine will wear out. If the injustice has a spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, then perhaps you may consider whether the remedy will not be worse than the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn. As for adopting the ways which the State has provided for remedying the evil, I know not of such ways. They take too much time, and a man's life will be gone. I have other affairs to attend to. I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it good or bad. A man has not everything to do, but something; and because he cannot do everything, it is not necessary that he should do something wrong. It is not my business to be petitioning the Governor or the Legislature any more than it is theirs to petition me; and if they should not bear my petition, what should I do then? But in this case the State has provided no way: its very Constitution is the evil. This may seem to be harsh and stubborn and unconciliatory; but it is to treat with the utmost kindness and consideration the only spirit that can appreciate or deserves it. So is an change for the better, like birth and death, which convulse the body. I do not hesitate to say, that those who call themselves Abolitionists should at once effectually withdraw their support, both in person and property, from the government of Massachusetts, and not wait till they constitute a majority of one, before they suffer the right to prevail through them. I think that it is enough if they have God on their side, without waiting for that other one. Moreover, any man more right than his neighbors constitutes a majority of one already. I meet this American government, or its representative, the State government, directly, and face to face, once a year- no more- in the person of its tax- gatherer; this is the only mode in which a man situated as I am necessarily meets it; and it then says distinctly, Recognize me; and the simplest, the most effectual, and, in the present posture of affairs, the indispensablest mode of treating with it on this head, of expressing your little satisfaction with and love for it, is to deny it then. My civil neighbor, the tax-gatherer, is the very man I have to deal with- for it is, after all, with men and not with parchment that I quarrel- and he has voluntarily chosen to be an agent of the government. How shall he ever know well what he is and does as an officer of the government, or as a man, until he is obliged to consider whether he shall treat me, his neighbor, for whom he has respect, as a neighbor and well-disposed man, or as a maniac and disturber of the peace, and see if he can get over this obstruction to his neighborliness without a ruder and more impetuous thought or speech corresponding with his action. I know this well, that if one thousand, if one hundred, if ten men whom I could name- if ten honest men only- ay, if one HONEST man, in this State of Massachusetts, ceasing to hold slaves, were actually to withdraw from this copartnership, and be locked up in the county jail therefor, it would be the abolition of slavery in America. For it matters not how small the beginning may seem to be: what is once well done is done forever. But we love better to talk about it: that we say is our mission, Reform keeps many scores of newspapers in its service, but not one man. If my esteemed neighbor, the State's ambassador, who will devote his days to the settlement of the question of human rights in the Council Chamber, instead of being threatened with the prisons of Carolina, were to sit down the prisoner of Massachusetts, that State which is so anxious to foist the sin of slavery upon her sister- though at present she can discover only an act of inhospitality to be the ground of a quarrel with her- the Legislature would not wholly waive the subject the following winter. Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. The proper place today, the only place which Massachusetts has provided for her freer and less desponding spirits, is in her prisons, to be put out and locked out of the State by her own act, as they have already put themselves out by their principles. It is there that the fugitive slave, and the Mexican prisoner on parole, and the Indian come to plead the wrongs of his race should find them; on that separate, but more free and honorable, ground, where the State places those who are not with her, but against her- the only house in a slave State in which a free man can abide with honor. If any think that their influence would be lost there, and their voices no longer afflict the ear of the State, that they would not be as an enemy within its walls, they do not know by how much truth is stronger than error, nor how much more eloquently and effectively he can combat injustice who has experienced a little in his own person. Cast your whole vote, not a strip of paper merely, but your whole influence. A minority is powerless while it conforms to the majority; it is not even a minority then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight. If the alternative is to keep all just men in prison, or give up war and slavery, the State will not hesitate which to choose. If a thousand men were not to pay their tax-bills this year, that would not be a violent and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to commit violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the definition of a peaceable revolution, if any such is possible. If the tax-gatherer, or any other public officer, asks me, as one has done, "But what shall I do?" my answer is, "If you really wish to do anything, resign your office." When the subject has refused allegiance, and the officer has resigned his office, then the revolution is accomplished. But even suppose blood should flow. Is there not a sort of blood shed when the conscience is wounded? Through this wound a man's real manhood and immortality flow out, and he bleeds to an everlasting death. I see this blood flowing now. I have contemplated the imprisonment of the offender, rather than the seizure of his goods- though both will serve the same purpose- because they who assert the purest right, and consequently are most dangerous to a corrupt State, commonly have not spent much time in accumulating property. To such the State renders comparatively small service, and a slight tax is wont to appear exorbitant, particularly if they are obliged to earn it by special labor with their hands. If there were one who lived wholly without the use of money, the State itself would hesitate to demand it of him. But the rich man- not to make any invidious comparison- is always sold to the institution which makes him rich. Absolutely speaking, the more money, the less virtue; for money comes between a man and his objects, and obtains them for him; and it was certainly no great virtue to obtain it. It puts to rest many questions which he would otherwise be taxed to answer; while the only new question which it puts is the hard but superfluous one, how to spend it. Thus his moral ground is taken from under his feet. The opportunities of living are diminished in proportion as what are called the "means" are increased. The best thing a man can do for his culture when he is rich is to endeavor to carry out those schemes which he entertained when he was poor. Christ answered the Herodians according to their condition. "Show me the tribute-money," said he;- and one took a penny out of his pocket;- if you use money which has the image of Caesar on it, and which he has made current and valuable, that is, if you are men of the State, and gladly enjoy the advantages of Caesar's government, then pay him back some of his own when he demands it. "Render therefore to Caesar that which is Caesar's, and to God those things which are God's"- leaving them no wiser than before as to which was which; for they did not wish to know. When I converse with the freest of my neighbors, I perceive that, whatever they may say about the magnitude and seriousness of the question, and their regard for the public tranquillity, the long and the short of the matter is, that they cannot spare the protection of the existing government, and they dread the consequences to their property and families of disobedience to it. For my own part, I should not like to think that I ever rely on the protection of the State. But, if I deny the authority of the State when it presents its tax-bill, it will soon take and waste all my property, and so harass me and my children without end. This is hard. This makes it impossible for a man to live honestly, and at the same time comfortably, in outward respects. It will not be worth the while to accumulate property; that would be sure to go again. You must hire or squat somewhere, and raise but a small crop, and eat that soon. You must live within yourself, and depend upon yourself always tucked up and ready for a start, and not have many affairs. A man may grow rich in Turkey even, if he will be in all respects a good subject of the Turkish government. Confucius said: "If a state is governed by the principles of reason, poverty and misery are subjects of shame; if a state is not governed by the principles of reason, riches and honors are the subjects of shame." No: until I want the protection of Massachusetts to be extended to me in some distant Southern port, where my liberty is endangered, or until I am bent solely on building up an estate at home by peaceful enterprise, I can afford to refuse allegiance to Massachusetts, and her right to my property and life. It costs me less in every sense to incur the penalty of disobedience to the State than it would to obey. I should feel as if I were worth less in that case. Some years ago, the State met me in behalf of the Church, and commanded me to pay a certain sum toward the support of a clergyman whose preaching my father attended, but never I myself. "Pay," it said, "or be locked up in the jail." I declined to pay. But, unfortunately, another man saw fit to pay it. I did not see why the schoolmaster should be taxed to support the priest, and not the priest the schoolmaster; for I was not the State's schoolmaster, but I supported myself by voluntary subscription. I did not see why the lyceum should not present its tax-bill, and have the State to back its demand, as well as the Church. However, at the request of the selectmen, I condescended to make some such statement as this in writing:- "Know all men by these presents, that I, Henry Thoreau, do not wish to be regarded as a member of any incorporated society which I have not joined." This I gave to the town clerk; and he has it. The State, having thus learned that I did not wish to be regarded as a member of that church, has never made a like demand on me since; though it said that it must adhere to its original presumption that time. If I had known how to name them, I should then have signed off in detail from all the societies which I never signed on to; but I did not know where to find a complete list. I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I was put into a jail once on this account, for one night; and, as I stood considering the walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, I could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up. I wondered that it should have concluded at length that this was the best use it could put me to, and had never thought to avail itself of my services in some way. I saw that, if there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through before they could get to be as free as I was. I did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar. I felt as if I alone of all my townsmen had paid my tax. They plainly did not know how to treat me, but behaved like persons who are underbred. In every threat and in every compliment there was a blunder; for they thought that my chief desire was to stand the other side of that stone wall. I could not but smile to see how industriously they locked the door on my meditations, which followed them out again without let or hindrance, and they were really all that was dangerous. As they could not reach me, they had resolved to punish my body; just as boys, if they cannot come at some person against whom they have a spite, will abuse his dog. I saw that the State was half-witted, that it was timid as a lone woman with her silver spoons, and that it did not know its friends from its foes, and I lost all my remaining respect for it, and pitied it. Thus the State never intentionally confronts a man's sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses. It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength. I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest. What force has a multitude? They only can force me who obey a higher law than I. They force me to become like themselves. I do not hear of men being forced to have this way or that by masses of men. What sort of life were that to live? When I meet a government which says to me, "Your money or your life," why should I be in haste to give it my money? It may be in a great strait, and not know what to do: I cannot help that. It must help itself; do as I do. It is not worth the while to snivel about it. I am not responsible for the successful working of the machinery of society. I am not the son of the engineer. I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man. The night in prison was novel and interesting enough. The prisoners in their shirt-sleeves were enjoying a chat and the evening air in the doorway, when I entered. But the jailer said, "Come, boys, it is time to lock up"; and so they dispersed, and I heard the sound of their steps returning into the hollow apartments. My room-mate was introduced to me by the jailer as "a first-rate fellow and a clever man." When the door was locked, he showed me where to hang my hat, and how he managed matters there. The rooms were whitewashed once a month; and this one, at least, was the whitest, most simply furnished, and probably the neatest apartment in the town. He naturally wanted to know where I came from, and what brought me there; and, when I had told him, I asked him in my turn how he came there, presuming him to be an honest man, of course; and, as the world goes, I believe he was. "Why," said he, "they accuse me of burning a barn; but I never did it." As near as I could discover, he had probably gone to bed in a barn when drunk, and smoked his pipe there; and so a barn was burnt. He had the reputation of being a clever man, had been there some three months waiting for his trial to come on, and would have to wait as much longer; but he was quite domesticated and contented, since he got his board for nothing, and thought that he was well treated. He occupied one window, and I the other; and I saw that if one stayed there long, his principal business would be to look out the window. I had soon read all the tracts that were left there, and examined where former prisoners had broken out, and where a grate had been sawed off, and heard the history of the various occupants of that room; for I found that even here there was a history and a gossip which never circulated beyond the walls of the jail. Probably this is the only house in the town where verses are composed, which are afterward printed in a circular form, but not published. I was shown quite a long list of verses which were composed by some young men who had been detected in an attempt to escape, who avenged themselves by singing them. I pumped my fellow-prisoner as dry as I could, for fear I should never see him again; but at length he showed me which was my bed, and left me to blow out the lamp. It was like travelling into a far country, such as I had never expected to behold, to lie there for one night. It seemed to me that I never had heard the town clock strike before, nor the evening sounds of the village; for we slept with the windows open, which were inside the grating. It was to see my native village in the light of the Middle Ages, and our Concord was turned into a Rhine stream, and visions of knights and castles passed before me. They were the voices of old burghers that I heard in the streets. I was an involuntary spectator and auditor of whatever was done and said in the kitchen of the adjacent village inn- a wholly new and rare experience to me. It was a closer view of my native town. I was fairly inside of it. I never had seen its institutions before. This is one of its peculiar institutions; for it is a shire town. I began to comprehend what its inhabitants were about. In the morning, our breakfasts were put through the hole in the door, in small oblong-square tin pans, made to fit, and holding a pint of chocolate, with brown bread, and an iron spoon. When they called for the vessels again, I was green enough to return what bread I had left; but my comrade seized it, and said that I should lay that up for lunch or dinner. Soon after he was let out to work at haying in a neighboring field, whither he went every day, and would not be back till noon; so he bade me good-day, saying that he doubted if he should see me again. When I came out of prison- for some one interfered, and paid that tax- I did not perceive that great changes had taken place on the common, such as he observed who went in a youth and emerged a tottering and gray-headed man; and yet a change had to my eyes come over the scene- the town, and State, and country- greater than any that mere time could effect. I saw yet more distinctly the State in which I lived. I saw to what extent the people among whom I lived could be trusted as good neighbors and friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that they did not greatly propose to do right; that they were a distinct race from me by their prejudices and superstitions, as the Chinamen and Malays are; that in their sacrifices to humanity they ran no risks, not even to their property; that after all they were not so noble but they treated the thief as he had treated them, and hoped, by a certain outward observance and a few prayers, and by walking in a particular straight though useless path from time to time, to save their souls. This may be to judge my neighbors harshly; for I believe that many of them are not aware that they have such an institution as the jail in their village. It was formerly the custom in our village, when a poor debtor came out of jail, for his acquaintances to salute him, looking through their fingers, which were crossed to represent the grating of a jail window, "How do ye do?" My neighbors did not thus salute me, but first looked at me, and then at one another, as if I had returned from a long journey. I was put into jail as I was going to the shoemaker's to get a shoe which was mended. When I was let out the next morning, I proceeded to finish my errand, and, having put on my mended shoe, joined a huckleberry party, who were impatient to put themselves under my conduct; and in half an hour- for the horse was soon tackled- was in the midst of a huckleberry field, on one of our highest hills, two miles off, and then the State was nowhere to be seen. This is the whole history of "My Prisons." I have never declined paying the highway tax, because I am as desirous of being a good neighbor as I am of being a bad subject; and as for supporting schools, I am doing my part to educate my fellow-countrymen now. It is for no particular item in the tax-bill that I refuse to pay it. I simply wish to refuse allegiance to the State, to withdraw and stand aloof from it effectually. I do not care to trace the course of my dollar, if I could, till it buys a man or a musket to shoot one with- the dollar is innocent- but I am concerned to trace the effects of my allegiance. In fact, I quietly declare war with the State, after my fashion, though I will still make what use and get what advantage of her I can, as is usual in such cases. If others pay the tax which is demanded of me, from a sympathy with the State, they do but what they have already done in their own case, or rather they abet injustice to a greater extent than the State requires. If they pay the tax from a mistaken interest in the individual taxed, to save his property, or prevent his going to jail, it is because they have not considered wisely how far they let their private feelings interfere with the public good. This, then, is my position at present. But one cannot be too much on his guard in such a case, lest his action be biased by obstinacy or an undue regard for the opinions of men. Let him see that he does only what belongs to himself and to the hour. I think sometimes, Why, this people mean well, they are only ignorant; they would do better if they knew how: why give your neighbors this pain to treat you as they are not inclined to? But I think again, This is no reason why I should do as they do, or permit others to suffer much greater pain of a different kind. Again, I sometimes say to myself, When many millions of men, without heat, without ill will, without personal feeling of any kind, demand of you a few shillings only, without the possibility, such is their constitution, of retracting or altering their present demand, and without the possibility, on your side, of appeal to any other millions, why expose yourself to this overwhelming brute force? You do not resist cold and hunger, the winds and the waves, thus obstinately; you quietly submit to a thousand similar necessities. You do not put your head into the fire. But just in proportion as I regard this as not wholly a brute force, but partly a human force, and consider that I have relations to those millions as to so many millions of men, and not of mere brute or inanimate things, I see that appeal is possible, first and instantaneously, from them to the Maker of them, and, secondly, from them to themselves. But if I put my head deliberately into the fire, there is no appeal to fire or to the Maker of fire, and I have only myself to blame. If I could convince myself that I have any right to be satisfied with men as they are, and to treat them accordingly, and not according, in some respects, to my requisitions and expectations of what they and I ought to be, then, like a good Mussulman and fatalist, I should endeavor to be satisfied with things as they are, and say it is the will of God. And, above all, there is this difference between resisting this and a purely brute or natural force, that I can resist this with some effect; but I cannot expect, like Orpheus, to change the nature of the rocks and trees and beasts. I do not wish to quarrel with any man or nation. I do not wish to split hairs, to make fine distinctions, or set myself up as better than my neighbors. I seek rather, I may say, even an excuse for conforming to the laws of the land. I am but too ready to conform to them. Indeed, I have reason to suspect myself on this head; and each year, as the tax-gatherer comes round, I find myself disposed to review the acts and position of the general and State governments, and the spirit of the people, to discover a pretext for conformity. "We must affect our country as our parents, And if at any time we alienate Our love or industry from doing it honor, We must respect effects and teach the soul Matter of conscience and religion, And not desire of rule or benefit." I believe that the State will soon be able to take all my work of this sort out of my hands, and then I shall be no better a patriot than my fellow-countrymen. Seen from a lower point of view, the Constitution, with all its faults, is very good; the law and the courts are very respectable; even this State and this American government are, in many respects, very admirable, and rare things, to be thankful for, such as a great many have described them; but seen from a point of view a little higher, they are what I have described them; seen from a higher still, and the highest, who shall say what they are, or that they are worth looking at or thinking of at all? However, the government does not concern me much, and I shall bestow the fewest possible thoughts on it. It is not many moments that I live under a government, even in this world. If a man is thought-free, fancy-free, imagination-free, that which is not never for a long time appearing to be to him, unwise rulers or reformers cannot fatally interrupt him. I know that most men think differently from myself; but those whose lives are by profession devoted to the study of these or kindred subjects content me as little as any. Statesmen and legislators, standing so completely within the institution, never distinctly and nakedly behold it. They speak of moving society, but have no resting-place without it. They may be men of a certain experience and discrimination, and have no doubt invented ingenious and even useful systems, for which we sincerely thank them; but all their wit and usefulness lie within certain not very wide limits. They are wont to forget that the world is not governed by policy and expediency. Webster never goes behind government, and so cannot speak with authority about it. His words are wisdom to those legislators who contemplate no essential reform in the existing government; but for thinkers, and those who legislate for all time, he never once glances at the subject. I know of those whose serene and wise speculations on this theme would soon reveal the limits of his mind's range and hospitality. Yet, compared with the cheap professions of most reformers, and the still cheaper wisdom and eloquence of politicians in general, his are almost the only sensible and valuable words, and we thank Heaven for him. Comparatively, he is always strong, original, and, above all, practical. Still, his quality is not wisdom, but prudence. The lawyer's truth is not Truth, but consistency or a consistent expediency. Truth is always in harmony with herself, and is not concerned chiefly to reveal the justice that may consist with wrong-doing. He well deserves to be called, as he has been called, the Defender of the Constitution. There are really no blows to be given by him but defensive ones. He is not a leader, but a follower. His leaders are the men of '87- "I have never made an effort," he says, "and never propose to make an effort; I have never countenanced an effort, and never mean to countenance an effort, to disturb the arrangement as originally made, by which the various States came into the Union." Still thinking of the sanction which the Constitution gives to slavery, he says, "Because it was a part of the original compact- let it stand." Notwithstanding his special acuteness and ability, he is unable to take a fact out of its merely political relations, and behold it as it lies absolutely to be disposed of by the intellect- what, for instance, it behooves a man to do here in America today with regard to slavery- but ventures, or is driven, to make some such desperate answer as the following, while professing to speak absolutely, and as a private man- from which what new and singular code of social duties might be inferred? "The manner," says he, "in which the governments of those States where slavery exists are to regulate it is for their own consideration, under their responsibility to their constituents, to the general laws of propriety, humanity, and justice, and to God. Associations formed elsewhere, springing from a feeling of humanity, or any other cause, have nothing whatever to do with it. They have never received any encouragement from me, and they never will." They who know of no purer sources of truth, who have traced up its stream no higher, stand, and wisely stand, by the Bible and the Constitution, and drink at it there with reverence and humility; but they who behold where it comes trickling into this lake or that pool, gird up their loins once more, and continue their pilgrimage toward its fountain-head. No man with a genius for legislation has appeared in America. They are rare in the history of the world. There are orators, politicians, and eloquent men, by the thousand; but the speaker has not yet opened his mouth to speak who is capable of settling the much-vexed questions of the day. We love eloquence for its own sake, and not for any truth which it may utter, or any heroism it may inspire. Our legislators have not yet learned the comparative value of free trade and of freedom, of union, and of rectitude, to a nation. They have no genius or talent for comparatively humble questions of taxation and finance, commerce and manufactures and agriculture. If we were left solely to the wordy wit of legislators in Congress for our guidance, uncorrected by the seasonable experience and the effectual complaints of the people, America would not long retain her rank among the nations. For eighteen hundred years, though perchance I have no right to say it, the New Testament has been written; yet where is the legislator who has wisdom and practical talent enough to avail himself of the light which it sheds on the science of legislation? The authority of government, even such as I am willing to submit to- for I will cheerfully obey those who know and can do better than I, and in many things even those who neither know nor can do so well- is still an impure one: to be strictly just, it must have the sanction and consent of the governed. It can have no pure right over my person and property but what I concede to it. The progress from an absolute to a limited monarchy, from a limited monarchy to a democracy, is a progress toward a true respect for the individual. Even the Chinese philosopher was wise enough to regard the individual as the basis of the empire. Is a democracy, such as we know it, the last improvement possible in government? Is it not possible to take a step further towards recognizing and organizing the rights of man? There will never be a really free and enlightened State until the State comes to recognize the individual as a higher and independent power, from which all its own power and authority are derived, and treats him accordingly. I please myself with imagining a State at least which can afford to be just to all men, and to treat the individual with respect as a neighbor; which even would not think it inconsistent with its own repose if a few were to live aloof from it, not meddling with it, nor embraced by it, who fulfilled all the duties of neighbors and fellow-men. A State which bore this kind of fruit, and suffered it to drop off as fast as it ripened, would prepare the way for a still more perfect and glorious State, which also I have imagined, but not yet anywhere seen. THE END"

Natural Fibers Overview of Natural Fibers Natural fibers are derived from plants and animals, making them biodegradable and environmentally friendly. They have been used for thousands of years, with origins tracing back to ancient civilizations. Common types include cotton, jute, linen, wool, cashmere, and silk, each with unique properties and uses. Detailed Descriptions of Key Natural Fibers Cotton: Originating around 3000 BC, cotton is the most universal fiber known for its high absorbency and comfort. However, it wrinkles easily and shrinks when washed. Jute: Known as burlap, jute is one of the cheapest fibers, primarily used for carpet backing. It is brittle and breaks easily, typically woven in a plain weave. Linen: Derived from the flax plant, linen is elegant and durable, becoming softer with each wash. It is the strongest vegetable fiber, often used in high-end apparel. Wool: An animal protein fiber from sheep, wool is warm and resilient but may irritate sensitive skin. It requires dry cleaning to maintain its shape and is susceptible to moth damage. Cashmere: A luxurious fiber from goats, cashmere is soft and warm, with a yield of only half a pound per goat per year, making it rare and expensive. Silk: Produced by silkworms since 2460 B.C., silk is known for its strength and luxurious feel, often used in high-end fabrics like brocade and chiffon. Historical Context and Uses The use of natural fibers dates back to ancient civilizations, with cotton and silk being traded along the Silk Road. Jute and linen have been staples in various cultures for their durability and versatility in textiles. Wool has been a primary material for clothing in colder climates, while silk has been associated with luxury and wealth throughout history. Historical Context and Usage The use of cotton dates back to ancient civilizations, with evidence of its cultivation in the Indus Valley. Jute has been utilized for centuries, primarily in South Asia, for making ropes and burlap. Linen was favored in ancient Egypt for its coolness and comfort in hot climates, often used in burial garments. Wool has been a staple in colder regions, providing warmth and insulation for centuries. Cashmere became popular in Europe during the 18th century, symbolizing luxury and wealth. Silk was a major trade commodity along the Silk Road, influencing cultural exchanges between East and West. Manufactured Fibers Overview of Manufactured Fibers Manufactured fibers are created through chemical processes from substances that are not fibers at any stage of production. They allow for customization and enhancement of properties beyond what natural fibers can offer, such as durability and elasticity. Key Types of Manufactured Fibers Rayon: Made from regenerated cellulose, rayon was first produced in the U.S. in 1911. It is soft but loses strength when wet and should not be ironed with high heat. Nylon: Developed by DuPont in 1939, nylon is the first synthetic fabric, used in apparel and non-apparel items like tires and airbags. It is known for its quick-drying properties. Polyester: Originating in the 1930s, polyester is the most widely used manmade fiber, resistant to wrinkles but can feel clammy against the skin. Spandex: Introduced in 1959, spandex is highly elastic, used in athletic wear and swimwear, but is sensitive to chlorine. Applications and Characteristics Manufactured fibers are used in a wide range of products, from clothing to industrial applications, due to their versatility. They can be engineered for specific functions, such as moisture-wicking in athletic wear or durability in outdoor gear. The development of synthetic fibers has revolutionized the textile industry, allowing for mass production and lower costs. Applications and Innovations Rayon is often used in apparel and medical supplies due to its softness and versatility. Nylon's strength and elasticity make it suitable for a wide range of applications, from clothing to industrial uses. Polyester's resistance to wrinkles and fading has made it a popular choice for everyday clothing and home textiles. Spandex's elasticity allows for comfortable, form-fitting garments, revolutionizing activewear and swimwear design. Fabric Construction Techniques Weaving Techniques Plain Weave: The simplest and most common weave, characterized by a checkerboard pattern. Examples include burlap and linen. Twill Weave: Features diagonal lines, providing durability. Denim is a popular example, known for its ruggedness. Satin Weave: Produces a shiny surface by floating warp yarns over filling yarns, commonly used in luxurious fabrics. Specialized Weaves Basket Weave: A variation of plain weave that uses two or more warp and filling threads, resulting in a looser fabric. Pile Weave: Creates a three-dimensional texture, as seen in velvet and terry cloth, which is highly absorbent. Jacquard Weave: Allows for intricate patterns to be woven into the fabric, used in brocade and decorative textiles. Fabric Properties and Uses Different weaves impart unique properties to fabrics, such as breathability, durability, and aesthetic appeal. Understanding the weave type is crucial for selecting the right fabric for specific applications, such as clothing, upholstery, or industrial use. The choice of fiber and weave affects the final product's performance, care requirements, and longevity. Overview of Weaving Techniques Fabric construction involves various weaving techniques that determine the texture, strength, and appearance of the fabric. Common weaving methods include plain weave, twill weave, satin weave, and pile weave, each with unique characteristics and applications. Detailed Descriptions of Weaving Techniques Plain Weave: The simplest and most common weave, characterized by a checkerboard pattern. Examples include burlap and linen. Twill Weave: Features diagonal lines, providing durability and a unique texture. Denim is a well-known example of twill weave. Satin Weave: Known for its shiny surface, satin weave involves floating yarns to create a smooth finish, often used in luxurious fabrics. Pile Weave: Creates a three-dimensional texture, with examples including velvet and terry cloth, known for their softness and absorbency. Applications of Weaving Techniques Plain weave fabrics are widely used in everyday clothing and home textiles due to their simplicity and versatility. Twill weave fabrics like denim are popular in casual wear and home decor, valued for their durability. Satin weave is often used in evening wear and formal attire, providing a luxurious appearance. Pile weave fabrics are commonly used in towels and upholstery, offering comfort and absorbency. Types of Weaves Plain Weave: Balanced, no right or wrong side, wrinkles easily. Examples include calico, batiste, and muslin. Rib Weave: Includes broadcloth and poplin, characterized by fine crosswise ribs and high thread counts, often used in shirts. Basket Weave: A variation of plain weave that uses multiple warp and filling threads as one, resulting in a looser weave. Specialty Fabrics Velvet: A luxurious fabric made from silk or rayon, featuring a soft texture and rich appearance. Corduroy: A napped fabric with ridges, made from two sets of filling yarns, providing a unique texture. Brocade: A heavy fabric with raised patterns, often produced using jacquard or dobby weaving techniques. Overview of Textile Fibers Rayon Fiber Rayon is a fiber made from regenerated cellulose derived from trees, first produced in the US in 1911. Originally known as artificial silk, rayon is known for its softness and versatility in applications. It can be woven into apparel or used in non-woven forms for medical supplies, feminine products, and filters. Key characteristics include shrinkage and loss of strength when wet; it should not be ironed with hot temperatures. Nylon Developed by DuPont in 1939, nylon is a synthetic fiber made from cotton. Commonly used in apparel such as hosiery and in non-apparel items like tires, airbags, and fishing lines. Known for its easy care, quick drying properties, and low-temperature ironing requirements. Polyester Originating in the 1930s in England, polyester is one of the most widely used manmade fibers. It is utilized in both apparel (knits and woven fabrics) and non-apparel items like seat belts and artificial arteries. Polyester is recognized for its resistance to wrinkles and its somewhat clammy feel. Spandex Created by DuPont in 1959, spandex is known for its exceptional elasticity, stretching up to 500%. Commonly used in swimwear, athletic apparel, and disposable diapers, spandex is sensitive to chlorine damage. Historical Context and Applications Historical Development of Fibers Rayon was the first manmade fiber, marking a significant development in textile technology in the early 20th century. The introduction of nylon in 1939 by DuPont revolutionized the textile industry, leading to the creation of synthetic fabrics. Polyester's rise in the 1930s and spandex's introduction in 1959 further diversified fabric options available for consumers. Applications of Fabrics Apparel: Each fiber has specific applications; for example, rayon is used in clothing, while nylon is favored for hosiery and outdoor gear. Non-Apparel: Many fibers are also used in industrial applications, such as polyester in seat belts and spandex in athletic wear. Medical Uses: Non-woven fabrics like rayon are crucial in medical supplies, showcasing the versatility of textile fibers. ok

Types of simplest straight-chain alkanes

PRE-IB Chemistry Notes (based on your test) 1. Molecular Formula English A molecular formula shows the actual number of atoms in a molecule. Example: * H₂O = 2 hydrogen atoms and 1 oxygen atom * C₆H₁₂O₆ = 6 carbon, 12 hydrogen, 6 oxygen Important * Molecular formula = actual number * Empirical formula = simplest ratio Example: * Molecular formula: C₆H₁₂O₆ * Empirical formula: CH₂O Test question “What information does the molecular formula provide?” Correct answer: ✅ The actual numbers of atoms in a molecule ⸻ Русский Молекулярная формула показывает настоящее количество атомов в молекуле. Пример: * H₂O = 2 атома водорода и 1 атом кислорода * C₆H₁₂O₆ = 6 углеродов, 12 водородов, 6 кислородов Важно * Molecular formula = настоящее количество * Empirical formula = простое соотношение ⸻ 2. Isotopes English Isotopes are atoms of the same element with: * same number of protons * different number of neutrons Example: * Carbon-12 * Carbon-14 Both have: * 6 protons But different neutrons. Formula Neutrons = mass number − atomic number ⸻ Русский Изотопы — это атомы одного элемента: * одинаковое количество протонов * разное количество нейтронов Формула: Нейтроны = массовое число − атомный номер ⸻ 3. Protons, Neutrons and Electrons English Proton number = atomic number Electron number Neutral atom: electrons = protons Ion: * positive ion → lost electrons * negative ion → gained electrons Example ^{43}_{20}Ca^{2+} * protons = 20 * neutrons = 43 − 20 = 23 * electrons = 20 − 2 = 18 ⸻ Русский Протоны = атомный номер Электроны У нейтрального атома: электроны = протоны Ион: * плюс → потерял электроны * минус → получил электроны Пример: Ca²⁺: * 20 протонов * 23 нейтрона * 18 электронов ⸻ 4. Electron Configuration English Electrons fill shells. Rules * 1st shell = 2 electrons * 2nd shell = 8 * 3rd shell = 8 Examples Mg (12): 2,8,2 Cl (17): 2,8,7 Al (13): 2,8,3 Outer shell electrons Mg → 2 Cl → 7 ⸻ Русский Электроны распределяются по оболочкам. Примеры: * Mg = 2,8,2 * Cl = 2,8,7 * Al = 2,8,3 Внешние электроны: * Mg → 2 * Cl → 7 ⸻ 5. Ionic Bonding English Ionic bonding happens when electrons are transferred. * metals lose electrons * non-metals gain electrons Example: Mg + Cl Mg loses 2 electrons. Each chlorine gains 1. Formula: MgCl₂ ⸻ Русский Ионная связь появляется, когда электроны переходят от одного атома к другому. * металл теряет электроны * неметалл получает Пример: MgCl₂ ⸻ 6. Relative Atomic Mass and Relative Formula Mass English Relative Atomic Mass (Ar) Average mass of atoms compared with carbon-12. Example: Cl = 35.5 Relative Formula Mass (Mr) Total of all atomic masses in a formula. Example: H₂O = 2(1) + 16 = 18 ⸻ Русский Relative Atomic Mass Средняя масса атомов элемента. Relative Formula Mass Сумма всех атомных масс в формуле. Пример: H₂O = 18 ⸻ 7. Moles English Formula triangle n=\frac{m}{M} n = moles m = mass M = molar mass Example NaCl: M = 23 + 35.5 = 58.5 If mass = 117 g 117 ÷ 58.5 = 2 mol ⸻ Русский Формула: n = m / M n — моли m — масса M — молярная масса ⸻ 8. Concentration English Formula: c=\frac{n}{V} c = concentration n = moles V = volume in dm³ Important 1000 cm³ = 1 dm³ ⸻ Русский Формула: c = n / V V обязательно в dm³ 1000 cm³ = 1 dm³ ⸻ 9. Acids and Alkalis English Acid Produces H⁺ ions Alkali Produces OH⁻ ions Examples: * HCl = acid * NaOH = alkali ⸻ Русский Кислота выделяет H⁺ Щёлочь выделяет OH⁻ ⸻ 10. Strong and Weak Acids English Strong acid Fully ionizes in water. Example: HCl Weak acid Partially ionizes. Example: CH₃COOH Important Strong ≠ concentrated ⸻ Русский Сильная кислота полностью распадается. Слабая — только частично. ⸻ 11. Amphoteric Compounds English Amphoteric substances can act as: * acid * base Example: Al₂O₃ ⸻ Русский Амфотерные вещества могут быть: * кислотой * основанием ⸻ 12. pH and Indicators English pH scale * below 7 = acid * 7 = neutral * above 7 = alkali Indicators Litmus: * acid → red * alkali → blue Phenolphthalein: * acid → colorless * alkali → pink ⸻ Русский pH: * меньше 7 = кислота * 7 = нейтрально * больше 7 = щёлочь ⸻ 13. Acid-Base Titration English Titration is used to find concentration. Steps 1. Add indicator 2. Add acid/base slowly 3. Endpoint color change 4. Use formula Common indicators * phenolphthalein * methyl orange ⸻ Русский Титрование используют для нахождения концентрации. Шаги: 1. Добавить индикатор 2. Медленно добавлять раствор 3. Смотреть изменение цвета ⸻ 14. Redox Reactions English Oxidation Loss of electrons Reduction Gain of electrons OIL RIG: * Oxidation Is Loss * Reduction Is Gain ⸻ Русский Окисление = потеря электронов Восстановление = получение электронов ⸻ 15. Hydrophobic and Hydrophilic English Hydrophobic “Water-fearing” Does not mix with water. Example: oil Hydrophilic “Water-loving” Mixes with water. Example: salt ⸻ Русский Hydrophobic: не смешивается с водой Hydrophilic: смешивается с водой ⸻ 16. Organic Chemistry Naming (IMPORTANT FOR TEST) English Alkane Only single bonds General formula: C_nH_{2n+2} Alkene Contains double bond General formula: C_nH_{2n} Alkyne Contains triple bond General formula: C_nH_{2n-2} ⸻ Русский Алкан: только одинарные связи Алкен: двойная связь Алкин: тройная связь ⸻ 17. IUPAC Naming Quick Rules English Step 1 Find longest chain. Step 2 Count carbons: * meth = 1 * eth = 2 * prop = 3 * but = 4 * pent = 5 * hex = 6 Step 3 Find double bond. Step 4 Number chain from nearest double bond. Step 5 Name branches: * methyl * ethyl ⸻ Русский 1. Найти самую длинную цепь 2. Посчитать углероды 3. Найти двойную связь 4. Нумеровать с ближайшей двойной связи 5. Назвать ответвления ⸻ 18. Combustion English Combustion = burning in oxygen. Example: C_5H_{12}+8O_2\rightarrow5CO_2+6H_2O Products: * carbon dioxide * water ⸻ Русский Горение — реакция с кислородом. Продукты: * CO₂ * H₂O ⸻ 19. Activity Series English More reactive metals replace less reactive metals. Mg is more reactive than H: → reacts with acid Cu is less reactive than Fe: → cannot replace Fe ⸻ Русский Более активный металл вытесняет менее активный

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Person, Time, and Conduct in Bali. The Social Nature of Thought Clifford Geertz Human thought is consummately social: social in its origins, social in its functions, social in its forms, social in its applications. At base, thinking is a public activity--its natural habitat is the houseyard, the marketplace, and the town square. The implications of this fact for the anthropological analysis of culture, my concern here, are enormous, subtle, and insufficiently appreciated. I want to draw out some of these implications by means of what might seem at first glance an excessively special, even a somewhat esoteric inquiry: an examination of the cultural apparatus in terms of which the people of Bali define, perceive, and react to--that is, think about--individual persons. Such an investigation is, however, special and esoteric only in the descriptive sense. The facts, as facts, are of little immediate interest beyond the confines of ethnography, and I shall summarize them as briefly as I can. But when seen against the background of a general theoretical aim--to determine what follows for the analysis of culture from the proposition that human thinking is essentially a social activity--the Balinese data take on a peculiar importance. Not only are Balinese ideas in this area unusually well developed, but they are, from a Western perspective, odd enough to bring to light some general relationships between different orders of cultural conceptualization that are hidden from us when we look only at our own all-too-familiar framework for the identification, classification, and handling of human and quasi-human individuals. In particular, they point up some unobvious connections between the way in which a people perceive themselves and others, the way in which they experience time, and the affective tone of their collective life--connections that have an import not just for the understanding of Balinese society but human society generally. The Study of Culture A great deal of recent social scientific theorizing has turned upon an attempt to distinguish and specify two major analytical concepts: culture and social structure.1 The impetus for this effort has sprung from a desire to take account of ideational factors in social processes without succumbing to either the Hegelian or the Marxist forms of reductionism. In order to avoid having to regard ideas, concepts, values, and expressive forms either as shadows cast by the organization of society upon the hard surfaces of history or as the soul of history whose progress is but a working out of their internal dialectic, it has proved necessary to regard them as independent but not self-sufficient forces--as acting and having their impact only within specific social contexts to which they adapt, by which they are stimulated, but upon which they have, to a greater or lesser degree, a determining influence. "Do you really expect," Marc Bloch wrote in his little book on The Historian's Craft, "to know the great merchants of Renaissance Europe, vendors of cloth or spices, monopolists in copper, mercury or alum, bankers of Kings and the Emperor, by knowing their merchandise alone? Bear in mind that they were painted by Holbein, that they read Erasmus and Luther. To understand the attitude of the medieval vassal to his seigneur you must inform yourself about his attitude to his God as well." Both the organization of social activity, its institutional forms, and the systems of ideas which animate it must be understood, as must the nature of the relations obtaining between them. It is to this end that the attempt to clarify the concepts of social structure and of culture has been directed. There is little doubt, however, that within this two-sided development it has been the cultural side which has proved the more refractory and remains the more retarded. In the very nature of the case, ideas are more difficult to handle scientifically than the economic, political, and social relations among individuals and groups which http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 1 of 28 those ideas inform. And this is all the more true when the ideas involved are not the explicit doctrines of a Luther or an Erasmus, or the articulate images of a Holbein, but the half-formed, taken-for-granted, indifferently systematized notions that guide the normal activities of ordinary men in everyday life. If the scientific study of culture has lagged, bogged down most often in mere descriptivism, it has been in large part because its very subject matter is elusive. The initial problem of any science--defining its object of study in such a manner as to render it susceptible of analysis--has here turned out to be unusually hard to solve. It is at this point that the conception of thinking as basically a social act, taking place in the same public world in which other social acts occur, can play its most constructive role. The view that thought does not consist of mysterious processes located in what Gilbert Ryle has called a secret grotto in the head but of a traffic in significant symbols --objects in experience (rituals and tools; graven idols and water holes; gestures, markings, images, and sounds) upon which men have impressed meaning--makes of the study of culture a positive science like any other.2 The meanings that symbols, the material vehicles of thought, embody are often elusive, vague, fluctuating, and convoluted, but they are, in principle, as capable of being discovered through systematic empirical investigation--especially if the people who perceive them will cooperate a little--as the atomic weight of hydrogen or the function of the adrenal glands. It is through culture patterns, ordered clusters of significant symbols, that man makes sense of the events through which he lives. The study of culture, the accumulated totality of such patterns, is thus the study of the machinery individuals and groups of individuals employ to orient themselves in a world otherwise opaque. In any particular society, the number of generally accepted and frequently used culture patterns is extremely large, so that sorting out even the most important ones and tracing whatever relationships they might have to one another is a staggering analytical task. The task is somewhat lightened, however, by the fact that certain sorts of patterns and certain sorts of relationships among patterns recur from society to society, for the simple reason that the orientational requirements they serve are generically human. The problems, being existential, are universal; their solutions, being human, are diverse. It is, however, through the circumstantial understanding of these unique solutions, and in my opinion only in that way, that the nature of the underlying problems to which they are a comparable response can be truly comprehended. Here, as in so many branches of knowledge, the road to the grand abstractions of science winds through a thicket of singular facts. One of these pervasive orientational necessities is surely the characterization of individual human beings. Peoples everywhere have developed symbolic structures in terms of which persons are perceived not baldly as such, as mere unadorned members of the human race, but as representatives of certain distinct categories of persons, specific sorts of individuals. In any given case, there are inevitably a plurality of such structures. Some, for example kinship terminologies, are ego-centered: that is, they define the status of an individual in terms of his relationship to a specific social actor. Others are centered on one or another subsystem or aspect of society and are invariant with respect to the perspectives of individual actors: noble ranks, age-group statuses, occupational categories. Some--personal names and sobriquets--are informal and particularizing; others--bureaucratic titles and caste designations--are formal and standardizing. The everyday world in which the members of any community move, their taken-for-granted field of social action, is populated not by anybodies, faceless men without qualities, but by somebodies, concrete classes of determinate persons positively characterized and appropriately labeled. And the symbol systems which define these classes are not given in the nature of things-- they are historically constructed, socially maintained, and individually applied. Even a reduction of the task of cultural analysis to a concern only with those patterns having something to do with the characterization of individual persons renders it only slightly less formidable, however. This is because there does not yet exist a perfected theoretical framework within which to carry it out. What is called structural analysis in sociology and social anthropology can ferret out the functional implications for a society of a particular system of person-categories, and at times even predict how such a system might change under the impact of certain social processes; but only if the system--the categories, their meanings, and their logical relationships-- http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 2 of 28 can be taken as already known. Personality theory in social-psychology can uncover the motivational dynamics underlying the formation and the use of such systems and can assess their effect upon the character structures of individuals actually employing them; but also only if, in a sense, they are already given, if how the individuals in question see themselves and others has been somehow determined. What is needed is some systematic, rather than merely literary or impressionistic, way to discover what is given, what the conceptual structure embodied in the symbolic forms through which persons are perceived actually is. What we want and do not yet have is a developed method of describing and analyzing the meaningful structure of experience (here, the experience of persons) as it is apprehended by representative members of a particular society at a particular point in time--in a word, a scientific phenomenology of culture. Predecessors, Contemporaries, Consociates, and Successors There have been, however, a few scattered and rather abstract ventures in cultural analysis thus conceived, from the results of which it is possible to draw some useful leads into our more focused inquiry. Among the more interesting of such forays are those which were carried out by the late philosopher-cum-sociologist Alfred Sch¸tz, whose work represents a somewhat heroic, yet not unsuccessful, attempt to fuse influences stemming from Scheler, Weber, and Husserl on the one side with ones stemming from James, Mead, and Dewey on the other.3 Sch¸tz covered a multitude of topics--almost none of them in terms of any extended or systematic consideration of specific social processes--seeking always to uncover the meaningful structure of what he regarded as "the paramount reality" in human experience: the world of daily life as men confront it, act in it, and live through it. For our own purposes, one of his exercises in speculative social phenomenology--the disaggregation of the blanket notion of "fellowmen" into "predecessors," "contemporaries," "consociates," and "successors" --provides an especially valuable starting point. Viewing the cluster of culture patterns Balinese use to characterize individuals in terms of this breakdown brings out, in a most suggestive way, the relationships between conceptions of personal identity, conceptions of temporal order, and conceptions of behavioral style which, as we shall see, are implicit in them. The distinctions themselves are not abstruse, but the fact that the classes they define overlap and interpenetrate makes it difficult to formulate them with the decisive sharpness analytical categories demand. "Consociates" are individuals who actually meet, persons who encounter one another somewhere in the course of daily life. They thus share, however briefly or superficially, not only a community of time but also of space. They are "involved in one another's biography" at least minimally; they "grow older together" at least momentarily, interacting directly and personally as egos, subjects, selves. Lovers, so long as love lasts, are consociates, as are spouses until they separate or friends until they fall out. So also are members of orchestras, players at games, strangers chatting on a train, hagglers in a market, or inhabitants of a village: any set of persons who have an immediate, face-to-face relationship. It is, however, persons having such relations more or less continuously and to some enduring purpose, rather than merely sporadically or incidentally, who form the heart of the category. The others shade over into being the second sort of fellowmen: "contemporaries." Contemporaries are persons who share a community of time but not of space: they live at (more or less) the same period of history and have, often very attenuated, social relationships with one another, but they do not--at least in the normal course of things--meet. They are linked not by direct social interaction but through a generalized set of symbolically formulated (that is, cultural) assumptions about each other's typical modes of behavior. Further, the level of generalization involved is a matter of degree, so that the graduation of personal involvement in consociate relations from lovers through chance acquaintances--relations also culturally governed, of course--here continues until social ties slip off into a thoroughgoing anonymity, standardization, and interchangeability: Thinking of my absent friend A., I form an ideal type of his personality and behavior based on my http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 3 of 28 past experience of A. as my consociate. Putting a letter in a mailbox, I, expect that unknown people, called postmen, will act in a typical way, not quite intelligible to me, with the result that my letter will reach the addressee within typically reasonable time. Without ever having met a Frenchman or a German, I understand "Why France fears the rearmament of Germany." Complying with a rule of English grammar, I follow [in my writings] a socially-approved behavior pattern of contemporary English-speaking fellow-men to which I have to adjust to make myself understandable. And, finally, any artifact or utensil refers to the anonymous fellow-man who produced it to be used by other anonymous fellow-men for attaining typical goals by typical means. These are just a few of the examples but they are arranged according to the degree of increasing anonymity involved and therewith of the construct needed to grasp the Other and his behavior.4 Finally, "predecessors" and "successors" are individuals who do not share even a community of time and so, by definition, cannot interact; and, as such, they form something of a single class over against both consociates and contemporaries, who can and do. But from the point of view of any particular actor they do not have quite the same significance. Predecessors, having already lived, can be known or, more accurately, known about, and their accomplished acts can have an influence upon the lives of those for whom they are predecessors (that is, their successors), though the reverse is, in the nature of the case, not possible. Successors, on the other hand, cannot be known, or even known about, for they are the unborn occupants of an unarrived future; and though their lives can be influenced by the accomplished acts of those whose successors they are (that is, their predecessors), the reverse is again not possible.5 For empirical purposes, however, it is more useful to formulate these distinctions less strictly also, and to emphasize that, like those setting off consociates from contemporaries, they are relative and far from clear-cut in everyday experience. With some exceptions, our older consociates and contemporaries do not drop suddenly into the past, but fade more or less gradually into being our predecessors as they age and die, during which period of apprentice ancestorhood we may have some effect upon them, as children so often shape the closing phases of their parents' lives. And our younger consociates and contemporaries grow gradually into becoming our successors, so that those of us who live long enough often have the dubious privilege of knowing who is to replace us and even occasionally having some glancing influence upon the direction of his growth. "Consociates," "contemporaries," "predecessors," and "successors" are best seen not as pigeonholes into which individuals distribute one another for classificatory purposes, but as indicating certain general and not altogether distinct, matter-of-fact relationships which individuals conceive to obtain between themselves and others. But again, these relationships are not perceived purely as such; they are grasped only through the agency of cultural formulations of them. And, being culturally formulated, their precise character differs from society to society as the inventory of available culture patterns differs; from situation to situation within a single society as different patterns among the plurality of those which are available are deemed appropriate for application; and from actor to actor within similar situations as idiosyncratic habits, preferences, and interpretations come into play. There are, at least beyond infancy, no neat social experiences of any importance in human life. Everything is tinged with imposed significance, and fellowmen, like social groups, moral obligations, political institutions, or ecological conditions are apprehended only through a screen of significant symbols which are the vehicles of their objectification, a screen that is therefore very far from being neutral with respect to their "real" nature. Consociates, contemporaries, predecessors, and successors are as much made as born.6 Balinese Orders of Person-Definition In Bali,7 there are six sorts of labels which one person can apply to another in order to identify him as a unique individual and which I want to consider against this general conceptual background: (1) personal names; (2) birth order names; (3) kinship terms; (4) teknonyms; (5) status titles (usually called "caste names" in the literature on http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 4 of 28 Bali); and (6) public titles, by which I mean quasi-occupational titles borne by chiefs, rulers, priests, and gods. These various labels are not, in most cases, employed simultaneously, but alternatively, depending upon the situation and sometimes the individual. They are not, also, all the sorts of such labels ever used; but they are the only ones which are generally recognized and regularly applied. And as each sort consists not of a mere collection of useful tags but of a distinct and bounded terminological system, I shall refer to them as "symbolic orders of person-definition" and consider them first serially, only later as a more or less coherent cluster. PERSONAL NAMES The symbolic order defined by personal names is the simplest to describe because it is in formal terms the least complex and in social ones the least important. All Balinese have personal names, but they rarely use them, either to refer to themselves or others or in addressing anyone. (With respect to one's forebears, including one's parents, it is in fact sacrilegious to use them.) Children are more often referred to and on occasion even addressed by their personal names. Such names are therefore sometimes called "child" or "little" names, though once they are ritually bestowed 105 days after birth, they are maintained unchanged through the whole course of a man's life. In general, personal names are seldom heard and play very little public role. Yet, despite this social marginality, the personal-naming system has some characteristics which, in a rather left- handed way, are extremely significant for an understanding of Balinese ideas of personhood. First, personal names are, at least among the commoners (some 90 percent of the population), arbitrarily coined nonsense syllables. They are not drawn from any established pool of names which might lend to them any secondary significance as being "common" or "unusual," as reflecting someone's being named "after" someone--an ancestor, a friend of the parents, a famous personage--or as being propitious, suitable, characteristic of a group or region, indicating a kinship relation, and so forth.8 Second, the duplication of personal names within a single community--that is, a politically unified, nucleated settlement--is studiously avoided. Such a settlement (called a bandjar, or "hamlet") is the primary face-to-face group outside the purely domestic realm of the family, and in some respects is even more intimate. Usually highly endogamous and always highly corporate, the hamlet is the Balinese world of consociates par excellence; and, within it, every person possesses, however unstressed on the social level, at least the rudiments of a completely unique cultural identity. Third, personal names are monomials, and so do not indicate familial connections, or in fact membership in any sort of group whatsoever. And, finally, there are (a few rare, and in any case only partial, exceptions aside) no nicknames, no epithets of the "Richard- the-Lion-Hearted" or "Ivan-the-Terrible" sort among the nobility, not even any diminutives for children or pet names for lovers, spouses, and so on. Thus, whatever role the symbolic order of person-definition marked out by the personal-naming system plays in setting Balinese off from one another or in ordering Balinese social relations is essentially residual in nature. One's name is what remains to one when all the other socially much more salient cultural labels attached to one's person are removed. As the virtually religious avoidance of its direct use indicates, a personal name is an intensely private matter. Indeed, toward the end of a man's life, when he is but a step away from being the deity he will become after his death and cremation, only he (or he and a few equally aged friends) may any longer know what in fact it is; when he disappears it disappears with him. In the well-lit world of everyday life, the purely personal part of an individual's cultural definition, that which in the context of the immediate consociate community is most fully and completely his, and his alone, is highly muted. And with it are muted the more idiosyncratic, merely biographical, and, consequently, transient aspects of his existence as a human being (what, in our more egoistic framework, we call his "personality") in favor of some rather more typical, highly conventionalized, and, consequently, enduring ones. BIRTH ORDER NAMES The most elementary of such more standardized labels are those automatically bestowed upon a child, even a http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 5 of 28 stillborn one, at the instant of its birth, according to whether it is the first, second, third, fourth, etc., member of a sibling set. There is some local and status-group variation in usage here, but the most common system is to use Wayan for the first child, Njoman for the second, Made (or Nengah) for the third, and Ktut for the fourth, beginning the cycle over again with Wayan for the fifth, Njoman for the sixth, and so on. These birth order names are the most frequently used terms of both address and reference within the hamlet for children and for young men and women who have not yet produced offspring. Vocatively, they are almost always used simply, that is, without the addition of the personal name: "Wayan, give me the hoe," and so forth. Referentially, they may be supplemented by the personal name, especially when no other way is convenient to get across which of the dozens of Wayans or Njomans in the hamlet is meant: "No, not Wayan Rugrug, Wayan Kepig," and so on. Parents address their own children and childless siblings address one another almost exclusively by these names, rather than by either personal names or kin terms. For persons who have had children, however, they are never used either inside the family or out, teknonyms being employed, as we shall see, instead, so that, in cultural terms, Balinese who grow to maturity without producing children (a small minority) remain themselves children--that is, are symbolically pictured as such--a fact commonly of great shame to them and embarrassment to their consociates, who often attempt to avoid having to use vocatives to them altogether.9 The birth order system of person-definition represents, therefore, a kind of plus Áa change approach to the denomination of individuals. It distinguishes them according to four completely contentless appellations, which neither define genuine classes (for there is no conceptual or social reality whatsoever to the class of all Wayans or all Ktuts in a community), nor express any concrete characteristics of the individuals to whom they are applied (for there is no notion that Wayans have any special psychological or spiritual traits in common against Njomans or Ktuts). These names, which have no literal meaning in themselves (they are not numerals or derivatives of numerals) do not, in fact, even indicate sibling position or rank in any realistic or reliable way.10 A Wayan may be a fifth (or ninth!) child as well as a first; and, given a traditional peasant demographic structure--great fertility plus a high rate of stillbirths and deaths in infancy and childhood--a Made or a Ktut may actually be the oldest of a long string of siblings and a Wayan the youngest. What they do suggest is that, for all procreating couples, births form a circular succession of Wayans, Njomans, Mades, Ktuts, and once again Wayans, an endless four-stage replication of an imperishable form. Physically men come and go as the ephemerae they are, but socially the dramatis personae remain eternally the same as new Wayans and Ktuts emerge from the timeless world of the gods (for infants, too, are but a step away from divinity) to replace those who dissolve once more into it. KINSHIP TERMS Formally, Balinese kinship terminology is quite simple in type, being of the variety known technically as "Hawaiian" or "Generational." In this sort of system, an individual classifies his relatives primarily according to the generation they occupy with respect to his own. That is to say, siblings, half-siblings, and cousins (and their spouses' siblings, and so forth) are grouped together under the same term; all uncles and aunts on either side are terminologically classed with mother and father; all children of brothers, sisters, cousins, and so on (that is, nephews of one sort or another) are identified with own children; and so on, downward through the grandchild, great-grandchild, etc., generations, and upward through the grandparent, great-grandparent, etc., ones. For any given actor, the general picture is a layer-cake arrangement of relatives, each layer consisting of a different generation of kin--that of actor's parents or his children, of his grandparents or his grandchildren, and so on, with his own layer, the one from which the calculations are made, located exactly halfway up the cake.11 Given the existence of this sort of system, the most significant (and rather unusual) fact about the way it operates in Bali is that the terms it contains are almost never used vocatively, but only referentially, and then not very frequently. With rare exceptions, one does not actually call one's father (or uncle) "father," one's child (or nephew/niece) "child," one's brother (or cousin) "brother," and so on. For relatives genealogically junior to http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 6 of 28 oneself vocative forms do not even exist; for relatives senior they exist but, as with personal names, it is felt to demonstrate a lack of respect for one's elders to use them. In fact, even the referential forms are used only when specifically needed to convey some kinship information as such, almost never as general means of identifying people. Kinship terms appear in public discourse only in response to some question, or in describing some event which has taken place or is expected to take place, with respect to which the existence of the kin tie is felt to be a relevant piece of information. ("Are you going to Fatherof-Regreg's tooth-filing?" "Yes, he is my 'brother.'") Thus, too, modes of address and reference within the family are no more (or not much more) intimate or expressive of kin ties in quality than those within the hamlet generally. As soon as a child is old enough to be capable of doing so (say, six years, though this naturally varies) he calls his mother and father by the same term--a teknonym, status group title, or public title--that everyone else who is acquainted with them uses toward them, and is called in turn Wayan, Ktut, or whatever, by them. And, with even more certainty, he will refer to them, whether in their hearing or outside of it, by this popular, extradomestic term as well. In short, the Balinese system of kinship terminology defines individuals in a primarily taxonomic, not a face-to- face idiom, as occupants of regions in a social field, not partners in social interaction. It functions almost entirely as a cultural map upon which certain persons can be located and certain others, not features of the landscape mapped, cannot. Of course, some notions of appropriate interpersonal behavior follow once such determinations are made, once a person's place in the structure is ascertained. But the critical point is that, in concrete practice, kin terminology is employed virtually exclusively in service of ascertainment, not behavior, with respect to whose patterning other symbolic appliances are dominant.12 The social norms associated with kinship, though real enough, are habitually overridden, even within kinship-type groups themselves (families, households, lineages) by culturally better armed norms associated with religion, politics, and, most fundamentally of all, social stratification. Yet in spite of the rather secondary role it plays in shaping the moment-to-moment flow of social intercourse, the system of kinship terminology, like the personal-naming system, contributes importantly, if indirectly, to the Balinese notion of personhood. For, as a system of significant symbols, it too embodies a conceptual structure under whose agency individuals, one's self as well as others, are apprehended; a conceptual structure which is, moreover, in striking congruence with those embodied in the other, differently constructed and variantly oriented, orders of person-definition. Here, also, the leading motif is the immobilization of time through the iteration of form. This iteration is accomplished by a feature of Balinese kin terminology I have yet to mention: in the third generation above and below the actor's own, terms become completely reciprocal. That is to say, the term for "great-grandparent" and "great-grandchild" is the same: kumpi. The two generations, and the individuals who comprise them, are culturally identified. Symbolically, a man is equated upwardly with the most distant ascendant, downwardly with the most distant descendant, he is ever likely to interact with as a living person. Actually, this sort of reciprocal terminology proceeds on through the fourth generation, and even beyond. But as it is only extremely rarely that the lives of a man and his great-great-grandparent (or great-greatgrandchild) overlap, this continuation is of only theoretical interest, and most people don't even know the terms involved. It is the four-generation span (i.e., the actor's own, plus three ascending or descending) which is considered the attainable ideal, the image, like our threescore-and-ten, of a fully completed life, and around which the kumpikumpi terminology puts, as it were, an emphatic cultural parenthesis. This parenthesis is accentuated further by the rituals surrounding death. At a person's funeral, all his relatives who are generationally junior to him must make homage to his lingering spirit in the Hindu palms-to-forehead fashion, both before his bier and, later, at the graveside. But this virtually absolute obligation, the sacramental http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 7 of 28 heart of the funeral ceremony, stops short with the third descending generation, that of his "grandchildren." His "great-grandchildren" are his kumpi, as he is theirs, and so, the Balinese say, they are not really junior to him at all but rather "the same age." As such, they are not only not required to show homage to his spirit, but they are expressly forbidden to do so. A man prays only to the gods and, what is the same thing, his seniors, not to his equals or juniors.13 Balinese kinship terminology thus not only divides human beings into generational layers with respect to a given actor, it bends these layers into a continuous surface which joins the "lowest" with the "highest" so that, rather than a layer-cake image, a cylinder marked off into six parallel bands called "own," "parent," "grandparent," "kumpi," "grandchild," and "child" is perhaps more exact. 14 What at first glance seems a very diachronic formulation, stressing the ceaseless progression of generations is, in fact, an assertion of the essential unreality- -or anyway the unimportance--of such a progression. The sense of sequence, of sets of collaterals following one another through time, is an illusion generated by looking at the terminological system as though it were used to formulate the changing quality of face-to-face interactions between a man and his kinsmen as he ages and dies-- as indeed many, if not most such systems are used. When one looks at it, as the Balinese primarily do, as a common-sense taxonomy of the possible types of familial relationships human beings may have, a classification of kinsmen into natural groups, it is clear that what the bands on the cylinder are used to represent is the genealogical order of seniority among living people and nothing more. They depict the spiritual (and what is the same thing, structural) relations among coexisting generations, not the location of successive generations in an unrepeating historical process. TEKNONYMS If personal names are treated as though they were military secrets, birth order names applied mainly to children and young adolescents, and kinship terms invoked at best sporadically, and then only for purposes of secondary specification, how, then, do most Balinese address and refer to one another? For the great mass of the peasantry, the answer is: by teknonyms.15 As soon as a couple's first child is named, people begin to address and refer to them as "Father-of" and "Mother- of" Regreg, Pula, or whatever the child's name happens to be. They will continue to be so called (and to call themselves) until their first grandchild is born, at which time they will begin to be addressed and referred to as "Grandfatherof" and "Grandmother-of" Suda, Lilir, or whomever; and a similar transition occurs if they live to see their first great-grandchild.16 Thus, over the "natural" four-generation kumpi-to-kumpi life span, the term by which an individual is known will change three times, as first he, then at least one of his children, and finally at least one of his grandchildren produce offspring. Of course, many if not most people neither live so long nor prove so fortunate in the fertility of their descendants. Also, a wide variety of other factors enter in to complicate this simplified picture. But, subtleties aside, the point is that we have here a culturally exceptionally well developed and socially exceptionally influential system of teknonymy. What impact does it have upon the individual Balinese's perceptions of himself and his acquaintances? Its first effect is to identify the husband and wife pair, rather as the bride's taking on of her husband's surname does in our society; except that here it is not the act of marriage which brings about the identification but of procreation. Symbolically, the link between husband and wife is expressed in terms of their common relation to their children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, not in terms of the wife's incorporation into her husband's "family" (which, as marriage is highly endogamous, she usually belongs to anyway). This husband-wife--or, more accurately, father-mother--pair has very great economic, political, and spiritual importance. It is, in fact, the fundamental social building block. Single men cannot participate in the hamlet http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 8 of 28 council, where seats are awarded by married couple; and, with rare exceptions, only men with children carry any weight there. (In fact, in some hamlets men are not even awarded seats until they have a child.) The same is true for descent groups, voluntary organizations, irrigation societies, temple congregations, and so on. In virtually all local activities, from the religious to the agricultural, the parental couple participates as a unit, the male performing certain tasks, the female certain complementary ones. By linking a man and a wife through an incorporation of the name of one of their direct descendants into their own, teknonymy underscores both the importance of the marital pair in local society and the enormous value which is placed upon procreation.17 This value also appears, in a more explicit way, in the second cultural consequence of the pervasive use of teknonyms: the classification of individuals into what, for want of a better term, may be called procreational strata. From the point of view of any actor, his hamletmates are divided into childless people, called Wayan, Made, and so on; people with children, called "Father (Mother)-of"; people with grandchildren, called "Grandfather (Grandmother)-of"; and people with greatgrandchildren, called "Great-grandparent-of." And to this ranking is attached a general image of the nature of social hierarchy: childless people are dependent minors; fathers-of are active citizens directing community life; grandfathers-of are respected elders giving sage advice from behind the scenes; and great-grandfathers-of are senior dependents, already half-returned to the world of the gods. In any given case, various mechanisms have to be employed to adjust this rather too-schematic formula to practical realities in such a way as to allow it to mark out a workable social ladder. But, with these adjustments, it does, indeed, mark one out, and as a result a man's "procreative status" is a major element in his social identity, both in his own eyes and those of everyone else. In Bali, the stages of human life are not conceived in terms of the processes of biological aging, to which little cultural attention is given, but of those of social regenesis. Thus, it is not sheer reproductive power as such, how many children one can oneself produce, that is critical. A couple with ten children is no more honored than a couple with five; and a couple with but a single child who has in turn but a single child outranks them both. What counts is reproductive continuity, the preservation of the community's ability to perpetuate itself just as it is, a fact which the third result of teknonymy, the designation of procreative chains, brings out most clearly. The way in which Balinese teknonymy outlines such chains can be seen from the model diagram (Figure 1 ). For simplicity, I have shown only the male teknonyms and have used English names for the referent generation. I have also arranged the model so as to stress the fact that teknonymous usage reflects the absolute age not the genealogical order (or the sex) of the eponymous descendants. FIGURE 1 Balinese Teknonymy (not available) NOTE: Mary is older than Don; Joe is older than Mary, Jane, and Don. The relative ages of all other people, save of course as they are ascendants and descendants, are irrelevant so far as teknonymy is concerned. As Figure 1 indicates, teknonymy outlines not only procreative statuses but specific sequences of such statuses, two, three, or four (very, very occasionally, five) generations deep. Which particular sequences are marked out is largely accidental: had Mary been born before Joe, or Don before Mary, the whole alignment would have been altered. But though the particular individuals who are taken as referents, and hence the particular sequences of filiation which receive symbolic recognition, is an arbitrary and not very consequential matter, the fact that such sequences are marked out stresses an important fact about personal identity among the Balinese: an individual is not perceived in the context of who his ancestors were (that, given the cultural veil which slips over the dead, is not even known), but rather in the context of whom he is ancestral to. One is not defined, as in so many societies of the world, in terms of who produced one, some more or less distant, more or less grand founder of http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 9 of 28 one's line, but in terms of whom one has produced, a specific, in most cases still living, half-formed individual who is one's child, grandchild, or great-grandchild, and to whom one traces one's connection through a particular set of procreative links.18 What links "Great-grandfather-of-Joe," "Grandfather-of-Joe," and "Father-of-Joe" is the fact that, in a sense, they have cooperated to produce Joe--that is, to sustain the social metabolism of the Balinese people in general and their hamlet in particular. Again, what looks like a celebration of a temporal process is in fact a celebration of the maintenance of what, borrowing a term from physics, Gregory Bateson has aptly called a "steady state."19 In this sort of teknonymous regime, the entire population is classified in terms of its relation to and representation in that subclass of the population in whose hands social regenesis now most instantly lies--the oncoming cohort of prospective parents. Under its aspect even that most time-saturated of human conditions, great-grandparenthood, appears as but an ingredient in an unperishing present. STATUS TITLES In theory, everyone (or nearly everyone) in Bali bears one or another title--Ida Bagus, Gusti, Pasek, Dauh, and so forth--which places him on a particular rung in an all-Bali status ladder; each title represents a specific degree of cultural superiority or inferiority with respect to each and every other one, so that the whole population is sorted out into a set of uniformly graded castes. In fact, as those who have tried to analyze the system in such terms have discovered, the situation is much more complex. It is not simply that a few low-ranking villagers claim that they (or their parents) have somehow "forgotten" what their titles are; nor that there are marked inconsistencies in the ranking of titles from place to place, at times even from informant to informant; nor that, in spite of their hereditary basis, there are nevertheless ways to change titles. These are but (not uninteresting) details concerning the day-to-day working of the system. What is critical is that status titles are not attached to groups at all, but only to individuals.20 Status in Bali, or at least that sort determined by titles, is a personal characteristic; it is independent of any social structural factors whatsoever. It has, of course, important practical consequences, and those consequences are shaped by and expressed through a wide variety of social arrangements, from kinship groups to governmental institutions. But to be a Dewa, a Pulosari, a Pring, or a Maspadan is at base only to have inherited the right to bear that title and to demand the public tokens of deference associated with it. It is not to play any particular role, to belong to any particular group, or to occupy any particular economic, political, or sacerdotal position. The status title system is a pure prestige system. From a man's title you know, given your own title, exactly what demeanor you ought to display toward him and he toward you in practically every context of public life, irrespective of whatever other social ties obtain between you and whatever you may happen to think of him as a man. Balinese politesse is very highly developed and it rigorously controls the outer surface of social behavior over virtually the entire range of daily life. Speech style, posture, dress, eating, marriage, even house- construction, place of burial, and mode of cremation are patterned in terms of a precise code of manners which grows less out of a passion for social grace as such as out of some rather far-reaching metaphysical considerations. The sort of human inequality embodied in the status title system and the system of etiquette which expresses it is neither moral, nor economic, nor political--it is religious. It is the reflection in everyday interaction of the divine order upon which such interaction, from this point of view a form of ritual, is supposed to be modeled. A man's title does not signal his wealth, his power, or even his moral reputation, it signals his spiritual composition; and the incongruity between this and his secular position may be enormous. Some of the greatest movers and shakers in Bali are the most rudely approached, some of the most delicately handled the least respected. It would be difficult to conceive of anything further from the Balinese spirit than Machiavelli's comment that titles do not reflect honor upon men, but rather men upon their titles. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 10 of 28 In theory, Balinese theory, all titles come from the gods. Each has been passed along, not always without alteration, from father to child, like some sacred heirloom, the difference in prestige value of the different titles being an outcome of the varying degree to which the men who have had care of them have observed the spiritual stipulations embodied in them. To bear a title is to agree, implicitly at least, to meet divine standards of action, or at least approach them, and not all men have been able to do this to the same extent. The result is the existing discrepancy in the rank of titles and of those who bear them. Cultural status, as opposed to social position, is here once again a reflection of distance from divinity. Associated with virtually every title there are one or a series of legendary events, very concrete in nature, involving some spiritually significant misstep by one or another holder of the title. These offenses-one can hardly call them sins--are regarded as specifying the degree to which the title has declined in value, the distance which it has fallen from a fully transcendent status, and thus as fixing, in a general way at least, its position in the overall scale of prestige. Particular (if mythic) geographical migrations, cross--title marriages, military failures, breaches of mourning etiquette, ritual lapses, and the like are regarded as having debased the title to a greater or lesser extent: greater for the lower titles, lesser for the higher. Yet, despite appearances, this uneven deterioration is, in its essence, neither a moral nor an historical phenomenon. It is not moral because the incidents conceived to have occasioned it are not, for the most part, those against which negative ethical judgments would, in Bali any more than elsewhere, ordinarily be brought, while genuine moral faults (cruelty, treachery, dishonesty, profligacy) damage only reputations, which pass from the scene with their owners, not titles which remain. It is not historical because these incidents, disjunct occurrences in a once-upona-time, are not invoked as the causes of present realities but as statements of their nature. The important fact about title-debasing events is not that they happened in the past, or even that they happened at all, but that they are debasing. They are formulations not of the processes which have brought the existing state of affairs into being, nor yet of moral judgments upon it (in neither of which intellectual exercises the Balinese show much interest): they are images of the underlying relationship between the form of human society and the divine pattern of which it is, in the nature of things, an imperfect expression--more imperfect at some points than at others. But if, after all that has been said about the autonomy of the title system, such a relationship between cosmic patterns and social forms is conceived to exist, exactly how is it understood? How is the title system, based solely on religious conceptions, on theories of inherent differences in spiritual worth among individual men, connected up with what, looking at the society from the outside, we would call the "realities" of power, influence, wealth, reputation, and so on, implicit in the social division of labor? How, in short, is the actual order of social command fitted into a system of prestige ranking wholly independent of it so as to account for and, indeed, sustain the loose and general correlation between them which in fact obtains? The answer is: through performing, quite ingeniously, a kind of hat trick, a certain sleight of hand, with a famous cultural institution imported from India and adapted to local tastes--the Varna System. By means of the Varna System the Balinese inform a very disorderly collection of status pigeonholes with a simple shape which is represented as growing naturally out of it but which in fact is arbitrarily imposed upon it. As in India, the Varna System consists of four gross categories--Brahmana, Satria, Wesia, and Sudra--ranked in descending order of prestige, and with the first three (called in Bali, Triwangsa--"the three peoples") defining a spiritual patriciate over against the plebeian fourth. But in Bali the Varna System is not in itself a cultural device for making status discriminations but for correlating those already made by the title system. It summarizes the literally countless fine comparisons implicit in that system in a neat (from some points of view all-too-neat) separation of sheep from goats, and first-quality sheep from second, second from third.21 Men do not perceive one another as Satrias or Sudras but as, say, Dewas or Kebun Tubuhs, merely using the Satria-Sudra distinction to express generally, and for social organizational purposes, the order of contrast which is involved by identifying Dewa as a Satria title and Kebun Tubuh as a Sudra one. Varna categories are labels applied not to men, but to http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 11 of 28 the titles they bear--they formulate the structure of the prestige system; titles, on the other hand, are labels applied to individual men--they place persons within that structure. To the degree that the Varna classification of titles is congruent with the actual distribution of power, wealth, and esteem in the society--that is, with the system of social stratification--the society is considered to be well ordered. The right sort of men are in the right sort of places: spiritual worth and social standing coincide. This difference in function between title and Varna is clear from the way in which the symbolic forms associated with them are actually used. Among the Triwangsa gentry, where, some exceptions aside, teknonymy is not employed, an individual's title is used as his or her main term of address and reference. One calls a man Ida Bagus, Njakan, or Gusi (not Brahmana, Satria, or Wesia) and refers to him by the same terms, sometimes adding a birth order name for more exact specification ( Ida Bagus Made, Njakan Njoman, and so forth). Among the Sudras, titles are used only referentially, never in address, and then mainly with respect to members of other hamlets than one's own, where the person's teknonym may not be known, or, if known, considered to be too familiar in tone to be used for someone not a hamletmate. Within the hamlet, the referential use of Sudra titles occurs only when prestige status information is considered relevant ("Father-of-Joe is a Kedisan, and thus 'lower' than we Pande," and so on), while address is, of course, in terms of teknonyms. Across hamlet lines, where, except between close friends, teknonyms fall aside, the most common term of address is Djero. Literally, this means "inside" or "insider," thus a member of the Triwangsa, who are considered to be "inside," as against the Sudras, who are "outside" (Djaba); but in this context it has the effect of saying, "In order to be polite, I am addressing you as though you were a Triwangsa, which you are not (if you were, I would call you by your proper title), and I expect the same pretense from you in return." As for Varna terms, they are used, by Triwangsa and Sudra alike, only in conceptualizing the overall prestige hierarchy in general terms, a need which usually appears in connection with transhamlet political, sacerdotal, or stratificatory matters: "The kings of Klungkung are Satrias, but those of Tabanan only Wesias," or "There are lots of rich Brahmanas in Sanur, which is why the Sudras there have so little to say about hamlet affairs," and so on. The Varna System thus does two things. It connects up a series of what appear to be ad hoc and arbitrary prestige distinctions, the titles, with Hinduism, or the Balinese version of Hinduism, thus rooting them in a general world view. And it interprets the implications of that world view, and therefore the titles, for social organization: the prestige gradients implicit in the title system ought to be reflected in the actual distribution of wealth, power, and esteem in society, and, in fact, be completely coincident with it. The degree to which this coincidence actually obtains is, of course, moderate at best. But, however many exceptions there may be to the rule--Sudras with enormous power, Satrias working as tenant farmers, Brahmanas neither esteemed nor estimable--it is the rule and not the exceptions that the Balinese regard as truly illuminating the human condition. The Varna System orders the title system in such a way as to make it possible to view social life under the aspect of a general set of cosmological notions: notions in which the diversity of human talent and the workings of historical process are regarded as superficial phenomena when compared with the location of persons in a system of standardized status categories, as blind to individual character as they are immortal. PUBLIC TITLES This final symbolic order of person-definition is, on the surface, the most reminiscent of one of the more prominent of our own ways of identifying and characterizing individuals.22 We, too, often (all too often, perhaps) see people through a screen of occupational categories --as not just practicing this vocation or that, but as almost physically infused with the quality of being a postman, teamster, politician, or salesman. Social function serves as the symbolic vehicle through which personal identity is perceived; men are what they do. The resemblance is only apparent, however. Set amid a different cluster of ideas about what selfhood consists in, placed against a different religio-philosophical conception of what the world consists in, and expressed in terms of a different set of cultural devices--public titles --for portraying it, the Balinese view of the relation http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 12 of 28 between social role and personal identity gives a quite different slant to the ideographic significance of what we call occupation but the Balinese call linggih-"seat," "place," "berth." This notion of "seat" rests on the existence in Balinese thought and practice of an extremely sharp distinction between the civic and domestic sectors of society. The boundary between the public and private domains of life is very clearly drawn both conceptually and institutionally. At every level, from the hamlet to the royal palace, matters of general concern are sharply distinguished and carefully insulated from matters of individual or familial concern, rather than being allowed to interpenetrate as they do in so many other societies. The Balinese sense of the public as a corporate body, having interests and purposes of its own, is very highly developed. To be charged, at any level, with special responsibilities with respect to those interests and purposes is to be set aside from the run of one's fellowmen who are not so charged, and it is this special status that public titles express. At the same time, though the Balinese conceive the public sector of society as bounded and autonomous, they do not look upon it as forming a seamless whole, or even a whole at all. Rather they see it as consisting of a number of separate, discontinuous, and at times even competitive realms, each self-sufficient, self-contained, jealous of its rights, and based on its own principles of organization. The most salient of such realms include: the hamlet as a corporate political community; the local temple as a corporate religious body, a congregation; the irrigation society as a corporate agricultural body; and, above these, the structures of regional--that is, suprahamlet--government and worship, centering on the nobility and the high priesthood. A description of these various public realms or sectors would involve an extensive analysis of Balinese social structure inappropriate in the present context.23 The point to be made here is that, associated with each of them, there are responsible officers--stewards is perhaps a better term--who as a result bear particular titles: Klian, Perbekel, Pekaseh, Pemangku, Anak Agung, Tjakorda, Dewa Agung, Pedanda, and so on up to perhaps a half a hundred or more. And these men (a very small proportion of the total population) are addressed and referred to by these official titles--sometimes in combination with birth order names, status titles, or, in the case of Sudras, teknonyms for purposes of secondary specification.24 The various "village chiefs" and "folk priests" on the Sudra level, and, on the Triwangsa, the host of "kings," "princes," "lords," and "high priests" do not merely occupy a role. They become, in the eyes of themselves and those around them, absorbed into it. They are truly public men, men for whom other aspects of personhood--individual character, birth order, kinship relations, procreative status, and prestige rank take, symbolically at least, a secondary position. We, focusing upon psychological traits as the heart of personal identity, would say they have sacrificed their true selves to their role; they, focusing on social position, say that their role is of the essence of their true selves. Access to these public-title-bearing roles is closely connected with the system of status titles and its organization into Varna categories, a connection effected by what may be called "the doctrine of spiritual eligibility." This doctrine asserts that political and religious "seats" of translocal--regional or Bali-wide--significance are to be manned only by Triwangsas, while those of local significance ought properly to be in the hands of Sudras. At the upper levels the doctrine is strict: only Satrias--that is, men bearing titles deemed of Satria rank--may be kings or paramount princes, only Wesias or Satrias lords or lesser princes, only Brahmanas high priests, and so on. At the lower levels, it is less strict; but the sense that hamlet chiefs, irrigation society heads, and folk priests should be Sudras, that Triwangsas should keep their place, is quite strong. In either case, however, the overwhelming majority of persons bearing status titles of the Varna category or categories theoretically eligible for the stewardship roles to which the public titles are attached do not have such roles and are not likely to get them. On the Triwangsa level, access is largely hereditary, primogenitural even, and a sharp distinction is made between that handful of individuals who "own power" and the vast remainder of the gentry who do not. On the Sudra level, access to public office is more often elective, but the number of men who have the opportunity to serve is still fairly limited. Prestige status decides what sort of public role one can presume to occupy; whether or not one occupies such a role is another question altogether. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 13 of 28 Yet, because of the general correlation between prestige status and public office the doctrine of spiritual eligibility brings about, the order of political and ecclesiastical authority in the society is hooked in with the general notion that social order reflects dimly, and ought to reflect clearly, metaphysical order; and, beyond that, that personal identity is to be defined not in terms of such superficial, because merely human, matters as age, sex, talent, temperament, or achievement--that is, biographically, but in terms of location in a general spiritual hierarchy-that is, typologically. Like all the other symbolic orders of person-definition, that stemming from public titles consists of a formulation, with respect to different social contexts, of an underlying assumption: it is not what a man is as a man (as we would phrase it) that matters, but where he fits in a set of cultural categories which not only do not change but, being transhuman, cannot. And, here too, these categories ascend toward divinity (or with equal accuracy, descend from it), their power to submerge character and nullify time increasing as they go. Not only do the higher level public titles borne by human beings blend gradually into those borne by the gods, becoming at the apex identical with them, but at the level of the gods there is literally nothing left of identity but the title itself. All gods and goddesses are addressed and referred to either as Dewa (f. Dewi) or, for the higher ranking ones, Betara (f. Betari). In a few cases, these general appellations are followed by particularizing ones: Betara Guru, Dewi Sri, and so forth. But even such specifically named divinities are not conceived as possessing distinctive personalities: they are merely thought to be administratively responsible, so to speak, for regulating certain matters of cosmic significance: fertility, power, knowledge, death, and so on. In most cases, Balinese do not know, and do not want to know, which gods and goddesses are those worshipped in their various temples (there is always a pair, one male, one female), but merely call them " Dewa (Dewi) Pura Such-and-Such"--god (goddess) of temple such-and-such. Unlike the ancient Greeks and Romans, the average Balinese shows little interest in the detailed doings of particular gods, nor in their motivations, their personalities, or their individual histories. The same circumspection and propriety is maintained with respect to such matters as is maintained with respect to similar matters concerning elders and superiors generally.25 The world of the gods is, in short, but another public realm, transcending all the others and imbued with an ethos which those others seek, so far as they are able, to embody in themselves. The concerns of this realm lie on the cosmic level rather than the political, the economic, or the ceremonial (that is, the human) and its stewards are men without features, individuals with respect to whom the usual indices of perishing humanity have no significance. The nearly faceless, thoroughly conventionalized, never-changing icons by which nameless gods known only by their public titles are, year after year, represented in the thousands of temple festivals across the island comprise the purest expression of the Balinese concept of personhood. Genuflecting to them (or, more precisely, to the gods for the moment resident in them) the Balinese are not just acknowledging divine power. They are also confronting the image of what they consider themselves at bottom to be; an image which the biological, psychological, and sociological concomitants of being alive, the mere materialities of historical time, tend only to obscure from sight. A Cultural Triangle of Forces There are many ways in which men are made aware, or rather make themselves aware, of the passage of time-- by marking the changing of the seasons, the alterations of the moon, or the progress of plant life; by the measured cycling of rites, or agricultural work, or household activities; by the preparation and scheduling of projected acts and the memory and assessment of accomplished ones; by the preservation of genealogies, the recital of legends, or the framing of prophecies. But surely among the most important is by the recognition in oneself and in one's fellowmen of the process of biological aging, the appearance, maturation, decay, and disappearance of concrete individuals. How one views this process affects, therefore, and affects profoundly, how one experiences time. Between a people's conception of what it is to be a person and their conception of the structure of history there is an unbreakable internal link. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 14 of 28 Now, as I have been stressing, the most striking thing about the culture patterns in which Balinese notions of personal identity are embodied is the degree to which they depict virtually everyone--friends, relatives, neighbors, and strangers; elders and youths; superiors and inferiors; men and women; chiefs, kings, priests, and gods; even the dead and the unborn--as stereotyped contemporaries, abstract and anonymous fellowmen. Each of the symbolic orders of person-definition, from concealed names to flaunted titles, acts to stress and strengthen the standardization, idealization, and generalization implicit in the relation between individuals whose main connection consists in the accident of their being alive at the same time and to mute or gloss over those implicit in the relation between consociates, men intimately involved in one another's biographies, or between predecessors and successors, men who stand to one another as blind testator and unwitting heir. Of course, people in Baliare directly, and sometimes deeply, involved in one another's lives; they do feel their world to have been shaped by the actions of those who came before them and orient their actions toward shaping the world of those who will come after them. But it is not these aspects of their existence as persons--their immediacy and individuality, or their special, never-to-be-repeated, impact upon the stream of historical events--which are culturally played up, symbolically emphasized: it is their social placement, their particular location within a persisting, indeed an eternal, metaphysical order.26 The illuminating paradox of Balinese formulations of personhood is that they are --in our terms anyway--depersonalizing. In this way, the Balinese blunt, though of course they cannot efface, three of the most important sources of a sense of temporality: the apprehension of one's comrades (and thus oneself with them) as perpetually perishing; the awareness of the heaviness with which the completed lives of the dead weigh upon the uncompleted lives of the living; and the appreciation of the potential impact upon the unborn of actions just now being undertaken. Consociates, as they meet, confront and grasp one another in an immediate present, a synoptic "now"; and in so doing they experience the elusiveness and ephemerality of such a now as it slips by in the ongoing stream of face-to-face interaction. "For each partner [in a consociate relationship] the other's body, his gestures, his gait and facial expressions, are immediately observable, not merely as things or events of the outer world but in their physiognomical significance, that is as [expressions! of the other's thoughts. . . . Each partner participates in the onrolling life of the other, can grasp in a vivid present the other's thoughts as they are built up step by step. They may thus share one another's anticipations of the future as plans, or hopes, or anxieties. . . . [They] are mutually involved in one another's biography; they are growing older together. . . ."27 As for predecessors and successors, separated by a material gulf, they perceive one another in terms of origins and outcomes, and in so doing experience the inherent chronologicality of events, the linear progress of standard, transpersonal time--the sort whose passage can be measured with clocks and calendars.28 In minimizing, culturally, all three of these experiences--that of the evanescing present consociate intimacy evokes; that of the determining past contemplation of predecessors evokes; and that of the moldable future anticipation of successors evokes--in favor of the sense of pure simultaneity generated by the anonymized encounter of sheer contemporaries, the Balinese produce yet a second paradox. Linked to their depersonalizing conception of personhood is a detemporalizing (again from our point of view) conception of time. TAXONOMIC CALENDARS AND PUNCTUAL TIME Balinese calendrical notions--their cultural machinery for demarcating temporal units--reflect this clearly; for they are largely used not to measure the elapse of time, nor yet to accent the uniqueness and irrecoverability of the passing moment, but to mark and classify the qualitative modalities in terms of which time manifests itself in human experience. The Balinese calendar (or, rather, calendars; as we shall see there are two of them) cuts time up into bounded units not in order to count and total them but to describe and characterize them, to formulate their differential social, intellectual, and religious significance.29 http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 15 of 28 The two calendars which the Balinese employ are a lunar-solar one and one built around the interaction of independent cycles of daynames, which I shall call "permutational." The permutational calendar is by far the most important. It consists of ten different cycles of daynames. These cycles are of varying lengths. The longest contains ten day-names, following one another in a fixed order, after which the first day-name reappears and the cycle starts over. Similarly, there are nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and even--the ultimate of a "contemporized" view of time--one day-name cycles. The names in each cycle are also different, and the cycles run concurrently. That is to say, any given day has, at least in theory, ten different names simultaneously applied to it, one from each of the ten cycles. Of the ten cycles only those containing five, six, and seven day-names are of major cultural significance, however, although the three-name cycle is used to define the market week and plays a role in fixing certain minor rituals, such as the personal-naming ceremony referred to earlier. Now, the interaction of these three main cycles--the five, the six, and the seven--means that a given trinomially designated day (that is, one with a particular combination of names from all three cycles) will appear once in every two hundred and ten days, the simple product of five, six, and seven. Similar interactions between the five- and sevenname cycles produce binomially designated days which turn up every thirty-five days, between the six- and seven-name cycles binomially designated days which occur every forty-two days, and between the fiveand six-name cycles binomially designated days appearing at thirty-day intervals. The conjunctions that each of these four periodicities, supercycles as it were, define (but not the periodicities themselves) are considered not only to be socially significant but to reflect, in one fashion or another, the very structure of reality. The outcome of all this wheels-within-wheels computation is a view of time as consisting of ordered sets of thirty, thirty-five, forty-two, or two hundred and ten quantum units ("days"), each of which units has a particular qualitative significance of some sort indexed by its trinomial or binomial name: rather like our notion of the unluckiness of Friday-the-Thirteenth. To identify a day in the forty-two-day set--and thus assess its practical and/or religious significance--one needs to determine its place, that is, its name, in the six-name cycle (say, Ariang) and in the seven- (say, Boda): the day is Boda-Ariang, and one shapes one's actions accordingly. To identify a day in the thirty-five-day set, one needs its place and name in the five-name cycle (for example, Klion) and in the seven-: for example, Boda-Klion--this is rainan, the day on which one must set out small offerings at various points to "feed" the gods. For the two hundred and ten-day set, unique determination demands names from all three weeks: for example, Boda-Ariang-Klion, which, it so happens, is the day on which the most important Balinese holiday, Galungan, is celebrated.30 Details aside, the nature of time-reckoning this sort of calendar facilitates is clearly not durational but punctual. That is, it is not used (and could only with much awkwardness and the addition of some ancillary devices be used) to measure the rate at which time passes, the amount which has passed since the occurrence of some event, or the amount which remains within which to complete some project: it is adapted to and used for distinguishing and classifying discrete, self-subsistent particles of time--"days." The cycles and supercycles are endless, unanchored, uncountable, and, as their internal order has no significance, without climax. They do not accumulate, they do not build, and they are not consumed. They don't tell you what time it is; they tell you what kind of time it is.31 The uses of the permutational calendar extend to virtually all aspects of Balinese life. In the first instance, it determines (with one exception) all the holidays--that is, general community celebrations--of which Goris lists some thirty-two in all, or on the average about one day out of every seven.32 These do not appear, however, in any discernible overall rhythm. If we begin, arbitrarily, with RaditÈ-Tungleh-Paing as "one," holidays appear on days numbering: 1, 2, 3, 4, 14, 15, 24, 49, 51, 68, 69, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 79, 81, 83, 84, 85, 109, 119, 125, 154, 183, 189, 193, 196, 205, 210.33 The result of this sort of spasmodic occurrence of festivals, large and small, is a perception of time --that is, of days--as falling broadly into two very general varieties, "full" and "empty": days http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 16 of 28 on which something of importance goes on and others on which nothing, or at least nothing much, goes on, the former often being called "times" or "junctures" and the latter "holes." All of the other applications of the calendar merely reinforce and refine this general perception. Of these other applications, the most important is the determination of temple celebrations. No one knows how many temples there are on Bali, though Swellengrebel has estimated that there are more than 20,000.34 Each of these temples--family temples, descent-group temples, agricultural temples, death temples, settlement temples, associational temples, "caste" temples, state temples, and so on--has its own day of celebration, called odalan, a term which though commonly, and misleadingly, translated as "birthday" or, worse yet, "anniversary," literally means "coming out," "emergence," "appearance"--that is, not the day on which the temple was built but the day on which it is (and since it has been in existence always has been) "activated," on which the gods come down from the heavens to inhabit it. In between odalans it is quiescent, uninhabited, empty; and, aside from a few offerings prepared by its priest on certain days, nothing happens there. For the great majority of the temples, the odalan is determined according to the permutational calendar (for the remainder, odalans are determined by the lunar-solar calendar, which as we shall see, comes to about the same thing so far as modes of time-perception are concerned), again in terms of the interaction of the five-, six-, and seven-name cycles. What this means is that temple ceremonies--which range from the incredibly elaborate to the almost invisibly simple--are of, to put it mildly, frequent occurrence in Bali, though here too there are certain days on which many such celebrations fall and others on which, for essentially metaphysical reasons, none do.35 Balinese life is thus not only irregularly punctuated by frequent holidays, which everyone celebrates, but by even more frequent temple celebrations which involve only those who are, usually by birth, members of the temple. As most Balinese belong to a half-dozen temples or more, this makes for a fairly busy, not to say frenetic, ritual life, though again one which alternates, unrhythmically, between hyperactivity and quiescence. In addition to these more religious matters of holidays and temple festivals, the permutational calendar invades and secular ones of everyday life as well.36 There are good and bad days on which to build a house, launch a business enterprise, change residence, go on a trip, harvest crops, sharpen cock spurs, hold a puppet show, or (in the old days) start a war, or conclude a peace. The day on which one was born, which again is not a birthday in our sense (when you ask a Balinese when he was born his reply comes to the equivalent of "Thursday, the ninth," which is not of much help in determining his age) but his odalan, is conceived to control or, more accurately, to indicate much of his destiny.37 Men born on this day are liable to suicide, on that to become thieves, on this to be rich, on that to be poor; on this to be well, or long-lived, or happy, on that to be sickly, or short-lived, or unhappy. Temperament is similarly assessed, and so is talent. The diagnosis and treatment of disease is complexly integrated with calendrical determinations, which may involve the odalans of both the patient and the curer, the day on which he fell ill, as well as days metaphysically associated with the symptoms and with the medicine. Before marriages are contracted, the odalans of the individuals are compared to see if their conjunction is auspicious, and if not there will be--at least if the parties, as is almost always the case, are prudent--no marriage. There is a time to bury and a time to cremate, a time to marry and a time to divorce, a time--to shift from the Hebraic to the Balinese idiom--for the mountain top and a time for the market, for social withdrawal and social participation. Meetings of village council, irrigation societies, voluntary associations are all fixed in terms of the permutational (or, more rarely, the lunar-solar) calendar; and so are periods for sitting quietly at home and trying to keep out of trouble. The lunar-solar calendar, though constructed on a different basis, actually embodies the same punctual conception of time as the permutational. Its main distinction and, for certain purposes, advantage is that it is more or less anchored; it does not drift with respect to the seasons. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 17 of 28 This calendar consists of twelve numbered months which run from new moon to new moon.38 These months are then divided into two sorts of (also numbered) days: lunar (tithi) and solar (diwasa). There are always thirty lunar days in a month, but, given the discrepancy between the lunar and solar years, there are sometimes thirty solar days in a month and sometimes twenty-nine. In the latter case, two lunar days are considered to fall on one solar day--that is, one lunar day is skipped. This occurs every sixty-three days; but, although this calculation is astronomically quite accurate, the actual determination is not made on the basis of astronomical observation and theory, for which the Balinese do not have the necessary cultural equipment (to say nothing of the interest); it is determined by the use of the permutational calendar. The calculation was of course originally arrived at astronomically; but it was arrived at by the Hindus from whom the Balinese, in the most distant past, imported the calendar. For the Balinese, the double lunar day-the day on which it is two days at once--is just one more special kind of day thrown up by the workings of the cycles and supercycles of the permutational calendar--a priori, not a posteriori, knowledge. In any case, this correction still leaves a nine-eleven-day deviation from the true solar year, and this is compensated for by the interpolation of a leap-month every thirty months, an operation which though again originally a result of Hindu astronomical observation and calculation is here simply mechanical. Despite the fact that the lunar-solar calendar looks astronomical, and thus seems to be based on some perceptions of natural temporal processes, celestial clocks, this is an illusion arising from attending to its origins rather than its uses. Its uses are as divorced from observation of the heavens--or from any other experience of passing time--as are those of the permutational calendar by which it is so rigorously paced. As with the permutational calendar, it is the system, automatic, particulate, fundamentally not metrical but classificatory, which tells you what day (or what kind of day) it is, not the appearance of the moon, which, as one looks casually up at it, is experienced not as a determinant of the calendar but as a reflex of it. What is "really real" is the name--or, in this case, the (two- place) number--of the day, its place in the transempirical taxonomy of days, not its epiphenomenal reflection in the sky.39 In practice, the lunar-solar calendar is used in the same way for the same sorts of things as the permutational. The fact that it is (loosely) anchored makes it rather more handy in agricultural contexts, so that planting, weeding, harvesting, and the like are usually regulated in terms of it, and some temples having a symbolic connection with agriculture or fertility celebrate their reception of the gods according to it. This means that such receptions appear only about every 355 (in leap years, about 385) rather than 210 days. But otherwise the pattern is unchanged. In addition, there is one major holiday, Njepi ("to make quiet"), which is celebrated according to the lunar-solar calendar. Often called, by Western scholars, "the Balinese New Year," even though it falls at the beginning (that is, the new moon) of not the first but the tenth month and is concerned not with renewal or rededication but with an accentuated fear of demons and an attempt to render one's emotions tranquil. Njepi is observed by an eerie day of silence: no one goes out on the streets, no work is conducted, no light or fire is lit, while conversation even within houseyards is muted. The lunar-solar system is not much used for "fortune telling" purposes, though the new moon and full moon days are considered to have certain qualitative characteristics, sinister in the first case, auspicious in the second. In general, the lunarsolar calendar is more a supplement to the permutational than an alternative to it. It makes possible the employment of a classificatory, fulland-empty, "detemporalized" conception of time in contexts where the fact that natural conditions vary periodically has to be at least minimally acknowledged. CEREMONY, STAGE FRIGHT, AND ABSENCE OF CLIMAX The anonymization of persons and the immobilization of time are thus but two sides of the same cultural process: the symbolic de-emphasis, in the everyday life of the Balinese, of the perception of fellowmen as consociates, successors, or predecessors in favor of the perception of them as contemporaries. As the various http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 18 of 28 symbolic orders of person-definition conceal the biological, psychological, and historical foundation of that changing pattern of gifts and inclinations we call personality behind a dense screen of ready-made identities, iconic selves, so the calendar, or rather the application of the calendar, blunts the sense of dissolving days and evaporating years that those foundations and that pattern inevitably suggest by pulverizing the flow of time into disconnected, dimensionless, motionless particles. A sheer contemporary needs an absolute present in which to live; an absolute present can be inhabited only by a contemporized man. Yet, there is a third side to this same process which transforms it from a pair of complementary prepossessions into a triangle of mutually reinforcing cultural forces: the ceremonialization of social intercourse. To maintain the (relative) anonymization of individuals with whom one is in daily contact, to dampen the intimacy implicit in face-to-face relationships--in a word, to render consociates contemporaries--it is necessary to formalize relations with them to a fairly high degree, to confront them in a sociological middle distance where they are close enough to be identified but not so close as to be grasped: quasi strangers, quasi friends. The ceremoniousness of so much of Balinese daily life, the extent (and the intensity) to which interpersonal relations are controlled by a developed system of conventions and proprieties, is thus a logical correlate of a thoroughgoing attempt to block the more creatural aspects of the human condition--individuality, spontaneity, perishability, emotionality, vulnerability--from sight. This attempt is, like its counterparts, only very partially successful, and the ceremonialization of Balinese social interaction is no closer to being complete than is the anonymization of persons or the immobilization of time. But the degree to which its success is wished for, the degree to which it is an obsessing ideal, accounts for the degree to which the ceremonialization obtains, for the fact that in Bali manners are not a mere matter of practical convenience or incidental decoration but are of deep spiritual concern. Calculated politesse, outward form pure and simple, has there a normative value that we, who regard it as pretentious or comic when we don't regard it as hypocritical, can scarcely, now that Jane Austen is about as far from us as Bali, any longer appreciate. Such an appreciation is rendered even more difficult by the presence within this industrious polishing of the surfaces of social life of a peculiar note, a stylistic nuance, we would not, I think, expect to be there. Being stylistic and being a nuance (though an altogether pervasive one), it is very difficult to communicate to someone who has not himself experienced it. "Playful theatricality" perhaps hits near it, if it is understood that the playfulness is not lighthearted but almost grave and the theatricality not spontaneous but almost forced. Balinese social relations are at once a solemn game and a studied drama. This is most clearly seen in their ritual and (what is the same thing) artistic life, much of which is in fact but a portrait of and a mold for their social life. Daily interaction is so ritualistic and religious activity so civic that it is difficult to tell where the one leaves off and the other begins; and both are but expressions of what is justly Bali's most famous cultural attribute: her artistic genius. The elaborate temple pageants; the grandiloquent operas, equilibristic ballets, and stilted shadow plays; the circuitous speech and apologetic gestures--all these are of a piece. Etiquette is a kind of dance, dance a kind of ritual, and worship a form of etiquette. Art, religion, and politesse all exalt the outward, the contrived, the well-wrought appearance of things. They celebrate the forms; and it is the tireless manipulation of these forms--what they call "playing"--that gives to Balinese life its settled haze of ceremony. The mannered cast of Balinese interpersonal relations, the fusion of rite, craft, and courtesy, thus leads into a recognition of the most fundamental and most distinctive quality of their particular brand of sociality: its radical aestheticism. Social acts, all social acts, are first and foremost designed to please--to please the gods, to please the audience, to please the other, to please the self; but to please as beauty pleases, not as virtue pleases. Like temple offerings or gamelan concerts, acts of courtesy are works of art, and as such they demonstrate, and are meant to demonstrate, not rectitude (or what we would call rectitude) but sensibility. Now, from all this--that daily life is markedly ceremonious; that this ceremoniousness takes the form of an earnest, even sedulous, kind of "playing" with public forms; that religion, art, and etiquette are then but differently http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 19 of 28 directed manifestations of an overall cultural fascination with the worked-up semblance of things; and that morality here is consequently aesthetic at base--it is possible to attain a more exact understanding of two of the most marked (and most remarked) features of the affective tone of Balinese life: the importance of the emotion of what has been (wrongly) called "shame" in interpersonal relations, and the failure of collective activity--religious, artistic, political, economic--to build toward the definable consummations, what has been (acutely) called its "absence of climax."40 One of these themes, the first, leads directly back toward conceptions of personhood, the other, no less directly, toward conceptions of time, so securing the vertices of our metaphorical triangle connecting the Balinese behavioral style with the ideational environment in which it moves. The concept of "shame," together with its moral and emotional cousin "guilt," has been much discussed in the literature, entire cultures sometimes being designated as "shame cultures" because of the presumed prominence in them of an intense concern with "honor," "reputation," and the like, at the expense of a concern, conceived to be dominant in "guilt cultures," with "sin," "inner worth," and so forth.41 The usefulness of such an overall categorization and the complex problems of comparative psychological dynamics involved aside, it has proven difficult in such studies to divest the term "shame" of what is after all its most common meaning in English-- "consciousness of guilt"--and so to disconnect it very completely from guilt as such--"the fact or feeling of having done something reprehensible." Usually, the contrast has been turned upon the fact that "shame" tends to be applied (although, actually, far from exclusively) to situations in which wrongdoing is publicly exposed, and "guilt" (though equally far from exclusively) to situations in which it is not. Shame is the feeling of disgrace and humiliation which follows upon a transgression found out; guilt is the feeling of secret badness attendant upon one not, or not yet, found out. Thus, though shame and guilt are not precisely the same thing in our ethical and psychological vocabulary, they are of the same family; the one is a surfacing of the other, the other a concealment of the one. But Balinese "shame," or what has been translated as such (lek), has nothing to do with transgressions, exposed or unexposed, acknowledged or hidden, merely imagined or actually performed. This is not to say that Balinese feel neither guilt nor shame, are without either conscience or pride, anymore than they are unaware that time passes or that men are unique individuals. It is to say that neither guilt nor shame is of cardinal importance as affective regulators of their interpersonal conduct, and that lek, which is far and away the most important of such regulators, culturally the most intensely emphasized, ought therefore not to be translated as "shame," but rather, to follow out our theatrical image, as "stage fright." It is neither the sense that one has transgressed nor the sense of humiliation that follows upon some uncovered transgression, both rather lightly felt and quickly effaced in Bali, that is the controlling emotion in Balinese face-to-face encounters. It is, on the contrary, a diffuse, usually mild, though in certain situations virtually paralyzing, nervousness before the prospect (and the fact) of social interaction, a chronic, mostly low-grade worry that one will not be able to bring it off with the required finesse.42 Whatever its deeper causes, stage fright consists in a fear that, for want of skill or self-control, or perhaps by mere accident, an aesthetic illusion will not be maintained, that the actor will show through his part and the part thus dissolve into the actor. Aesthetic distance collapses, the audience (and the actor) loses sight of Hamlet and gains it, uncomfortably for all concerned, of bumbling John Smith painfully miscast as the Prince of Denmark. In Bali, the case is the same, if the drama more humble. What is feared--mildly in most cases, intensely in a few--is that the public performance that is etiquette will be botched, that the social distance etiquette maintains will consequently collapse, and that the personality of the individual will then break through to dissolve his standardized public identity. When this occurs, as it sometimes does, our triangle falls apart: ceremony evaporates, the immediacy of the moment is felt with an excruciating intensity, and men become unwilling consociates locked in mutual embarrassment, as though they had inadvertently intruded upon one another's privacy. Lek is at once the awareness of the ever-present possibility of such an interpersonal disaster and, like stage fright, a motivating force toward avoiding it. It is the fear of faux pas--rendered only that much more probable by an elaborated politesse--that keeps social intercourse on its deliberately narrowed rails. It is lek, more than anything else, that protects Balinese concepts of personhood from the individualizing force of face-to- http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 20 of 28 face encounters. "Absence of climax," the other outstanding quality of Balinese social behavior, is so peculiarly distinctive and so distinctively odd that only extended description of concrete events could properly evoke it. It amounts to the fact that social activities do not build, or are not permitted to build, toward definitive consummations. Quarrels appear and disappear, on occasion they even persist, but they hardly ever come to a head. Issues are not sharpened for decision, they are blunted and softened in the hope that the mere evolution of circumstances will resolve them, or better yet, that they will simply evaporate. Daily life consists of self-contained, monadic encounters in which something either happens or does not--an intention is realized or it is not, a task accomplished or not. When the thing doesn't happen--the intention is frustrated, the task unaccomplished--the effort may be made again from the beginning at some other time; or it may simply be abandoned. Artistic performances start, go on (often for very extended periods when one does not attend continually but drifts away and back, chatters for a while, sleeps for a while, watches rapt for a while), and stop; they are as uncentered as a parade, as directionless as a pageant. Ritual often seems, as in the temple celebrations, to consist largely of getting ready and cleaning up. The heart of the ceremony, the obeisance to the gods come down onto their altars, is deliberately muted to the point where it sometimes seems almost an afterthought, a glancing, hesitant confrontation of anonymous persons brought physically very close and kept socially very distant. It is all welcoming and bidding farewell, foretaste and aftertaste, with but the most ceremonially buffered, ritually insulated sort of actual encounter with the sacred presences themselves. Even in such a dramatically more heightened ceremony as the RangdaBarong, fearful witch and foolish dragon combat ends in a state of complete irresolution, a mystical, metaphysical, and moral standoff leaving everything precisely as it was, and the observer--or anyway the foreign observer--with the feeling that something decisive was on the verge of happening but never quite did.43 In short, events happen like holidays. They appear, vanish, and reappear--each discrete, sufficient unto itself, a particular manifestation of the fixed order of things. Social activities are separate performances; they do not march toward some destination, gather toward some denouement. As time is punctual, so life is. Not orderless, but qualitatively ordered, like the days themselves, into a limited number of established kinds. Balinese social life lacks climax because it takes place in a motionless present, a vectorless now. Or, equally true, Balinese time lacks motion because Balinese social life lacks climax. The two imply one another, and both together imply and are implied by the Balinese contemporization of persons. The perception of fellowmen, the experience of history, and the temper of collective life--what has sometimes been called ethos--are hooked together by a definable logic. But the logic is not syllogistic; it is social. Cultural Integration, Cultural Conflict, Cultural Change Referring as it does both to formal principles of reasoning and to rational connections among facts and events, "logic" is a treacherous word; and nowhere more so than in the analysis of culture. When one deals with meaningful forms, the temptation to see the relationship among them as immanent, as consisting of some sort of intrinsic affinity (or disaffinity) they bear for one another, is virtually overwhelming. And so we hear cultural integration spoken of as a harmony of meaning, cultural change as an instability of meaning, and cultural conflict as an incongruity of meaning, with the implication that the harmony, the instability, or the incongruity are properties of meaning itself, as, say, sweetness is a property of sugar or brittleness of glass. Yet, when we try to treat these properties as we would sweetness or brittleness, they fail to behave, "logically," in the expected way. When we look for the constituents of the harmony, the instability, or the incongruity, we are unable to find them resident in that of which they are presumably properties. One cannot run symbolic forms through some sort of cultural assay to discover their harmony content, their stability ratio, or their index of incongruity; one can only look and see if the forms in question are in fact coexisting, changing, or interfering with one another in some way or other, which is like tasting sugar to see if it is sweet or dropping a glass to see if it is http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 21 of 28 brittle, not like investigating the chemical composition of sugar or the physical structure of glass. The reason for this is, of course, that meaning is not intrinsic in the objects, acts, processes, and so on, which bear it, but--as Durkheim, Weber, and so many others have emphasized--imposed upon them; and the explanation of its properties must therefore be sought in that which does the imposing--men living in society. The study of thought is, to borrow a phrase from Joseph Levenson, the study of men thinking;44 and as they think not in some special place of their own, but in the same place--the social world--that they do everything else, the nature of cultural integration, cultural change, or cultural conflict is to be probed for there: in the experiences of individuals and groups of individuals as, under the guidance of symbols, they perceive, feel, reason, judge, and act. To say this is, however, not to yield to psychologism, which along with logicism is the other great saboteur of cultural analysis; for human experience--the actual living through of events--is not mere sentience, but, from the most immediate perception to the most mediated judgment, significant sentience--sentience interpreted, sentience grasped. For human beings, with the possible exception of neonates, who except for their physical structure are human only in posse anyway, all experience is construed experience, and the symbolic forms in terms of which it is construed thus determine--in conjunction with a wide variety of other factors ranging from the cellular geometry of the retina to the endogenous stages of psychological maturation--its intrinsic texture. To abandon the hope of finding the "logic" of cultural organization in some Pythagorean "realm of meaning" is not to abandon the hope of finding it at all. It is to turn our attention toward that which gives symbols their life: their use.45 What binds Balinese symbolic structures for defining persons (names, kin terms, teknonyms, titles, and so on) to their symbolic structures for characterizing time (permutational calendars, and so forth), and both of these to their symbolic structures for ordering interpersonal behavior (art, ritual, politesse, and so on), is the interaction of the effects each of these structures has upon the perceptions of those who use them, the way in which their experiential impacts play into and reinforce one another. A penchant for "contemporizing" fellowmen blunts the sense of biological aging; a blunted sense of biological aging removes one of the main sources of a sense of temporal flow; a reduced sense of temporal flow gives to interpersonal events an episodic quality. Ceremonialized interaction supports standardized perceptions of others; standardized perceptions of others support a "steady-state" conception of society; a steady-state conception of society supports a taxonomic perception of time. And so on: one could begin with conceptions of time and go around, in either direction, the same circle. The circle, though continuous, is not in a strict sense closed, because none of these modes of experience is more than a dominant tendency, a cultural emphasis, and their subdued opposites, equally well- rooted in the general conditions of human existence and not without some cultural expression of their own, coexist with them, and indeed act against them. Yet, they are dominant; they do reinforce one another; and they are persisting. And it is to this state of affairs, neither permanent nor perfect, that the concept "cultural integration" --what Weber called "Sinnzusammenhang" --can be legitimately applied. In this view, cultural integration is no longer taken to be a sui generis phenomenon locked away from the common life of man in a logical world of its own. Perhaps even more important, however, it is also not taken to be an all-embracing, completely pervasive, unbounded one. In the first place, as just noted, patterns counteractive to the primary ones exist as subdominant but nonetheless important themes in, so far as we can tell, any culture. In an ordinary, quite un-Hegelian way, the elements of a culture's own negation are, with greater or lesser force, included within it. With respect to the Balinese, for example, an investigation of their witch beliefs (or, to speak phenomenologically, witch experiences) as inverses of what might be called their person beliefs, or of their trance behavior as an inverse of their etiquette, would be most enlightening in this respect and would add both depth and complexity to the present analysis. Some of the more famous attacks upon received cultural characterizations--revelations of suspicion and factionalism among the "harmony-loving" Pueblans, or of an "amiable side" to the rivalrous Kwakiutl--consist essentially in a pointing out of the existence, and the importance, of such themes.46 http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 22 of 28 But beyond this sort of natural counterpoint there are also simple, unbridged discontinuities between certain major themes themselves. Not everything is connected to everything else with equal directness; not everything plays immediately into or against everything else. At the very least such universal primary interconnection has to be empirically demonstrated, not just, as so often has been the case, axiomatically assumed. Cultural discontinuity, and the social disorganization which, even in highly stable societies, can result from it, is as real as cultural integration. The notion, still quite widespread in anthropology, that culture is a seamless web is no less a petitio principii than the older view that culture is a thing of shreds and patches which, with a certain excess of enthusiasm, it replaced after the Malinowskian revolution of the early thirties. Systems need not be exhaustively interconnected to be systems. They may be densely interconnected or poorly, but which they are- how rightly integrated they are--is an empirical matter. To assert connections among modes of experiencing, as among any variables, it is necessary to find them (and find ways of finding them), not simply assume them. And as there are some rather compelling theoretical reasons for believing that a system which is both complex, as any culture is, and fully joined cannot function, the problem of cultural analysis is as much a matter of determining independencies as interconnections, gulfs as well as bridges.47 The appropriate image, if one must have images, of cultural organization, is neither the spider web nor the pile of sand. It is rather more the octopus, whose tentacles are in large part separately integrated, neurally quite poorly connected with one another and with what in the octopus passes for a brain, and yet who nonetheless manages both to get around and to preserve himself, for a while anyway, as a viable if somewhat ungainly entity. The close and immediate interdependency between conceptions of person, time, and conduct which has been proposed in this essay is, so I would argue, a general phenomenon, even if the particular Balinese form of it is peculiar to a degree, because such an interdependency is inherent in the way in which human experience is organized, a necessary effect of the conditions under which human life is led. But it is only one of a vast and unknown number of such general interdependencies, to some of which it is more or less directly connected, to others only very indirectly, to others for all practical purposes virtually not at all. The analysis of culture comes down therefore not to an heroic "holistic" assault upon "the basic configurations of the culture," an overarching "order of orders" from which more limited configurations can be seen as mere deductions, but to a searching out of significant symbols, clusters of significant symbols, and clusters of clusters of significant symbols--the material vehicles of perception, emotion, and understanding--and the statement of the underlying regularities of human experience implicit in their formation. A workable theory of culture is to be achieved, if it is to be achieved, by building up from directly observable modes of thought, first to determinate families of them and then to more variable, less tightly coherent, but nonetheless ordered "octopoid" systems of them, confluences of partial integrations, partial incongruencies, and partial independencies. Culture moves rather like an octopus too--not all at once in a smoothly coordinated synergy of parts, a massive coaction of the whole, but by disjointed movements of this part, then that, and now the other which somehow cumulate to directional change. Where, leaving cephalopods behind, in any given culture the first impulses toward progression will appear, and how and to what degree they will spread through the system, is, at this stage of our understanding, if not wholly unpredictable, very largely so. Yet that if such impulses appear within some rather closely interconnected and socially consequential part of the system, their driving force will most likely be high, does not appear to be too unreasonable a supposition. Any development which would effectively attack Balinese personperceptions, Balinese experiences of time, or Balinese notions of propriety would seem to be laden with potentialities for transforming the greater part of Balinese culture. These are not the only points at which such revolutionary developments might appear (anything which attacked Balinese notions of prestige and its bases would seem at least equally portentous), but surely they are among the most important. If the Balinese develop a less anonymized view of one another, or a more dynamic sense of time, or a more informal style of social interaction, a very great deal indeed--not everything, http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 23 of 28 but a very great deal--would have to change in Balinese life, if only because any one of these changes would imply, immediately and directly, the others and all three of them play, in different ways and in different contexts, a crucial role in shaping that life. Such cultural changes could, in theory, come from within Balinese society or from without; but considering the fact that Bali is now part of a developing national state whose center of gravity is elsewhere--in the great cities of Java and Sumatra--it would seem most likely to come from without. The emergence for almost the first time in Indonesian history of a political leader who is human, all-too-human, not merely in fact but in appearance would seem to imply something of a challenge to traditional Balinese personhood conceptions. Not only is Sukarno a unique, vivid, and intensely intimate personality in the eyes of the Balinese, he is also, so to speak, aging in public. Despite the fact that they do not engage in face-to-face interaction with him, he is phenomenologically much more their consociate than their contemporary, and his unparalleled success in achieving this kind of relationship--not only in Bali, but in Indonesia quite generally--is the secret of a good deal of his hold on, his fascination for, the population. As with all truly charismatic figures his power comes in great part from the fact that he does not fit traditional cultural categories but bursts them open by celebrating his own distinctiveness. The same is true, in reduced intensity, for the lesser leaders of the New Indonesia, down to those small-frog Sukarnos (with whom the population does have face-to-face relations) now beginning to appear in Bali itself.48 The sort of individualism which Burckhardt saw the Renaissance princes bringing, through sheer force of character, to Italy, and bringing with it the modern Western consciousness, may be in the process of being brought, in rather different form, to Bali by the new populist princes of Indonesia. Similarly, the politics of continuing crisis on which the national state has embarked, a passion for pushing events toward their climaxes rather than away from them, would seem to pose the same sort of challenge to Balinese conceptions of time. And when such politics are placed, as they are increasingly being placed, in the historical framework so characteristic of New Nation nationalism almost everywhere--original greatness, foreign oppression, extended struggle, sacrifice and self-liberation, impending modernization--the whole conception of the relation of what is now happening to what has happened and what is going to happen is altered. And finally, the new informality of urban life and of the pan-Indonesian culture which dominates it--the growth in importance of youth and youth culture with the consequent narrowing, sometimes even the reversal, of the social distance between generations; the sentimental comradeship of fellow revolutionaries; the populist equalitarianism of political ideology, Marxist and non-Marxist alike--appears to contain a similar threat to the third, the ethos or behavioral style, side of the Balinese triangle. All this is admittedly mere speculation (though, given the events of the fifteen years of Independence, not wholly groundless speculation) and when, how, how fast, and in what order Balinese perceptions of person, time, and conduct will change is, if not wholly unpredictable in general, largely so in detail. But as they do change--which seems to me certain, and in fact already to have well begun49 --the sort of analysis here developed of cultural concepts as active forces, of thought as a public phenomenon with effects like other public phenomena, should aid us in discovering its outlines, its dynamics, and, even more important, its social implications. Nor, in other forms and with other results, should it be less useful elsewhere. Notes 1 The most systematic and extensive discussions are to be found in T. Parsons and E. Shils, eds., Toward a General Theory of Action ( Cambridge, Mass., 1959); and T. Parsons, The Social System ( Glencoe, Ill., 1951). Within anthropology, some of the more notable treatments, not all of them in agreement, include: S. F. Nadel , Theory of Social Structure ( Glencoe. Ill., 1957). E. Leach, Political Systems of Highland Burma ( Cambridge, Mass., 1954); E. E. Evans-Pritchard, Social Anthropology ( Glencoe, Ill., 1951); R. Redfield, The Primitive World and Its Transformations ( Ithaca, 1953); C. LÈvi-Strauss, "Social Structure," in his Structural Anthropology ( New York, 1963). pp. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 24 of 28 277-323; R. Firth, Elements of Social Organization ( New York, 1951); and M. Singer, "Culture," in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 3 ( New York, 1968), p. 527. 2 G. Ryle, The Concept of Mind ( New York, 1949). I have dealt with some of the philosophical issues, here passed over in silence, raised by the "extrinsic theory of thought," above, Chapter 3, pp. 55-61. and need now only re-emphasize that this theory does not involve a commitment to behaviorism, in either its methodological or epistemological forms; nor yet again to any disputation of the brute fact that it is individuals, not collectivities, who think. 3 For an introduction to Schutz work in this field, see his "The Problem of Social Reality", Collected Papers, 1, ed. M. Natanson ( The Hague, 1962). 4 Ibid., pp. 17 - 18. Brackets added, paragraphing altered. 5 Where "ancestor worship" on the one side or "ghost beliefs" on the other are present, successors may be regarded as (ritually) capable of interacting with their predecessors, or predecessors of (mystically) interacting with their successors. But in such cases the "persons" involved are, while the interaction is conceived to be occurring, phenomenologically not predecessors and successors, but contemporaries, or even consociates. It should be kept clearly in mind that, both here and in the discussion to follow, distinctions are formulated from the actor's point of view, not from that of an outside, third-person observer. For the place of actororiented (sometimes miscalled "subjective") constructs in the social sciences, see, T. Parsons, The Structure of Social Action ( Glencoe, Ill., 1937), especially the chapters on Max Weber's methodological writings. 6 It is in this regard that the consociate-contemporary-predecessor-successor formulation differs critically from at least some versions of the umwelt-mitweltvorwelt-vogelwelt formulation from which it derives, for there is no question here of apodictic deliverances of "transcendental subjectivity" ý la Husserl but rather of socio-psychologically developed and historically transmitted "forms of understanding" ý la Weber. For an extended, if somewhat indecisive, discussion of this contrast, see M. Merleau-Ponty, "Phenomenology and the Sciences of Man," in his The Primacy of Perception ( Evanston, 1964), pp. 43 - 55. 7 In the following discussion, I shall be forced to schematize Balinese practices severely and to represent them as being much more homogeneous and rather more consistent than they really are. In particular, categorical statements, of either a positive or negative variety ("All Balinese ..."; "No Balinese ..."), must be read as having attached to them the implicit qualification " ... so far as my knowledge goes," and even sometimes as riding roughshod over exceptions deemed to be "abnormal." Ethnographically fuller presentations of some of the data here summarized can be found in H. and C. Geertz, "Teknonymy in Bali: Parenthood, Age-Grading, and Genealogical Amnesia," Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 94 (part 2) ( 1964):94-108; C. Geertz, "Tihingan: A Balinese Village," Bijdragen tot de taal-, land- en volkenkunde, 120 ( 1964):1-33; and C. Geertz, "Form and Variation in Balinese Village Structure," American Anthropologist 61 ( 1959):991-1012. 8 While personal names of commoners are mere inventions, meaningless in themselves, those of the gentry are often drawn from Sanskrit sources and "mean" something, usually something rather high-flown, like "virtuous warrior" or "courageous scholar." But this meaning is ornamental rather than denotative, and in most cases what the meaning of the name is (as opposed to the simple fact that it has one) is not actually known. This contrast between mere babble among the peasantry and empty grandiloquence among the gentry is not without cultural significance, but its significance lies mainly in the area of the expression and perception of social inequality, not of personal identity. 9 This is, of course, not to say that such people are reduced in sociological (much less psychological) terms to playing the role of a child, for they are accepted as adults, if incomplete ones, by their consociates. The failure to have children is, however, a distinct handicap for anyone desiring much local power or prestige, and I have for my part never known a childless man who carried much weight in hamlet councils, or for that matter who was not socially marginal in general. 10 From a merely etymological point of view, they do have a certain aura of meaning, for they derive from obsolete roots indicating "leading," "medial," and "following"; but these gossamery meanings have no genuine everyday currency and are, if at all, but very peripherally perceived. 11 In point of fact, the Balinese system (or, in all probability, any other system) is not purely generational; but the intent here is merely to convey the general form of the system, not its precise structure. For the full terminological system, see H. and C. Geertz, "Teknonymy in Bali." 12 13 14 15 16 For a distinction, similar to the one drawn here, between the "ordering" and the "role-designating" aspects of kin terminologies, see D. Schneider and G. Homans , "Kinship Terminology and the American Kinship System," American Anthropologist 57 ( 1955):1195-1208. Old men of the same generation as the deceased do not pray to him either, of course, for the same reason. It might seem that the continuation of terms beyond the kumpi level would argue against this view. But in fact it supports it. For, in the rare case where a man has a ("real" or "classificatory") great-great-grandchild (kelab) old enough to worship him at his death, the child is, again, forbidden to do so. But here not because he is "the same age" as the deceased but because he is "(a generation) older"--i.e., equivalent to the dead man's "father." Similarly, an old man who lives long enough to have a great-great-grandchild kelab who has passed infancy and then died will worship--alone--at the child's grave, for the child is (one generation) senior to him. In principle, the same pattern holds in more distant generations, when, as the Balinese do not use kin terms to refer to the dead or the unborn, the problem becomes entirely theoretical: "That's what we'd call them and how we would treat them if we had any, which we never do." Personal pronouns are another possibility and might indeed be considered as a separate symbolic order of person-definition. But, in fact, their use also tends to be avoided whenever possible, often at the expense of some awkwardness of expression. This use of a descendant's personal name as part of a teknonym in no way contradicts my earlier statements about the lack of public currency of such names. The "name" here is part of the appellation of the person bearing the teknonym, not, even derivatively, of the eponymous child, whose name is taken purely as a reference point and is without--so far as I can tell--any independent symbolic value at http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 25 of 28 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 all. If the child dies, even in infancy, the teknonym is usually maintained unchanged; the eponymous child addresses and refers to his father and mother by the teknonym which includes his own name quite unself-consciously; there is no notion that the child whose name is embraced in his parents', grandparents', or great-grandparents' teknonyms is, on that account, any way different from or privileged over his siblings whose names are not; there is no shifting of teknonyms to include the names of favored or more able offspring, and so on. It also underscores another theme which runs through all the orders of person-definition discussed here: the minimization of the difference between the sexes which are represented as being virtually interchangeable so far as most social roles are concerned. For an intriguing discussion of this theme, see J. Belo, Rangda and Barong (Locust Valley, N.Y., 1949). In this sense, birth order terms could, in a more elegant analysis, be defined as "zero teknonyms" and included in this symbolic order: a person called Wayan, Njoman, etc., is a person who has produced no one, who has, as yet anyway, no descendants. G. Bateson, "Bali: The Value System of a Steady State," in M. Fortes, ed., Social Structure: Studies Presented to Radcliffe-Brown ( New York, 1963), pp. 35 - 53. Bateson was the first to point out, if somewhat obliquely, the peculiar achronic nature of Balinese thought, and my more narrowly focused analysis has been much stimulated by his general views. See also his "An Old Temple and a New Myth," Djawa (Jogjakarta) 17 ( 1937):219-307. [These have now been reprinted in J. Belo, ed., Traditional Balinese Culture ( New York, 1970), pp. 384- 402; 111 - 136.] Neither how many different titles are found in Bali (though there must be well over a hundred) nor how many individuals bear each title is known, for there has never been a census taken in these terms. In four hamlets I studied intensively in southeastern Bali a total of thirty-two different titles were represented, the largest of which was carried by nearly two hundred and fifty individuals, the smallest by one, with the modal figure running around fifty or sixty. See C. Geertz, "Tihingan: A Balinese Village." Varna categories are often subdivided, especially by high-status persons, into three ranked classes--superior (utama), medium (madia), and inferior (nista)--the various titles in the overall category being appropriately subgrouped. A full analysis of the Balinese system of social stratification--as much Polynesian as Indian in type--cannot be given here. The existence of one other order, that having to do with sex markers (Ni for women, I for men) ought at least to be mentioned. In ordinary life, these titles are affixed only to personal names (most of which are themselves sexually neutral) or to personal names plus birth order name, and then only infrequently. As a result, they are, from the point of view of person-definition, of but incidental importance, and I have felt justified in omitting explicit consideration of them. For an essay in this direction, see C. Geertz, "Form and Variation in Balinese Village Structure." Place names associated with the function the title expresses are perhaps even more common as secondary specification: "Klian Pau," "Pau" being the name of the hamlet of which the person is klian (chief, elder); "Anak Agung Kaleran," "Kaleran"--literally "north" or "northern"--being the name (and the location) of the lord's palace. Traditional texts, some of them fairly extensive, relating certain activities of the gods, do exist and fragments of the stories are known. But not only do these myths also reflect the typological view of personhood, the static view of time, and the ceremonialized style of interaction I am seeking to characterize, but the general reticence to discuss or think about the divine means that the stories they relate enter but slightly into Balinese attempts to understand and adapt to "the world." The difference between the Greeks and the Balinese lies not so much in the sort of lives their gods lead, scandalous in both cases, as in their attitude toward those lives. For the Greeks, the private doings of Zeus and his associates were conceived to illuminate the all-too-similar doings of men, and so gossip about them had philosophical import. For the Balinese, the private lives of Betara Guru and his associates are just that, private, and gossip about them is unmannerly-- even, given their place in the prestige hierarchy, impertinent. It is the overall order which is conceived to be fixed, not the individual's location within it, which is movable, though more along certain axes than others. (Along some, e.g., birth order, it is not movable at all.) But the point is that this movement is not, or anyway not primarily, conceived in what we would regard to be temporal terms: when a "father-of" becomes a "grandfather-of," the alteration is perceived as being less one of aging than a change in social (and what is here the same thing, cosmic) coordinates, a directed movement through a particular sort of unchanging attribute, space. Also, within some symbolic orders of person-definition, location is not conceived as an absolute quality because coordinates are origin-dependent: in Bali, as elsewhere, one man's brother is another man's uncle. Sch¸tz, The Problem of Social Reality, pp. 16-17. Brackets added. Ibid., pp. 221 - 222. As a preface to the following, and an appendix to the preceding, discussion, it should be remarked that, just as the Balinese do have consociate relations with one another and do have some sense of the material connection between ancestors and descendants, so too they do have some, as we would put it, "true" calendrical concepts--absolute dates in the so-called Caka system, Hinduistic notions of successive epochs, as well as, indeed, access to the Gregorian calendar. But these are (ca. 1958) unstressed and of distinctly secondary importance in the ordinary course of everyday life; variant patterns applied in restricted contexts for specific purposes by certain sorts of persons on sporadic occasions. A complete analysis of Balinese culture--so far as such a thing is possible--would indeed have to take account of them; and from certain points of view they are not without theoretical significance. The point, here and elsewhere, in this quite incomplete analysis, however, is not that the Balinese are, as the Hungarians are reputed to be, immigrants from another planet entirely unlike ourselves, but merely that the major thrust of their thought concerning certain matters of critical social importance lies, at least for the moment, in a markedly different direction from ours. Because the thirty-seven-name cycles (uku) which make up the two hundred and ten-day supercycle are also named, they can be, and commonly are, used in conjunction with five- and seven-day names, so eliminating the need to invoke names from the six-name cycle. But this is merely a notational matter: the result is exactly the same, though the days of the thirty- and forty-two-day supercycles are thus obscured. Balinese devices--charts, lists, numerical calculation, mnemonics--for making calendrical determinations and assessing their http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 26 of 28 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 meaning are both complex and various, and there are differences in technique and interpretation between individuals, villages, and regions of the island. Printed calendars in Bali (a still not very widespread innovation) contrive to show at once the uku; the day in each of the ten permutating cycles (including the one that never changes!); the day and month in the lunar-solar system; the day, the month, and year in the Gregorian and Islamic calendars; and the day, month, year, and year-name in the Chinese calendar--complete with notations of all the important holidays from Christmas to Galungan these various systems define. For fuller discussions of Balinese calendrical ideas and their socioreligious meaning, see R. Goris, "Holidays and Holy Days," in J. L. Swellengrebel, ed., Bali ( The Hague, 1960), pp. 115 - 129, together with the references cited there. More accurately: the days they define tell you what kind of time it is. Though the cycles and supercycles, being cycles, are recurrent, it is not this fact about them which is attended to or to which significance is attached. The thirty-, thirty-five-, forty-two-, and two hundred and ten-day periodicities, and thus the intervals they demarcate, are not, or are only very peripherally, perceived as such; nor are the intervals implicit in the elementary periodicities, the cycles proper, which generate them--a fact which has sometimes been obscured by calling the former "months" and "years" and the latter "weeks." It is--one cannot stress it too strongly--only the "days" which really matter, and the Balinese sense of time is not much more cyclical than it is durative: it is particulate. Within individual days there is a certain amount of short- range, not very carefully calibrated, durative measurement, by the public beating of slit-gongs at various points (morning, midday, sundown, and so on) of the diurnal cycle, and for certain collective labor tasks where individual contributions have to be roughly balanced, by water- clocks. But even this is of little importance: in contrast to their calendrical apparatus, Balinese horological concepts and devices are very undeveloped. Goris, "Holidays and Holy Days," p. 121. Not all of these holidays are major, of course. Many of them are celebrated simply within the family and quite routinely. What makes them holidays is that they are identical for all Balinese, something not the case for other sorts of celebrations. Ibid. There are, of course, subrhythms resulting from the workings of the cycles: thus every thirty-fifth day is a holiday because it is determined by the interaction of the five- and seven-name cycles, but in terms of the sheer succession of days there is none, though there is some clustering here and there. Goris regards RaditÈ-Tungleh-Paing as the "first day of the . . . Balinese [permutational] year" (and thus those days as the first days of their respective cycles); but though there may (or may not: Goris doesn't say) be some textual basis for this, I could find no evidence that the Balinese in fact so perceive it. In fact, if any day is regarded as something of what we would regard as a temporal milestone it would be Galungan (number seventy-four in the above reckoning). But even this idea is very weakly developed at best; like other holidays, Galungan merely happens. To present the Balinese calendar, even partially, in terms of Western flowof-time ideas is, in my opinion, inevitably to misrender it phenomenologically. Swellengrebel, Bali, p. 12. These temples are of all sizes and degrees of significance, and Swellengrebel notes that the Bureau of Religious Affairs on Bali gave a (suspiciously precise) figure, ca. 1953, of 4,661 "large and important" temples for the island, which, it should be remembered, is, at 2,170 square miles, about the size of Delaware. For a description of a full-blown odalan (most of which last three days rather than just one), see J. Belo, Balinese Temple Festival (Locust Valley, N.Y., 1953). Again, odalans are most commonly computed by the use of the uku rather than the six-name cycle, together with the five and seven-name cycles. See note 30. There are also various metaphysical conceptions associated with days bearing different names--constellations of gods, demons, natural objects (trees, birds, beasts), virtues and vices (love, hate . . .), and so on--which explain "why" it has the character it has--but these need not be pursued here. In this area, as well as in the associated "fortune telling" operations described in the text, theories and interpretations are less standardized and computation is not confined to the five-, six-, and seven-name cycles, but extended to various permutations of the others, a fact which makes the possibilities virtually limitless. With respect to individuals the term applied is more often otonan than odalan, but the root meaning is just the same: "emerging," "appearance," "coming out." The names of the last two months--borrowed from Sanskrit--are not strictly speaking numbers as are those of the other ten; but in terms of Balinese perceptions they "mean" eleventh and twelfth. In fact, as another Indic borrowing, the years are numbered too, but-outside of priestly circles where familiarity with it is more a matter of scholarly prestige, a cultural ornament, than anything else--year enumeration plays virtually no role in the actual use of the calendar, and lunar-solar dates are almost always given without the year, which is, with the rarest of exceptions, neither known nor cared about. Ancient texts and inscriptions sometimes indicate the year, but in the ordinary course of life the Balinese never "date" anything, in our sense of the term, except perhaps to say that some event--a volcanic eruption, a war, and so forth--happened "when I was small," "when the Dutch were here," or, the Balinese illo tempore, "in Madjapahit times," and so on. On the "shame" theme in Balinese culture, see M. Covarrubias, The Island of Bali ( New York, 1956); on "absence of climax," G. Bateson and M. Mead, Balinese Character ( New York, 1942). For a comprehensive critical review, see G. Piers and M. Singer, Shame and Guilt ( Springfield, Ill., 1953). Again, I am concerned here with cultural phenomenology, not psychological dynamics. It is, of course, quite possible, though I do not think the evidence is available either to prove or disprove it, that Balinese "stage fright" is connected with unconscious guilt feelings of some sort or another. My only point is that to translate lek as either "guilt" or "shame" is, given the usual sense of these terms in English, to misrender it, and that our word "stage fright"--"nervousness felt at appearing before an audience," to resort to Webster's again--gives a much better, if still imperfect, idea of what the Balinese are in fact talking about when they speak, as they do almost constantly, of lek. For a description of the Rangda-Barong combat, see J. Belo, Rangda and Barong; for a brilliant evocation of its mood, G. Bateson and M. Mead, Balinese Character. See also above, pp. 114-118. http://hypergeertz.jku.at/GeertzTexts/Person_ Time _ Conduct.htm 2/26/25, 1:39 PM Page 27 of 28 44 45 46 47 48 49 J. Levenson, Modern China and Its Confucian Past ( Garden City, 1964), p. 212. Here, as elsewhere, I use "thinking" to refer not just to deliberate reflection but intelligent activity of any sort, and "meaning" to refer not just to abstract "concepts" but significance of any sort. This is perhaps somewhat arbitrary, and a little loose, but one must have general terms to talk about general subjects, even if what falls under such subjects is very far from being homogeneous. ,"Every sign by itself seems dead. What gives it life?--in use it is alive. Is life breathed into it there?--Or is its use its life?" L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations ( New York, 1953), p. 128e. Italics in original. Li An-che, "ZuÒi: Some Observations and Queries," American Anthropologist 39 ( 1937):62-76; H. Codere, "The Amiable Side of Kwakiutl Life," American Anthropologist 58 ( 1956):334-351. Which of two antithetical patterns or clusters of patterns, if either, is in fact primary, is of course an empirical problem, but not, particularly if some thought is given to what "primacy" means in this connection, an insoluble one. "It has thus been shown that, for adaptations to accumulate, there must not be channels ... from some variables . . . to others. ... The idea so often implicit in physiological writings that all will be well if only sufficient cross-connections are available is ... quite wrong." W. R. Ashby, Design for a Brain, 2nd ed. rev. ( New York, 1960), p. 155. Italics in original. Of course, the reference here is to direct connections--what Ashby calls "primary joins." Any variable with no relations whatsoever to other variables in the system would simply not be part of it. For a discussion of the nest of theoretical problems involved here, see Ashby, pp. 171-183, 205-218. For an argument that cultural discontinuity may not only be compatible with the effective functioning of the social systems they govern but even supportive of such functioning, see J. W. Fernandez, "Symbolic Consensus in a Fang Reformative Cult." American Anthropologist 67 ( 1965):902-929. It is perhaps suggestive that the only Balinese of much importance in the central Indonesian government during the early years of the Republic--he was foreign minister for a while--was the Satria paramount prince of Gianjar, one of the traditional Balinese kingdoms, who bore the marvellously Balinese "name" of Anak Agung Gde Agung. "Anak Agung" is the public title borne by the members of the ruling house of Gianjar, Gde is a birth order title (the Triwangsa equivalent of Wayan), and Agung though a personal name is in fact just an echo of the public title. As "gde" and "agung" both mean "big," and "anak" means man, the whole name comes to something like "Big, Big, Big Man"--as indeed he was, until he fell from Sukarno's favor. More recent political leaders in Bali have taken to the use of their more individualized personal names in the Sukarno fashion and to the dropping of titles, birth order names, teknonyms, and so on, as "feudal" or "old-fashioned." This was written in early 1965; for the dramatic changes that, in fact, occurred later that year, see pp. 282-283 and Chapter 11. Person, time, and conduct in Bali: an essay in cultural analysis, New-Haven/Ct./USA 1966: Yale University Press; ed. by the Deptartment of Southeast Asia Studies cf. The interpretation of cultures: selected essays, New-York/N.Y./USA etc. 1973: Basic Books, pp. 360-411. online source: http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=52995835 Using this text is also subject to the general HyperGeertz-Copyright-regulations based on Austrian copyright-law (2001), which - in short - allow a personal, nonprofit & educational (all must apply) use of material stored in data bases, including a restricted redistribution of such material, if this is also for nonprofit purposes and restricted to a specific scientific community (both must apply), and if full and accurate attribution to the author, original source and date of publication, web location(s) or originating list(s) is given ("fair-use-restriction"). Any other use transgressing this restriction is subject to a direct agreement between a subsequent user and the holder of the original copyright(s) as indicated by the source(s). 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Cell and Structures Cell vs. Viruses • Cells: Simplest living structures capable of performing all life functions independently. • Viruses: Non-living entities requiring a host cell to replicate and survive. Microscopes • Light Microscope: Uses visible light, magnifies up to 1,000x; resolution limited by wavelength of light. • SEM (Scanning Electron Microscope): Creates detailed 3D images of surfaces; does not show internal structures. • TEM (Transmission Electron Microscope): Produces high-resolution images of internal cellular structures. Magnification and Resolution • Magnification: Enlarges an object’s appearance. • Resolution: Measures the clarity of an image by distinguishing two points as separate. Robert Hooke • Coined the term "cells" after observing cork under a microscope. • Published his findings in Micrographia (1665), advancing the study of cells. Cytology and Biochemistry • Cytology: The study of cell structure and function. • Biochemistry: The study of chemical processes and substances within organisms. Cell Fractionation • A laboratory technique to break apart cells and isolate organelles for detailed study. Size Limitations of Cells • Smaller cells have a higher surface area-to-volume ratio, which is essential for efficient exchange of materials. Prokaryotes vs. Eukaryotes • Prokaryotes: No nucleus or membrane-bound organelles; simpler and smaller (e.g., bacteria). • Eukaryotes: Have a nucleus and membrane-bound organelles; larger and more complex. Cell Structures and Functions • Nucleus: Stores genetic material (DNA). • Plasma Membrane: Protects the cell; regulates material exchange. • Cytosol: Fluid portion of the cytoplasm where cellular processes occur. • Microvilli: Increases surface area for absorption in some animal cells. • Cytoskeleton: ◦ Microfilaments (actin): Provides structural support. ◦ Microtubules: Involved in transport and motility. • Animal Cell-Specific Structures: ◦ Desmosomes: Anchor cells together. ◦ Gap Junctions: Channels that allow communication between cells. ◦ Tight Junctions: Create a watertight seal between cells. • Extracellular Matrix (ECM): Nonliving material outside cells, providing structural and biochemical support. • Plant Cell-Specific Structures: ◦ Plasmodesmata: Channels connecting cytoplasm between plant cells. Cellular Respiration Definition • Process of extracting energy from glucose to produce ATP, the cell's main energy currency. ATP • Made by the enzyme ATP synthase, powered by hydrogen ion (H⁺) movement across the inner mitochondrial membrane. Three Stages of Respiration 1 Glycolysis (Cytoplasm): ◦ Reactants: Glucose. ◦ Products: 2 Pyruvate, 2 ATP (net), and NADH. 2 Krebs Cycle (Mitochondrial Matrix): ◦ Reactant: Acetyl CoA. ◦ Products: CO₂, NADH, FADH₂, and 2 ATP. 3 Electron Transport Chain (ETC) (Inner Mitochondrial Membrane): ◦ Reactants: NADH and FADH₂ (electron carriers). ◦ Products: Water and ~32-34 ATP. Key Points • No oxygen = no Krebs cycle or ETC; only 2 ATP are produced via glycolysis. • Fermentation occurs in anaerobic conditions: ◦ Converts pyruvate into lactic acid (in animals) or ethanol (in yeast). Photosynthesis Overview • Process where plants convert light energy into chemical energy (sugars). • Formula: CO2+H2O→O2+G3PCO_2 + H_2O \rightarrow O_2 + G3PCO2​+H2​O→O2​+G3P. Key Concepts 1 Light Reactions (Thylakoid Membranes): ◦ Products: ATP and NADPH (used in the Calvin Cycle). ◦ Oxygen is produced by Photosystem II. 2 Calvin Cycle (Stroma): ◦ Uses ATP and NADPH to fix carbon dioxide into G3P (a sugar precursor). Photosystems • Photosystem II: Produces oxygen and ATP. • Photosystem I: Produces NADPH. Adaptations • C4 Pathway: Spatial separation of steps to avoid photorespiration. • CAM Pathway: Temporal separation, stomata open at night to reduce water loss. Mitosis and Meiosis Mitosis • Division of a eukaryotic somatic (non-reproductive) cell into two identical diploid cells. • Phases: 1 Prophase: Chromosomes condense; spindle forms. 2 Metaphase: Chromosomes align at the cell's equator. 3 Anaphase: Sister chromatids separate. 4 Telophase: Nuclear envelopes reform. 5 Cytokinesis: Cytoplasm splits into two cells. Meiosis • Specialized cell division in germ cells (ovaries/testes) to produce gametes. • Key Features: ◦ Two divisions produce four genetically unique haploid cells. ◦ Crossing over occurs during Prophase I for genetic diversity. Binary Fission • A simple form of cell division in prokaryotes producing two identical cells. Genetics • Haploid: Single set of chromosomes (e.g., gametes). • Diploid: Two sets of chromosomes (e.g., somatic cells). • Punnett Squares and Pedigrees: Tools to predict genetic inheritance. Cell and Structures Cell vs. Viruses • Cells: Simplest living structures capable of performing all life functions independently. • Viruses: Non-living entities requiring a host cell to replicate and survive. Microscopes • Light Microscope: Uses visible light, magnifies up to 1,000x; resolution limited by wavelength of light. • SEM (Scanning Electron Microscope): Creates detailed 3D images of surfaces; does not show internal structures. • TEM (Transmission Electron Microscope): Produces high-resolution images of internal cellular structures. Magnification and Resolution • Magnification: Enlarges an object’s appearance. • Resolution: Measures the clarity of an image by distinguishing two points as separate. Robert Hooke • Coined the term "cells" after observing cork under a microscope. • Published his findings in Micrographia (1665), advancing the study of cells. Cytology and Biochemistry • Cytology: The study of cell structure and function. • Biochemistry: The study of chemical processes and substances within organisms. Cell Fractionation • A laboratory technique to break apart cells and isolate organelles for detailed study. Size Limitations of Cells • Smaller cells have a higher surface area-to-volume ratio, which is essential for efficient exchange of materials. Prokaryotes vs. Eukaryotes • Prokaryotes: No nucleus or membrane-bound organelles; simpler and smaller (e.g., bacteria). • Eukaryotes: Have a nucleus and membrane-bound organelles; larger and more complex. Cell Structures and Functions • Nucleus: Stores genetic material (DNA). • Plasma Membrane: Protects the cell; regulates material exchange. • Cytosol: Fluid portion of the cytoplasm where cellular processes occur. • Microvilli: Increases surface area for absorption in some animal cells. • Cytoskeleton: ◦ Microfilaments (actin): Provides structural support. ◦ Microtubules: Involved in transport and motility. • Animal Cell-Specific Structures: ◦ Desmosomes: Anchor cells together. ◦ Gap Junctions: Channels that allow communication between cells. ◦ Tight Junctions: Create a watertight seal between cells. • Extracellular Matrix (ECM): Nonliving material outside cells, providing structural and biochemical support. • Plant Cell-Specific Structures: ◦ Plasmodesmata: Channels connecting cytoplasm between plant cells. Cellular Respiration Definition • Process of extracting energy from glucose to produce ATP, the cell's main energy currency. ATP • Made by the enzyme ATP synthase, powered by hydrogen ion (H⁺) movement across the inner mitochondrial membrane. Three Stages of Respiration 1 Glycolysis (Cytoplasm): ◦ Reactants: Glucose. ◦ Products: 2 Pyruvate, 2 ATP (net), and NADH. 2 Krebs Cycle (Mitochondrial Matrix): ◦ Reactant: Acetyl CoA. ◦ Products: CO₂, NADH, FADH₂, and 2 ATP. 3 Electron Transport Chain (ETC) (Inner Mitochondrial Membrane): ◦ Reactants: NADH and FADH₂ (electron carriers). ◦ Products: Water and ~32-34 ATP. Key Points • No oxygen = no Krebs cycle or ETC; only 2 ATP are produced via glycolysis. • Fermentation occurs in anaerobic conditions: ◦ Converts pyruvate into lactic acid (in animals) or ethanol (in yeast). Photosynthesis Overview • Process where plants convert light energy into chemical energy (sugars). • Formula: CO2+H2O→O2+G3PCO_2 + H_2O \rightarrow O_2 + G3PCO2​+H2​O→O2​+G3P. Key Concepts 1 Light Reactions (Thylakoid Membranes): ◦ Products: ATP and NADPH (used in the Calvin Cycle). ◦ Oxygen is produced by Photosystem II. 2 Calvin Cycle (Stroma): ◦ Uses ATP and NADPH to fix carbon dioxide into G3P (a sugar precursor). Photosystems • Photosystem II: Produces oxygen and ATP. • Photosystem I: Produces NADPH. Adaptations • C4 Pathway: Spatial separation of steps to avoid photorespiration. • CAM Pathway: Temporal separation, stomata open at night to reduce water loss. Mitosis and Meiosis Mitosis • Division of a eukaryotic somatic (non-reproductive) cell into two identical diploid cells. • Phases: 1 Prophase: Chromosomes condense; spindle forms. 2 Metaphase: Chromosomes align at the cell's equator. 3 Anaphase: Sister chromatids separate. 4 Telophase: Nuclear envelopes reform. 5 Cytokinesis: Cytoplasm splits into two cells. Meiosis • Specialized cell division in germ cells (ovaries/testes) to produce gametes. • Key Features: ◦ Two divisions produce four genetically unique haploid cells. ◦ Crossing over occurs during Prophase I for genetic diversity. Binary Fission • A simple form of cell division in prokaryotes producing two identical cells. Genetics • Haploid: Single set of chromosomes (e.g., gametes). • Diploid: Two sets of chromosomes (e.g., somatic cells). • Punnett Squares and Pedigrees: Tools to predict genetic inheritance.

3 kinds of freedom Physical, psychological,moral freedom 2 elements of freedom Voluntariness Responsibility Freedom-is an ability to make choices and perform actions Physical freesom -physical restraint Moral freedom-upholds human dignity Psychological freedom -freedom of choice Voluntariness -act out of one free will Responsibility -The person being accountable for his or her actions Seeming-connection where individual present himself or herself in a certain way Dialogue -it's an interaction between persons Empathy -enables us to express another person's emotions Sympathy -a feeling of sincere Empathy is feeling 'in' sympathies feeling 'with' Availability -The willingness of a person Ethics of care -is an ethical theory that emphasizes the moral dimension Social contract theory -is the idea that society is based on a set of standard Thomas Hobbes social contract -is an agreement where individual sacrifice and amount of freedom John Locke -consent of the governed Jean Jacques Rousseaus-general will John Rowls -original position David Gathier - self interest The different forms of societies Hunting and gathering society -recognize as the earliest and simplest form of society Pastoral society -type of society is characterized by the domestication of animals for food Horticultural society -it's a primarily engages In the small scale cultivation of plants Agrarian or agricultural society -a type of society is a further evolution of the pastoral and horticultural society it involves the large scale Feudal society -is based on ownership of land Industrial society -it's based on the use of specialized machinery Post industrial society -it's marked by the establishment of society's based on knowledge Virtual society -where people organize themselves through communication technology. Phenomenological notion of death Death is certain -Will born and we will eventually die Death is indefinite -we don't know when will die Death is one's property -only one person experiencing death Death is non-relational-we die alone Death is not to be outstrip ped-we cannot avoid death.

Biology Unit 2 - Life in its Simplest Form Cell Structure & Viruses

Simplest Radical Form ! ⭐

Alkanes: The Simplest Organic Compounds

Organic Chemistry – branch of chemistry which deals with study of carbon containing compounds their properties , composition, structure , reactions and preparations. Organic compounds – are carbon containing compounds with the exception of carbon dioxide, carbonates and bicarbonate Inorganic Chemistry – branch of chemistry which deals with the study of all elements and compounds other than organic compounds Comparison of the properties of most Organic and Inorganic compounds Properties Organic Inorganic Flammable Yes No Melting point Low High Boiling point Low Hogh Solubility in water Insoluble Soluble Solubility in non polar solvent Soluble Insoluble Type of bond Covalent Ionic bond Reaction occurs between Molecule Ions Atoms per molecule Many Few Structure Complex Simple Electrolyte No Electrolyte Organic compounds A. Hydrocarbon -compounds that contains only carbon and hydrogen 1. Saturated - contains single bond ; Example Alkane ( CnH2n+2) 2. Unsaturated – contains double or triple bond. a. Alkene – contains double bond ( CnH2n ) b. Alkyne - Contains triple bond (CnHn-2 ) c. Aromatic Hydrocarbon - hydrocarbon that contains benzene ring B. Hydrocarbon derivative – compounds that contains carbon and hydrogen and other element such O, N, P,S, halogens. 1. Alcohol - ROH organic compound produced by hydration of alkene 2. Ether - ROR - prepared by dehydration of alcohol 3. Aldehyde – RCHO – prepared by oxidation of primary alcohol 4. Ketone – RCOR – prepared by oxidation of secondary alcohol 5. Carboxylic Acid - RCOOH – prepared by oxidation of aldehyde 6. Amine - organic compound derived from ammonia ( NH3) a. Primary Amine –R NH2 b. Secondary Amine – R2NH c. Tertiary Carbon – R3N 7. Amide – RCONH2 – organic compound prepared by the reaction of carboxylic acid ammonia. 8. Ester – RCOOR – Organic compounds prepared by the reaction of carboxylic acid and alcohol Structural formula - two dimensional structural representation that shows how the various atoms in a molecule are bonded to each other a. Expanded structural formula - show all atoms in a molecules and all bonds connecting them. b. Condensed structural formula – uses groupings of atom in which central atoms and the atoms connected to them are written in a group. c. Skeletal structural formula - show the arrangement and bonding of carbon atoms present in an organic molecule but does not show the hydrogen atom attached to the carbon atom - d. Line angle structural formula - structural representation in which a line represent a carbon-carbon bond and a carbon atom is understood to be present at every point where two lines meet and at the end of the line. Classification of Carbon Atoms 1. Primary Carbon - carbon atom in an organic molecule that is directly bonded to one carbon one other carbon atom. Ex. CH3- CH3 10 1O 2. Secondary carbon atom – is a carbon atom in an organic molecule that is directly attached to two 3. Tertiary carbon - carbon atom in an organic molecule that is directly attached to three other carbon atoms. 4. Quarternary carbon atom - is a carbon atom in an organic molecule that is directly attached to four other carbon atoms. Alkyl group – group of atom that would be obtained by removing a hydrogen atom from an alkane Substituent – is an atom or group of atoms attached to a chain or ring of carbon atoms. Alkane - Saturated hydrocarbon that contains single bond Rules in naming alkane 1. Choose the longest continuous chain as your parent chain 2. Locate the position of the substituent starting from the carbon nearest to it. 3. If there are two or more the same substituents , use the Greek prefixes such as di, tri , tetra, etc. 4. If there are different substituents, write the name in alphabetical order, 5. Use commas between numbers and hyphen between number and letter. Isomer – compounds with same molecular formula but different structural formula CH3 – CH2 – CH2 – CH2- CH3 CH3 – CH2 – CH – CH3 CH3 CH3 CH3 – C – CH3 CH3 Cycloalkane – saturated hydrocarbon in which carbon atoms connected to one another in a cycl (ring) arrangement are present. The simplest cycloalkane is cyclopropane.