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→I have included in this book all that I
have learned about emotion during the past forty years that I believe
can be helpful in improving one's own emotional life. Most of what
I have written is supported by my own scientific experiments or the
research of other emotion scientists, but not everything. My own
research specially was to develop expertise in reading and measuring
facial expressions of emotions. So equipped, I have been able to
see—on the faces of strangers, friends, and family members—subtleties
that nearly everyone else misses, and by that means I have
learned a great deal more than I have yet had the time to prove
through experiments. When what I write is based just on my observations,
I note that by phrases such as "I have observed," "I believe,"
"it seems to me. . . ." And when I write based on scientific experiments
I cite in endnotes the specific research supporting what I say.
Much of what I have written in this book was influenced by my
cross-cultural studies of facial expression. The evidence changed forever
my view of psychology in general and of emotion in particular.
Those findings, in places as varied as Papua New Guinea, the United
States, Japan, Brazil, Argentina, Indonesia, and the former Soviet
Union, led me to develop my ideas about the nature of emotion.
At the start of my research in the late 1950s, I wasn't even interested
in facial expression. It was the movements of the hands
that drew my interest. My method of classifying hand movements
1Emotions
Across
Cultures
distinguished neurotic from psychotically depressed patients, and
indicated how much the patients improved from treatment.1 In the
early 1960s there wasn't even a tool for directly and precisely measuring
the complex, often rapidly changing facial movements shown
by the depressed patients. I had no idea where to begin, and so I
didn't. Twenty-five years later, after I had developed a tool for measuring
facial movement, I returned to those patient films and
unearthed important findings, which I describe in chapter 5.
I don't think I would have shifted my research focus to facial
expression and emotion in 1965 if it hadn't been for two strokes of
luck. Through serendipity the Advanced Research Projects Agency
(ARPA) of the Department of Defense gave me a grant to do crosscultural
studies of nonverbal behavior. I had not sought the grant, but
because of a scandal—a research project being used to camouflage
counter-insurgency activity—a major ARPA project was canceled
and the money budgeted for it had to be spent during that fiscal year
on overseas research, and on something noncontroversial. By accident
I happened to walk into the office of the man who had to spend the
funds. He was married to a woman from Thailand and was impressed
by differences in their nonverbal communication. He wanted me to
find out what was universal and what was culturally variable. I was
reluctant at first, but I couldn't walk away from the challenge.
I began the project believing that expression and gesture were
socially learned and culturally variable, and so did the initial group
of people I asked for advice—Margaret Mead, Gregory Bateson,
Edward Hall, Ray Birdwhistell, and Charles Osgood. I recalled that
Charles Darwin had made the opposite claim, but I was so convinced
that he was wrong that I didn't bother to read his book.
The second stroke of luck was meeting Silvan Tomkins. He had
just written two books about emotion in which he claimed that
facial expressions were innate and universal to our species, but he
had no evidence to back up his claims. I don't think I would ever
have read his books or met him if we hadn't both submitted articles
on nonverbal behavior to the same journal at the same time—
Silvan's a study of the face, mine a study of body movement.2
I was very impressed with the depth and breadth of Silvan's
thinking, but I thought he was probably wrong in his belief, like
Darwin's, that expressions were innate and therefore universal. I was
delighted that there were two sides to the argument, that it wasn't
just Darwin, who had written a hundred years earlier, who opposed
Mead, Bateson, Birdwhistell, and Hall. It wasn't a dead issue. There
was a real argument between famous scientists, elder statesmen; and
I, at the age of thirty, had the chance, and the funding, to try to settle
it once and for all: Are expressions universal, or are they, like language,
specific to each culture? Irresistible! I really didn't care who
proved to be correct, although I didn't think it would be Silvan.*
In my first study I showed photographs to people in five
cultures—Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Japan, and the United States—
and asked them to judge what emotion was shown in each facial
expression. The majority in every culture agreed, suggesting that
expressions might really be universal.3 Carrol Izard, another psychologist
who had been advised by Silvan, and was working in other
cultures, did nearly the same experiment and got the same results.4
Tomkins had not told either of us about the other, something that
we initially resented when we found out we were not doing this
work alone, but it was better for science that two independent
researchers found the same thing. It seemed that Darwin was right.
There was a problem: How could we have found that people
from many different cultures agreed about what emotion was
shown in an expression when so many smart people thought just
the opposite? It wasn't just the travelers who claimed that the
expressions of the Japanese or the Chinese or some other cultural
group had very different meanings. Birdwhistell, a respected
anthropologist who specialized in the study of expression and
gesture (a protege of Margaret Mead), had written that he
abandoned Darwin's ideas when he found that in many cultures
people smiled when they were unhappy.5 Birdwhistell's claim
fit the view that dominated cultural anthropology and most of
*I found just the opposite of what I thought I would discover. That's ideal. Behavioral science findings
are more credible when they counter rather than confirm the scientist's expectations. In most fields of
science it is just the opposite; findings are more trusted if they were predicted ahead of time. That is
because the possibility of bias or error is checked by the tradition of scientists repeating one another's
experiments to see if they will get the same results. Unfortunately, that tradition doesn't exist in rhe
behavioral sciences. Experiments are rarely repeated, either by the scientist who originally did the work
or by others. Without that safeguard, behavioral scientists are more vulnerable to finding unwittingly
only what they want to find.
psychology—anything socially important, such as emotional
expressions, must be the product of learning, and therefore different
in each culture.
I reconciled our findings that expressions are universal with Birdwhistell's
observation of how they differ from one culture to another
by coming up with the idea of display rules. These, I proposed, are
socially learned, often culturally different, rules about the management
of expression, about who can show which emotion to whom
and when they can do so. It is why in most public sporting contests
the loser doesn't show the sadness and disappointment he or she
feels. Display rules are embodied in the parent's admonition—"Get
that smirk off your face." These rules may dictate that we diminish,
exaggerate, hide completely, or mask the expression of emotion we
are feeling.6
I tested this formulation in a series of studies that showed that
when alone Japanese and Americans displayed the same facial expressions
in response to seeing films of surgery and accidents, but when
a scientist sat with them as they watched the films, the Japanese
more than the Americans masked negative expressions with a smile.
In private, innate expressions; in public, managed expressions.7
Since it is the public behavior that anthropologists and most travelers
observe, I had my explanation and evidence of its operation. In
contrast, symbolic gestures—such as the head nod yes, the head
shake no, and the A-OK gesture—are indeed culture-specific.8 Here
Birdwhistell, Mead, and most other behavioral scientists were right,
though they were wrong about the facial expressions of emotion.
There was a loophole, and if I could see it, so might Birdwhistell
and Mead, who I knew would search for any way to dismiss my
findings. All the people I (and Izard) had studied might have learned
the meaning of Western facial expressions by watching Charlie
Chaplin and John Wayne on the movie screen and television tube.
Learning from the media or having contact with people from other
cultures could explain why people from different cultures had
agreed about the emotions shown in my photographs of Caucasians.
I needed a visually isolated culture where the people had seen no
movies, no television, no magazines, and few, if any, outsiders. If
they thought the same emotions were shown in my set of facial
expression photographs as the people in Chile, Argentina, Brazil,
Japan, and the United States, I would have it nailed.
My entry to a Stone Age culture was Carleton Gajdusek, a neurologist
who had been working for more than a decade in such isolated
places in the highlands of Papua New Guinea. He was trying
to find the cause of a strange disease, kuru, which was killing about
half the people in one of these cultures. The people believed it was
due to sorcery. When I arrived on the scene, Gajdusek already knew
that it was due to a slow virus, a virus that incubates for many years
before any symptoms become apparent (AIDS is such a virus). He
didn't yet know how it was transmitted. (It turned out to be cannibalism.
These people didn't eat their enemies, who would be more
likely to be in good health if they died in combat. They ate only
their friends who died of some kind of disease, many of them from
kuru. They didn't cook them before eating, so diseases were readily
passed on. Gajdusek some years later won the Nobel Prize for the
discovery of slow viruses.)
Fortunately, Gajdusek had realized that Stone Age cultures would
soon disappear, so he took more than one hundred thousand feet of
motion picture films of the daily lives of the people in each of two
cultures. He had never looked at the films; it would have taken
nearly six weeks to look just once at his films of these people. That's
when I came along.
Delighted that someone had a scientific reason for wanting to
examine his films, he lent me copies, and my colleague Wally Friesen
and I spent six months carefully examining them. The films contained
two very convincing proofs of the universality of facial
expressions of emotion. First, we never saw an unfamiliar expression.
If facial expressions are completely learned, then these isolated
people should have shown novel expressions, ones we had never seen
before. There were none.
It was still possible that these familiar expressions might be signals
of very different emotions. But while the films didn't always reveal
what happened before or after an expression, when they did, they confirmed
our interpretations. If expressions signal different emotions in
each culture, then total outsiders, with no familiarity with the culture,
should not have been able to interpret the expressions correctly.
I tried to think how Birdwhistell and Mead would dispute this
claim. I imagined they would say, "It doesn't matter that there aren't
any new expressions; the ones you did see really had different meanings.
You got them right because you were tipped off by the social
context in which they occurred. You never saw an expression
removed from what was happening before, afterward, or at the same
time. If you had, you wouldn't have known what the expressions
meant." To close this loophole, we brought Silvan from the East
Coast to spend a week at my lab.
Before he came we edited the films so he would see only the
expression itself, removed from its social context, just close-up shots
of a face. Silvan had no trouble at all. Every one of his interpretations
fit the social context he hadn't seen. What's more, he knew
exactly how he got the information. Wally and I could sense what
emotional message was conveyed by each expression, but our judgments
were intuitively based; we usually could not specify exactly
what in the face carried the message unless it was a smile. Silvan
walked up to the movie screen and pointed out exactly which specific
muscular movements signaled the emotion.
We also asked him for his overall impression of these two cultures.
One group he said seemed quite friendly. The other was explosive in
their anger, highly suspicious if not paranoid in character, and homosexual.
It was the Anga that he was describing. His account fit what
we had been told by Gajdusek, who had worked with them. They had
repeatedly attacked Australian officials who tried to maintain a government
station there. They were known by their neighbors for their
fierce suspiciousness. And the men led homosexual lives until the time
of marriage. A few years later the ethologist Irenäus Eibl-Eibesfeldt
literally had to run for his life when he attempted to work with them.
After that meeting I decided to devote myself to the study of facial
expression. I would go to New Guinea and try to get evidence to support
what I then knew to be true—that at least some facial expressions
of emotion are universal. And I would work to develop an objective
way to measure facial behavior so that any scientist could objectively
derive from facial movement what Silvan could see so keenly.
Late in 1967 I went to the South East Highlands to do research
on the Fore people, who lived in small scattered villages at an elevation
of seven thousand feet. I did not know the Fore language, but
with the help of a few boys who had learned Pidgin from a missionary
school, I could go from English to Pidgin to Fore and back
again. I brought with me pictures of facial expressions, mostly the
pictures I had been given by Silvan for my studies of literate cultures.
(Below on page 9 are three examples.) I also brought photographs
of some Fore people I had selected from the motion picture
film, thinking they might have trouble interpreting the expressions
shown by Caucasians. I even worried that they might not be able to
understand photographs at all, never having seen any before. Some
anthropologists had earlier claimed that people who hadn't seen
photographs had to learn how to interpret them. The Fore had no
such problem, though; they immediately understood the photographs,
and it didn't seem to make much of a difference what
nationality the person was, Fore or American. The problem was
what I asked them to do.
They had no written language, so I couldn't ask them to pick a
word from a list that fit the emotion shown. If I were to read them a
list of emotion words, I would have to worry about whether they
remembered the list, and whether the order in which the words were
read influenced their choice. Instead I asked them to make up a
story about each facial expression. "Tell me what is happening now,
what happened before to make this person show this expression, and
what is going to happen next." It was like pulling teeth. I am not
certain whether it was the translation process, or the fact that they
had no idea what it was I wanted to hear or why I wanted them to
do this. Perhaps making up stories about strangers was just something
the Fore didn't do.
I did get my stories, but it took each person a lot of time to give
me each story. They and I were exhausted after each session. Nevertheless,
I had no shortage of volunteers, even though I suspect the
word was out that what I was asking wasn't easy to do. There was a
powerful incentive to look at my photographs: I gave each person
either a bar of soap or a pack of cigarettes for helping me. They had
no soap, so it was highly valued. They grew their own tobacco, which
they smoked in pipes, but they seemed to like my cigarettes better.
Most of their stories fit the emotion each photograph supposedly
depicted. For example, when looking at a picture depicting what
people in literate cultures judged as sadness, the New Guineans
most often said that the person's child had died. But the storytelling
procedure was awkward, and proving that the different stories fit a
particular emotion would not be an easy task. I knew I had to do it
differently, but I didn't know how.
I also filmed spontaneous expressions and was able to catch the look
of joy when people from another nearby village met their friends. I
arranged situations to provoke emotions. I recorded two men playing
their musical instruments, and then I filmed their surprise and delight
when for the first time they heard their voices and music come out of
a tape recorder. I even stabbed a boy with a rubber knife I had brought
with me, as my movie camera recorded his response and the reactions
of his friends. They thought it was a good joke. (I had the good sense
not to try this trick with one of the men.) Such film clips could not
serve as my evidence, for those committed to the view that expressions
differ in each culture could always argue I had selected only those few
occasions when universal expressions were shown.
I left New Guinea after a few months—not a hard decision
because I was hungry for conversation, something I couldn't have
with any of these people, and for food, since I had made the mistake
of thinking I would enjoy eating the local cuisine. Yams and something
resembling the part of the asparagus we discard grew pretty
tiresome. It was an adventure, the most exciting one of my life, but
I was still worried that I had not been able to get definitive evidence.
I knew this culture would not stay isolated much longer, and there
were not many others like it still left in the world.
Back home I came across a technique that psychologist John
Dashiel had used in the 1930s to study how well young children
could interpret facial expressions. They were too young to read, so
he couldn't give them a list of words from which to choose. Instead
of asking them to make up a story—as I had done in New
Guinea—Dashiel cleverly read them a story and showed them a set
of pictures. All they had to do was pick the one that fit the story. I
knew that would work for me. I went over the stories the New
Guineans had made up, picking the story that had been given most
often for each type of emotional expression. They were pretty simple:
"His/her friends have come and s/he is happy; s/he is angry and
about to fight; his/her child has died and s/he feels very sad; s/he is
looking at something s/he dislikes, or s/he is looking at something
that smells bad; he/she is just now looking at something new and
unexpected."
There was a problem with the most frequent story for fear, about
the danger posed by a wild pig. I had to change it to reduce the
chance that it would be relevant to surprise or anger. It went like
this: "S/he is sitting in her/his house all alone, and there is no one
else in the village. There is no knife, axe, or bow and arrow in the
house. A wild pig is standing in the door of the house, and the man
(woman) is looking at the pig and is very afraid of it. The pig has
been standing in the doorway for a few minutes and the person is
looking at it very afraid, and the pig won't move away from the door
and s/he is afraid the pig will bite him/her."
I made up sets of three pictures, which would be shown while one
of the stories was read (an example appears below). The subject
would only have to point to the picture. 1 made up many sets of pictures,
I didn't want any picture to appear more than once, so the
person's choice wouldn't be made by exclusion: "Oh, that was the
one where the child died, and that was the one where I said she was
about to fight, so this one must be the one about the pig."
I returned to New Guinea late in 1968 with my stones and pictures
and a team of colleagues to help gather the data.9 (This time
I also brought canned food.) Our return was heralded, I suppose,
because apart from Gajdusek and his filmmaker, Richard Sorenson
(who was of great help to me in the prior year), very few outsiders
ever visited, and even fewer returned. We did travel to some villages,
but once the word got out that what we were asking was very
easy to do, people from villages far away started coming to us.
They liked the task and were again delighted with the soap and
cigarettes.
I took special care to ensure that no one in our group would
unwittingly tip off the subjects as to which picture was the correct
one. The sets of pictures were mounted onto transparent pages, with
a code number written on the back of each picture that could be
seen from the backside of the page. We did not know, and made a
point of not finding out, which codes went with each expression.
Instead a page would be turned toward the subject, arranged so that
the person writing down the answers would not be able to see the
front of the page. The story would be read, the subject would point
to the picture, and one of us would write down the code number for
the picture the subject had chosen.*
In the space of just a few weeks we saw more than three hundred
people, about 3 percent of this culture, and more than enough to
analyze statistically. The results were very clear-cut for happiness,
anger, disgust, and sadness. Fear and surprise were not distinguished
from each other—when people heard the fear story, they just as
often picked a surprise as a fear expression, and the same was true
when they heard the surprise story. But fear and surprise were distinguished
from anger, disgust, sadness, and happiness. To this day I
do not know why fear and surprise were not distinguished from each
other. It could have been a problem with the stories, or it could have
been that these two emotions are so often intermingled in these people's
lives that they aren't distinguished. In literate cultures fear and
surprise are distinguished from each other.10
All except twenty-three of our subjects had seen no movies, television,
or photographs; they neither spoke nor understood English
*Despite the care we took, one of those committed to the view that expressions are learned and not
innate was to claim fifteen years later that we might have in some way tipped off our subjects about
which picture to choose. He didn't know how, he just thought we must have, for he could nor give up
his commitment to the belief that expressions are culture-specific.
or Pidgin, had not lived in any Western settlement or government
town, and had never worked for a Caucasian. The twenty-three
exceptions had all seen movies, spoke English, and had attended a
missionary school for more than a year. There were no differences
between the majority of the subjects who had little contact with the
outside world and the few who had, nor were there any differences
between males and females.
We did one more experiment, which was not as easy for our subjects.
One of the Pidgin speakers read them one of the stories and
asked them to show what their face would look like if they were the
person in the story. I videotaped nine men doing this, none of
whom had participated in the first study. The unedited videotapes
were shown to college students in America. If the expressions were
culture-specific, then these college students would not be able to
interpret correctly the expressions. But the Americans correctly identified
the emotion except for the fear and surprise poses, where they
were equally likely to call the pose fear or surprise, just like the New
Guineans. Here are four examples of the New Guineans' poses of
emotion.
ENJOYMENT SADNESS
ANGER DISGUST
I announced our findings at the annual anthropology national
conference in 1969. Many were unhappy with what we had found.
They were firmly convinced that human behavior is all nurture and
no nature; expressions must be different in each culture, despite my
evidence. The fact that I had actually found cultural differences in
the management of facial expressions in my Japanese American
study was not good enough.
The best way to dispel their doubts would be to repeat the entire
study in another preliterate, isolated culture. Ideally, someone else
should do it, preferably someone who wanted to prove me wrong. If
such a person found what I found, that would enormously
strengthen our case. Because of another stroke of luck, the anthropologist
Karl Heider did just that.
Heider had recently come back from spending a few years studying
the Dani, another isolated group in what is now called West
Irian, part of Indonesia.11 Heider told me there must be something
wrong with my research because the Dani didn't even have words
for emotions. I offered to give him all of my research materials and
teach him how to run the experiment the next time he went back to
the Dani. His results perfectly replicated my findings, even down to
the failure to distinguish between fear and surprise.12
Nevertheless, not all anthropologists are convinced, even today.
And there are a few psychologists, primarily those concerned with
language, who complain that our work in literate cultures, where we
asked people to identify the emotion word that fit the expressions,
does not support universals since the words for each emotion don't
have perfect translations. How emotions are represented in language
is, of course, the product of culture rather than evolution. But in
studies of now more than twenty literate Western and Eastern cultures,
the judgment made by the majority in each culture about
what emotion is shown in an expression is the same. Despite the
translation problems, there has never been an instance in which the
majority in two cultures ascribes a different emotion to the same
expression. Never. And, of course, our findings are not limited to
studies in which people had to label a photograph with a single
word. In New Guinea we used stories about an emotional event. We
also had them pose emotions. And in Japan we actually measured
facial behavior itself, showing that when people were alone the same
facial muscles moved when viewing an unpleasant film whether the
person was Japanese or American.
Another critic disparaged our research in New Guinea because we
used stories describing a social situation instead of single words.13 This
critic presumed that emotions are words, which, of course, they are
not. Words are representations of emotions, not the emotions themselves.
Emotion is a process, a particular kind of automatic appraisal
influenced by our evolutionary and personal past, in which we sense
that something important to our welfare is occurring, and a set of
physiological changes and emotional behaviors begins to deal with the
situation. Words are one way to deal with our emotions, and we do use
words when emotional, but we cannot reduce emotion to words.
No one knows exactly what message we get automatically when
we see someone's facial expression. I suspect that words like anger or
fear are not the usual messages conveyed when we are in the situation.
We use those words when we talk about emotions. More often
the message we get is much like what we had in our stories, not an
abstract word but some sense of what that person is going to do next
or what made the person feel the emotion.
Another quite different type of evidence also supports Darwin's
claim that facial expressions are universal, a product of our evolution.
If expressions do not need to be learned, then those who are
born congenitally blind should manifest similar expressions to those
of sighted individuals. A number of studies have been done over the
past sixty years, and repeatedly that is what has been found, especially
for spontaneous facial expressions.14
Our cross-cultural findings provided the impetus to seek answers
to a host of other questions about facial expressions: How many
expressions can people make? Do expressions provide accurate or
misleading information? Is every movement of the face a sign of an
emotion? Can people lie with their faces as well as with their words?
There was so much to do, so much to find out. Now there are
answers to all of these questions, and more.
I discovered how many expressions a face can make—more than
ten thousand!—and identified the ones that appear to be most central
to the emotions. More than twenty years ago Wally Friesen and
I wrote the first atlas of the face, a systematic description in words,
photographs, and films of how to measure facial movement in
anatomical terms. As part of this work I had to learn how to make
every muscle movement on my own face. Sometimes, to verify that
the movement I was making was due to a specific muscle, I put a
needle through the skin of my face to electrically stimulate and contract
the muscle producing an expression. In 1978 our tool for measuring
the face—the Facial Action Coding System (FACS)—was
published and is now being used by hundreds of scientists around
the world to measure facial movements, and computer scientists are
busily working on how to make this measurement automatic and
speedy.15
I have since used the Facial Action Coding System to study thousands
of photographs and tens of thousands of filmed or videotaped
facial expressions, measuring each muscular movement in each
expression. I have learned about emotion by measuring the expressions
of psychiatric patients and the expressions of patients with
1A
coronary heart disease. I have studied normal people, when they
appear on news shows such as CNN and in experiments in my laboratory
in which I provoked emotions.
In the last twenty years I collaborated with other investigators to
learn what is happening inside the body and in the brain when an
emotional expression occurs on the face. Just as there are different
expressions for anger, fear, disgust, and sadness, there appear to be
different profiles of physiological changes in the bodily organs that
generate unique feelings for each emotion. Science is just now determining
the patterns of brain activity that underlie each emotion.16
Using the Facial Action Coding System we have identified the
facial signs that betray a lie. What I have termed micro expressions,
very fast facial movements lasting less than one-fifth of a second, are
one important source of leakage, revealing an emotion a person is
trying to conceal. A false expression can be betrayed in a number of
ways: it is usually very slightly asymmetrical, and it lacks smoothness
in the way it flows on and off the face. My work on lying has
brought me into contact with judges, police, lawyers, the FBI, CIA,
ATF, and similar agencies in some friendly countries. I have taught
all these people how to determine more accurately whether someone
is truthful or lying. This work has also given me the chance to study
the facial expressions and emotions of spies, assassins, embezzlers,
murderers, foreign national leaders, and others whom a professor
would not ordinarily encounter.17
When I was more than halfway through writing this book, I had
the opportunity to spend five days discussing destructive emotions
with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. There were six other participants—
scientists and philosophers—who presented their ideas and
joined in the discussion.18 Learning about their work and listening
to the discussions provided me with new ideas that I have incorporated
into this book. For the first time I learned about the Tibetan
Buddhist view of emotion, a very different perspective from that
which we hold in the West. I was amazed to find that the ideas I had
been writing about in chapters 2 and 3 were compatible with the
Buddhist view, in part, and the Buddhist view suggested extensions
and refinements of my ideas that led me to rewrite these chapters
extensively. Most of all, I learned from His Holiness, the Dalai
Lama, on many different levels, from the experiential to the intellectual,
and I believe the book has benefited from my learning.19 This
is not a book about a Buddhist view of emotion, but I do occasionally
mention points of overlap, and times when that meeting
sparked particular insights.
One of the most active new areas of research is on brain mechanisms
of emotion.20 What I write is informed by that work, but we
don't yet know enough about the brain to answer many of the questions
I discuss in this book. We do know a lot about emotional
behavior, enough to provide answers to some of the most central
questions about the role of emotions in our everyday life. What I
write in the next chapters is primarily based on my own research on
emotional behavior, having examined in fine detail what I see people
do in many different emotional situations in many different cultures,
and, learning from that, what I think people need to know in
order to understand their emotions better.
Although my research and the findings of others provide the basis
for what I describe in this book, I have reached beyond what has
been proven scientifically to include also what I believe to be true
but is not yet proven. I have addressed some of the issues about
which I think people who seek to improve their emotional life want
to know. Preparing this book has given me new understandings of
emotions, and I hope it will do the same for you.