The Chinese flipside of the radical American individualism I addressed yesterday is sometimes called "collectivism." It's a broad cover term that's used in many different ways. Today we'll take a look at one anthropologist's view of Chinese and Western notions of group membership.

In 1971, anthropologist Francis Hsu published the intimidatingly titled "Psychosocial Homeostasis and Jen: Conceptual Tools for Advancing Psychological Anthropology" (American Anthropologist, New Series, Vol. 73, No. 1, pp. 23-44). In the essay he sketches out a model for understanding differences between the psychologies of Chinese and Westerners.

He uses this image (p. 25) to make his point:

Hsu places special emphasis on Layer 3:

The need for Layer 3 is literally as important as his requirement for food, water and air. This is what basically gives the individual his sense of well being. Sudden loss of inhabitants in Layer 3 may be so traumatic as to lead to aimlessness and to suicide. (p. 29)

Hsu goes on to claim that through the development of intimate family ties, the Chinese have an abundance of Layer 3 companions, leading to "psychosocial homeostasis" — a state of relative stability and contentment.

He contrasts this with Westerners, whom he sees as having few people in their Layer 3. Instead, most Westerners have a relatively rich Layer 1 and Layer 2, and they will recruit people into their Layer 3. The problem is that these relationships are naturally unstable; as a result, Westerners have difficulty populating their Layer 3, leading to a general lack of psychosocial homeostasis. Hsu claims many effects of this, including the Western need to conquer.

While the claims may be a bit grandiose, I've found this a useful framework. What I like most about Hsu's model is that it gives us something more concrete and explanatory than a broad cover term like "collectivism." It's not just that "Chinese are group-minded." It's more nuanced than that, and Hsu shows us how. The model also seems to explain a number of Chinese behaviors that I found confusing when I first arrived in China. I could never understand why, for instance, nobody seemed to do anything alone. Didn't they value their personal time? And why wouldn't they leave me alone when I was shooting baskets late in the evening? I deduced that for the Chinese, "alone" meant "lonely."

In the intervening years I've gained much more appreciation for the Chinese love of company. When in China I'm still pulled at times by my automatic American hermiting instincts. But when I can push through those, the rewards of the human connection are great and enduring. This is a lesson for all of us from the West who have business in China.