Eyes deliver vast nonverbal communication

Not all body parts are the same, and I don't mean merely in function. I mean to say it always has intrigued me how certain parts of the human body have been attributed different metaphorical and symbolic values. Our body parts don't just function biologically and mechanically, they function socially, too.

When we're embarrassed, we don't save our elbows, we want to save face. When we're in physical or political danger, we don't save face, we save our butt. And if we find ourselves in a difficult predicament, we don't have our arm in a cast, we've got our butt in a sling. If you're a kid with parents who are fond of corporal punishment, you can pretty much forget saving your butt. Nobody gets his triceps paddled.

When we condescend to someone, we look down our nose. But if we mean to intrude into something that is not our business, we stick our nose in. Disdainful? We turn our nose up. When something is both obvious and problematic, it doesn't stick out like an infected kidney; rather, like a sore thumb. But the thumb moves aside when we shame and reprove someone. For that we use our index finger like a Food Network Flavor Injector.

When we're reluctant, we drag our feet. But for good first impressions, we put our best foot forward. When we're impatient or in a hurry, we are admonished about bladder control: "Hold your water!" When I would anxiously imagine catastrophe, my grandmother didn't say, "Don't be stirring up your ear wax!" Nope. She would say, "Don't get your bowels in an uproar!"

Graphic image, Gramma.

But the reigning queen of body parts has to be the eyes. And, until a few days ago, I didn't know it had an official name. Oculesics -- how we forge, maintain or provoke social bonds through the nonverbal communication of eye contact.

There's this woman who, knowing my scattered, ADHD ways, will say, "Steven, I need your eyes" when she wants to communicate something of particular import. Good general rule: You can't rely on me to retain information unless I'm looking at you. Even then it's dicey.

Another friend once confided how he knew when I was feeling hurt or angry with him. "I lose your eyes," he would say. It's true. When my feelings are hurt, I become very polite, but stop making eye contact.

Incredulous? Look up. Ashamed? Look down. Helping someone save face? Avert your eyes.

In Euro-American culture, regular, dynamic eye contact shows respect. Lack of eye contact is impolite and disrespectful and communicates boredom, disdain or lack of interest. In hierarchical relationships, failure to make eye contact is insubordination.

But for aboriginal Americans and certainly for many Asian cultures, that same dynamic eye contact works in near reverse, communicating disrespect. For that matter, the best conversations with teenagers contain oblique eye contact, as when both of you are in the front seat of a car.

Enjoy making people squirm and feel uncomfortable? Hold eye contact too long. Hold it even longer and you are intimidating or even picking a fight -- eye contact as aggression.

Yet, ironically, holding eye contact is the primary way a woman in a bar invites a man to come on over and say hello. It's not aggression in this case. It's courtly or even seductive. If she looks at you and immediately looks away, she is saying don't bother. (Unless you're a nerd, in which case you'll wanna keep trying.)

People dating, courting and falling in love seek, enjoy and are even transfixed by eye contact. But introduce sex into the relationship, and watch how eye contact changes from transfixing to terrifying. It's much harder now.

I attend a three-day men's retreat. Powerful. Healing. Really turns me inside out emotionally and spiritually. At the end, the staff lines up and we are invited to say our goodbyes and thank-yous. Oh, and one more thing: As we move down the line, we're not allowed to talk or to touch or to hug. We can only use our eyes. Those are the rules.

It takes me apart. Crushes me. Me, a man whose life and power and mojo is words -- I am rendered helpless. Powerless. One by one I gaze into the eyes of these men who have led me, cared for me, encouraged and loved me. It is a gauntlet. I can barely breathe. A vulnerability at once holy and horrible. I live and die several lifetimes as I move from man to man. I weep. I think and feel many things. But this many weeks later, the most lasting gift of this brilliant little exercise is still burned in my mind. A sacred reminder.

When you see them ... when you really see them, human beings are truly, truly beautiful.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.