Enrico Caruso (1873-1921) was beloved by opera fans the world over. Even today many believe he was the greatest tenor who ever lived.

One night, Caruso paused dramatically during one of his arias, turned his back on the audience, (something no performer is supposed to do) strode up stage, then turned with a flourish and continued singing.

Such was his reputation and his rapport with audiences and critics alike that thereafter every tenor singing that particular role did the same thing. It was expected. No one really knew why. It was just the way it was done.

One day someone said to the great man: "Remember when you sang the role of ... that night, and you stopped, walked up stage, then faced the audience and continued singing? You created a tradition. But why. Why made you to do it?
"Well, Caruso said. "I had to clear my throat and spit into my handkerchief."

A similar, but less gross, story was told to me by a friend. Three generations of women in her family always cut the small end off their Easter ham and laid it beside the rest of the meat before putting the pan in the oven. Why? The friend finally asked her grandmother.

"Well, darling," she said, "We were a big family, and when we all got together for Easter dinner, we needed a big ham. It wouldn't fit in my old roasting pan unless I cut the end off."

An act that begins as nothing more than expediency becomes part of a family or cultural tradition, and most people never ask why.

There is so much we don't know about human behavior, so much we don't know about ourselves. Why do we do what we do? The above are just amusing anecdotes, but they point to some deeper questions about the human mind.

How much of what we do is habit? Once the groves are established in the brain, the reflexes or whatever, it's hard to change. Look at what I am doing now: typing on a standard keyboard. What if some typing czar changed the position of just one or two letters? It would play havoc with people who were taught to touch-type years ago.

How much is cultural? A well-brought up Muslim youth does not look directly at an elder, a teacher or a person of authority. The eyes are respectfully cast down. In the U.S., someone who doesn't look you in the eye is suspect. Is he lying? Does she have something to hide?

How much is biological? A bit of research described on public radio recently asked individuals on the street to look a photo and make a snap judgment: Do you like the person or not? During the exchange the researcher, who has his arms full, casually asks the subject to hold a drink he has in his hand so he get out the photo.

Subjects who held a warm drink were more likely to feel warmly toward the person in the photo than those who hold a cold drink. Amazing, but there it is. When asked why, the researcher wasn't sure but suggested that it might have something to do with the most basic of instincts: A baby seeks out the warmth of its mother.

This is an election year. The primaries were last week, and the runoffs are yet to come. Less than a third of Georgia's registered voters went to the polls July 20. Even fewer are expected to vote Aug. 10.

Nevertheless, the runoffs will cost the state thousands of dollars. What prevents us from having some sort of preferential voting so this doesn't happen?

The same question can be asked of almost every action we take: Why do we do what we do?

Sometimes it's habit. Sometimes it's culture. Sometimes it's biology.

And sometimes I wonder just how free our free will really is.

Joan King lives in Sautee. Her column appears biweekly on Tuesdays and on gainesvilletimes.com.