Karen I. Lupe
The writing of this paper has been a labour of love; familial love for my aiga and spiritual love for the Samoan people. I did not write this by myself, in fact I could not have done so. My deepest gratitude to His Highness Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Ta’isi Efi (hereafter Tui Atua) for his faith in my capacity to do justice to such a rich and deeply complex subject. A profound thank you to Sailau Suaalii-Sauni, who so generously provided on-going encouragement and endless patience in answering all of my questions. I also wish to honour the spirits of close family members, who provided constant support at all hours of the day and night. My dear mother Daisy, her father Vave Felise Levai Meleisea, and his mother Tuame (Lonatina) Sinalepua. They blessed me with their steady presence and I felt their alofa wrapped around me like a warm cloak.
It is my great honour to write a commentary on two of the papers written by Tui Atua: ‘More on Meaning, Nuance and Metaphor’ (2002, see chapter 5) and ‘Le taulasea e, ia mua’i fo’ia lou ma’i - Physician heal thyself: Planning for the next generation’ (2006, see chapter 13). In these articles, he shares his wealth of understanding of the values, rituals, spiritual beliefs and practices of the Samoan indigenous reference. He draws deeply from our cultural treasures. Although much of the knowledge that informed the ancient, the resonances are still powerful enough to exert their influence on postcolonial Samoa.
We are standing at a threshold. The boundaries of this threshold can be described in many ways. However, in terms of the two papers on which I have been asked to comment, the threshold is bound by accommodations that we must make to a dominant culture (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 13, see chapter 5), and on the other, it is bound by our own understandings of our indigenous reference (Tui Atua, 2006, p. 4, see chapter 13).
In the writing of this paper my thinking has been informed by my work as a psychotherapist in the realm of healing the soul, and as a spiritual seeker on a tofa sa’ili or search for wisdom. I underwent my training as a psychotherapist with the Psychosynthesis Institute in Auckland. Psychosynthesis was developed by Italian psychiatrist Roberto Assagioli and is one of the first Western psychologies to address both spiritual and psychological healing and growth. As a psychotherapist, my clients have come from all walks of life; a diversity of ethnicities, ages and life circumstances. I have found that whatever their symptomology, they all share one thing in common - they are all suffering. And, their suffering derives from impediments which have roots in the past and prevent them from feeling fully alive in the present. These impediments are also a major obstacle to envisaging a hopeful and meaningful future.
From my work, I have come to understand that what we call the self can best be described as a ‘continuity of being’ or a continuum of body, mind, soul and spirit that unfolds organically during one’s lifetime. The impediments that interfere with a person’s natural growth and development are usually caused by ‘breaks’ in their ‘continuity of being’ through traumatic experiences, such as physical abuse, sexual abuse, psychological cruelty, and physical and emotional neglect during childhood and adolescence.
It is also traumatising for a child to witness acts of violence or even threats of violence, especially towards the mother. Another common cause of emotional problems for adults (particularly in the West) is a lack of adequate maternal bonding during infancy. The dislocation caused by moving to another country at a vulnerable age greatly exacerbates already existing experiences of trauma. Sometimes, impediments have been transmitted across the generations, whereby ancestral trauma affects one or more of the descendents (Lupe, 2008; O’Loughlin, 2009).
The Samoan concept of the va (the sacred space between two persons) has been invaluable for me when building a therapeutic relationship with each client. This special and intimate relationship has its own feagaiga (sacred covenant). Despite all the psychological theories and techniques, the healing process is essentially a mystery. I do not heal my clients; each one heals him or herself. Each of us carries within our psyches the innate wisdom and power to heal ourselves given the right kind of support. Taking my cue from Tui Atua’s second paper, ‘Physician, heal thyself...’ (2007), I have looked through the psychotherapeutic lens and envisioned Samoa as a ‘cultural continuum’ and asked myself the following questions: Where are the ‘breaks’ in Her ‘continuity of being’ that require healing? What are the impediments that cause suffering in the present time and are significant obstacles to moving towards a purposeful and meaningful future?
Within the collective Samoan psyche, there too is healing wisdom and power. We, the Samoan people, are beginning to undertake a collective soul-searching and, ultimately, healing journey that requires the qualities of courage, faith, and fortitude. Such a deep and broad process can sometimes be exciting and at other times painfully difficult. And, we are blessed to have, in the esteemed personage of Tui Atua, an expert navigator guiding us forward as we ‘prepare for the next generation’.
The papers written by Tui Atua are valuable as a catalyst to begin the task of genuinely assessing our Samoan values and beliefs. The information he shares has been passed to him by his mentors and is precious knowledge. His papers are a call to action - in a most gentle and gracious way - to wake up to the reality of our present situation: a call to be innovative, to provide safe collective spaces for honest, meaningful dialogue; to be courageous enough to break through current constraints that prevent us from honouring the wealth of our cultural inheritance and from facing the shadow side of our collective life. Such a creative process can only be done if enough Samoans are willing to undertake a shift in their mindset, to open minds and hearts to a new level of thinking, something I call heart intelligence (Lupe, 2007).
Isolated voices in the wilderness are not enough. The task is simply too big. Tui Atua’s plan ‘for the next generation’ invites us to bring our voices together. He encourages us to search for ways to heal body, mind and soul at the personal and cultural levels. How can a person be truly well without a healthy connection to his or her cultural foundation? And, on the other hand, how can a culture be dynamic and life-giving if much of the population is out of balance? The following quote is an elegant description of the interconnectedness of personal experience and culture. I have chosen this particular quote as the author spent time in Samoa writing his doctoral thesis on an anthropological study of Samoan culture. His love for the Samoan people is evident throughout his fine book:
Lived experience and culture are not distinguishable. Lived experience does not ‘happen’ inside of culture, and culture is not the simple corallike accumulations of lived experience. Culture is a verb, it is active and participatory, and an emergent property of the engagement between the process of generating meaning, the practices of embodiment, and the relationship of unique individuals in socially meaningful space (Drozdow-St. Christian, 2002, p. 28).
Tui Atua suggests that the Samoan love of allegory and allusion is a language of the soul expressed through the heart. The human heart is intelligent beyond our comprehension. It has a neural structure or ‘brain’ that connects with the brain in our head and every organ in our body. It is the heart that orchestrates the entire functioning of the body-brain-mind complex (Pearce, 2007, p. 128). The heart produces a powerful electro-magnetic field that encompasses our whole body. Sensitive instruments can detect the field of the heart radiating up to 12 feet beyond the body, although the actual distance is much greater. The frequency of the heart’s field is the same frequency as the Earth’s electro-magnetic energy field.
Metaphysically, our hearts are contained by and resonate with the field of Mother Earth just as our infant hearts, in-utero, were tuned into our mothers’ hearts. Researchers at the Heart-brain research centre in California have discovered that the heart is our intuitive centre. They were astonished to find that the heart picks up and relays information to the brain about near future events that will affect a person’s well-being. The interesting point here is that the mind is the last to know! (Pearce, 2007, p. 62). Perhaps this is not so surprising to indigenous peoples, as we have always known that our hearts speak to us. When the heart speaks we listen, and it is imperative for our well-being that we continue to do so. Heart intelligence is the working together of head and heart, however, allowing the heart to lead the way.
Each language has its own special qualities that reflect the deeper values of a particular ethnic group. The soul loves subtlety, delicacy, teasing and the multiplicity of meanings. To define something categorically closes the door to the soul; there is no room for other possibilities, other unspoken nuances of meaning. Although there have been great poets and playwrights of soul throughout English history, the English spoken in the work-place, in public places and in common usage is the English of the mind. English is the language of the five senses expressed through the mind. What is most valued is ‘plain-speaking’ that is clear and direct. This is especially true in New Zealand, where Kiwis are proud to ‘call a spade a spade’.
The transition from Samoan to English can be a difficult cultural gap to navigate. For the native Samoan speaker, learning English is like having to move into a smaller house where there’s not enough room for all his or her special belongings. My German friend (who is a translator) has complained to me on a number of occasions that she cannot find the equivalent English words that pertain to feelings and concepts of a spiritual nature. Perhaps the way forward is to acknowledge that the English language is useful in many contexts and yet has its limitations. English makes the ideal scientific language because of its clarity and precision, but that does not make it superior to the Samoan language, for example.
Tui Atua laments the way Samoan is spoken on Samoan television news broadcasts. The fact that Samoan news readers intersperse the Samoan language with English words, he believes, reflects a lack of pride in the Samoan language. Perhaps by appreciating the beauty and wisdom of the Samoan language anew as a language of the soul, the Samoan people can begin to feel proud once more. Such pride emanating from the soul is understood by the heart and touches the mind, nurturing the young and sustaining the old. The Samoan language, as a language of the soul, is ‘couched in allusion and allegory’ to feed all five senses at once:
To the extent that Samoan language is couched in allusion and allegory, do allusion and allegory lose impact and allure by the scientific attempt to be definitive? Does the suggestion of more than one meaning in allusion and allegory lose power by the attempt to pin down meaning? Are you imposing a restriction that is inimical to the fundamentals of hint and suggestion? Does the potential to titillate diminish when you restrict by specifics the shades of meaning? (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 2; see chapter 5).
Western ways of thinking have been super-imposed onto the Pacific psyche and are causing inner confusion and disturbance for many Pacific people who are not strongly grounded in their indigenous reference. Elsewhere, I describe this phenomenon as psychological colonisation, which was first articulated by African psychoanalyst Franz Fanon as lactification (Lupe, 2007, p. 124).
I am reminded of one of my Pacific clients who I will call Lena, not her real name. I have not included the name of Lena’s island home to protect her privacy. Lena was in her early forties when she came to see me for depression. Her mother had just died and she felt sad, lost and empty inside. Lena’s family (parents and six children) left their homeland and moved to Auckland when she was a young girl of eight years. She was unhappy at school, where she and her siblings were the only brown children at her (white middle-class) primary school. A shy girl in the classroom, Lena struggled to learn English and school lessons in general. As a girl, Lena was a naturally gifted dancer and knew many of her traditional dances.
She told me that she had not danced the old dances since she was a teenager as she had wanted to fit into ‘Kiwi culture’. At the time we worked together she could not dance, even if she wanted to, because of serious health problems. Later in our work together, she recognised the core of her deep despair that lay beneath as the grief for her mother’s death. In a very emotional session, she talked about the loss of her cultural legacies, which left her confused about who she was and where she belonged. She grieved for the loss of the traditional knowledge and wisdom, which she recognised was occurring not only in New Zealand but also back in the Island homeland - the loss of a way of life that she felt was gone forever. She also grieved for the dancing girl she once was many years ago. At the time when Lena most despaired for the loss of the past, a group of her ancestors began to appear in our sessions, where they would stand in a semi-circle behind her. The presence of the ancestors gave much comfort to Lena. I, then, suggested that she undertake research to compile her family-tree. This process helped Lena to weave herself back into her family lineage, which gave her a stronger sense of to whom she belonged.
From within the Pacific indigenous reference, we know that our ancestors remain close by, watching over us and providing guidance when needed. From within the context of this paper, the Pacific child in a Western school system is forced to adapt to the Western thinking paradigm, which, as we will see a little further on, is rigid and narrow. A child who has been transplanted from the Pacific to New Zealand is especially at risk of losing the connection to his or her thinking heart and feeling body as Lena did many years before.
For many of us, Western technologies are very seductive and it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that Western educational programmes are the most advanced. They are not. Western education privileges traditional Western thinking and does not accommodate the different perspectives of indigenous peoples. The psychological dangers of following the path of Western thinking and assimilating the Western worldview are, as above, losing one’s conscious connection to the wisdom of the body and heart. On a large scale, this constitutes a serious cultural impediment.
As a consequence of the widespread use of the English language in Samoan schools, we now have the current situation where Samoan young people have their cultural roots grounded in a past that is not theirs. When the English language entered into Samoan culture, Western ways of thinking ‘slipped in through the back door’. Just as the English language has its limitations, so do Western ways of thinking. Edward De Bono, pioneer of lateral thinking processes, in his wellknown book I am Right- You are Wrong (1991), has some strong words to say about the limitations of traditional Western thinking. He describes Western thinking as crude and rigid, and that such thinking cuts people off from the realities of their inner and outer worlds, so much so that he believes the West is incapable of solving the problems that face humanity today. De Bono explains that current Western thought processes emerged from the cradle of Ancient Greek philosophy, which valued argument, reason and rigid logic. The end result is the development of a narrow mode of thinking and use of language that is defensive and aggressive; language and thought transformed into a ‘word war game’ (De Bono, 1991).
Tui Atua’s words in both papers provide us with wise counsel. It is timely that teachers and those who train teachers enter into a process of ‘soul searching’ about the kind of education that is best for Samoan and other Pacific children and young people. However, as he says, in teaching our young today of the messages of old: ‘There has to be some understanding as to what the allusion alludes to in order to retain the interest of the young so that they will impart this interest to those who follow. Occasionally one explains with a pang because allusion was never meant to be definitively explained’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 3; see chapter 5). This pang arises, he explains, because, ‘in social intercourse allusion is an imperative. Frankness is crass because of its potential to offend. The availability of many meanings can help to save face’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 3; see chapter 5).
What Tui Atua describes is an on-going difficulty for Pacific families moving to a Western country such as New Zealand. For the Pacific person seeking help from within the mental health system, direct questioning by a Palagi (European New Zealander) doctor can feel harsh and intrusive, more like a verbal assault than an interview. This kind of situation has unfortunately been all too common within the New Zealand mental health system. The mental health system can be very disempowering for the vulnerable Pacific client, and from my work experience also disempowering for Palagi clients. The Western psychiatrist does not understand the Pacific world-view. Any mention of contact with the spirit world is viewed as a symptom of pathology perhaps indicative of psychosis or schizophrenia. In Western medicine, the more usual approach to healing is not holistic; the body is split off from the mind, and the soul/spirit dimension is not considered (Culbertson and Smith, in press). The Western medical paradigm is based on scientific principles that do not allow for the reality of spiritual entities (ancestral and guardian spirits) or spiritual injury, as described by David Lui (2007). As Tui Atua states: ‘The challenge or dilemma for services like mental health lies in how to bring together the objectives of allusive and allegorical discussion with the best of science’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 4; see chapter 5).
The situation in New Zealand is slowly changing, and in a positive way, with Pacific mental health workers such as David Lui and many others working within the system. In the counselling and psychotherapy fields, there is a groundswell of genuine desire to understand more about the Pacific world-view to better meet the needs of Pacific clients (see Culbertson et al, 2007).
In a recent edition of the New Zealand Journal of Counselling (2008), Peter Bray, a Palagi counsellor presented an article on his counselling work with a 14-year-old Cook Island boy, whom he called Paul. Paul was having nightly visitations from several family spirits following the death of his younger brother. As a result of the continuing nightly spirit visits, Paul was extremely tired during the day at school. His teachers were so concerned about Paul that he was referred to a counsellor. I found it heartening to read how Paul was provided with sensitive, culturally appropriate counselling at a very difficult time in his life - something of a rarity even a few years ago.
The field of theology is showing similar trends towards cultural sensitivity. The writings within a soon-to-be published book titled: Spirit Possession, Theology and Identity: A Pacific Exploration, edited by Philip Culbertson and Susan Smith, is evidence of this growing trend. The purpose of this book is to help bridge the gap between Western schools of theology, the clergy and traditional Pacific theology that pre-dates Christianity. The hope is that the writings in this book will bring a feeling of comfort to Pacific theology students in having their own indigenous spiritual reference acknowledged and honoured within the field of Christian theology.1
In ‘Physician heal thyself (2006), Tui Atua takes the theological concepts of God-sickness/God-chasing as the lens to explore the need to heal the self (body mind and soul), in tandem with the need to heal the split between the Samoan indigenous reference and the modern Samoan world. Healing of self and culture are explored in tandem because they are the ‘two sides of the same coin’ - the inner and the outer, the hidden and the manifest. In this paper, Tui Atua makes a call to the Samoan people to undertake a process of self-reflection, introspectively and together, in community dialogue. Here we can seek to identify the sources of our impediments to good health and well-being, something that must be done before taking on the role of ‘correcting others’. The following quote is included in full because I feel it is central to understanding the history and subsequent impact of ‘God-sickness’ within the Christian churches:
What is most prominent in [Barth’s] infamous work of 1921, on Paul’s letter to the Romans, is the rupturing of all forms of human culture and theological discourse and practice. A krisis [barrier] is pronounced on all human attempts to pass through to speaking and conceptualizing God, the Wholly Other (totaliter aliter) infinitely and qualitatively divided from creatures. In this context, Barth stringently critiques theology, religion, church (as the particular cradle of religion), and culture, claiming that religion is the most dangerous enemy that mankind can have, apart from God, since it all too easily lulls one into a false sense of security and into the complacent belief that one has done all that needs to be done to gain the divine favour. In its ‘criminal arrogance’ it [theology, religion, church and/or culture] produces, thereafter, ‘comfortable illusions about the knowledge of God and union with him’. This is, however, a sign of both religion’s and the church’s ‘veritable God-sickness’ [Gotteskrankheit] and its Tower of Babel (McDowell, 2002, as cited in Tui Atua, 2006, pp. 2-3; see also chapter 13).
What Barth and McDowell are saying is that the content of Paul’s letter to the Romans placed a krisis/barrier on all human attempts to search for God. A ban was made on the deepest longing of the human soul: ‘God-chasing’ outlawed by ‘God-sickness’. Humanity and the natural world effectively severed from God, the Creator. The image of a separate and distant God is very different to the relationship with God the progenitor of the Samoan indigenous reference that Tui Atua refers to in the following:
Samoan traditional religious culture provides an alternative insight into man’s relationship with God. God the progenitor is family. He is not distant issuing fearful directive. He is intimate, close and compassionate. Heaven is an extension of the extended family (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 3; see chapter 5).
What I suggest is that the original Christian message is in harmony with the Samoan indigenous reference and those of other indigenous world-views. I note the similarity of the Samoan indigenous reference to the world-view of the Native American people, as described by Alberto Villoldo (2000), medical anthropologist and psychologist. The conquistadors and the subsequent European colonisers took their ‘God-sickness’ with them and slowly infected large parts of the world:
The scraggly band of gold seekers that arrived on the South American continent brought a set of beliefs that were incomprehensible to the Indios. The first was that all of the food belonged by divine right to humans - specifically the Europeans who were masters over the animals and plants of the earth. The second was that humans could not speak to rivers, to the animals, to the mountains, or to God. And, the third was that humankind had to wait until the end of all time before tasting infinity.
Nothing could have seemed more absurd to the Native Americans. While the Europeans believed they had been cast out of the mythical Garden of Eden, the Indios understood they were the stewards and caretakers of the Garden. They still spoke with the thundering rivers and the whispering mountains and still heard the voice of God in the wind (Villoldo, 2000, p. 8).
In his book The Death of Religion and the Rebirth of Spirit, Joseph Chilton Pearce (2007) writes about how the enmeshment of cultural and religious beliefs has created a powerful barrier in a majority of the world’s population. He is writing about ‘God-sickness’ although he does not name it as such. He identifies one of the major sources of this barrier as the Pauline doctrine. The following quotation is similar in intent to the words of McDowell:
Paul’s copious writings to put this new Law [see krisis/barrier] into effect spawned more and more laws, and his invention was picked up and filled in by many imitators. Various gospel injunctions were attributed to Paul and later preserved under his name in this New Covenant, and these Pauline configurations concretized (sic), making Paul’s own cosmology tangible and available to all in clear and at times beautiful and powerfully written form. Paul’s new cosmology and ever burgeoning laws concerned a God in the sky straight out of those familiar and paradoxical Hebrew scriptures - but one with whom humanity could reconnect if they but followed the injunctions and instructions of Paul himself or those of his multiple imitators who followed him (Pearce, 2007, p. 235).
Pearce writes further on how Pauline doctrine distorted the teachings of Jesus, which were founded on love, altruism and forgiveness, and that the great significance placed upon sin, guilt and retribution was part of that distortion. Enshrined in Pauline doctrine was yet another distortion, the elevation of men as spiritually superior to women. To be fair to Paul, there are scholars who believe that many of the writings attributed to Paul were actually written after his death (Gardner, 2008, p. 207). In the following quote, Gardner, a well-respected constitutional historian, alludes to a web of fraud and manipulation by the Roman
Church to overturn the original teachings of Jesus (known at the time as ‘The Way’ or the ‘Q’ gospel):’... there is no doubt that the later Church Fathers manipulated Paul’s writings to suit their own personal endeavours... Even during his own lifetime, Paul had occasion to warn people about fictitious letters purporting to be from him, and it was not uncommon for epistles to be fabricated for propagandist purposes’ (Gardner, 2008, p. 207).
Cabrini ‘Ofa Makasiale (2007) speaks of another form of ‘God-sickness’, where culture has been placed at the same level as God. She sends an impassioned message to the Pacific people:
It’s imperative that we find a way to distinguish God from culture ... We need to help our people wake up, to make them conscious. We need programs like the liberation theologians run in South America, designed to make people conscious of separating culture from gospel - a good from the good, the means from the end. We, Pacific people, are very spiritual. We have great reverence for the transcendent being, which is why our souls and hearts keep on working well, but our minds seem to be asleep! (Makasiale, 2007, p. 79).
It is my hope that the above reflections on ‘God-sickness’ will provide plenty of food for thought for the reader. Thoughts that can be fed and shaped by alofa (love) and faaaloalo (respect). Tui Atua argues that ‘alofa and faaaloalo are the two critical values of our Samoan culture that are enacted in conversation that help to save or keep face’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 4) and that ‘face is not the individual, secular, private face, as in the Palagi context, face is the collective face of family, village and ancestors’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 4; see chapter 5).
The notion of collective face and faaaloalo are intrinsically part of the nature of the Samoan self. The Samoan self is a relational self, whether engaged in relating with other people, nature, and the cosmos or introspectively with oneself. In the sphere of human relations, the face-to-face meeting is a vital element in the flow of harmonious communication within the family, community or national level. Each relationship is deemed to be sacred, guided by a particular set of boundaries or protocols. Through the collective face, a person respectfully reveals who ‘we’ are, not ‘I’ or ‘me’ in the personal sense. This is the consensual self, which encompasses the past and present, and also hints at a ‘we’ who are moving together towards a shared future.
Edward Bynum, a psychologist, who writes on the family unconscious, speaks to this sense of a collective ‘we’. The family unconscious is that level of the unconscious below the personal unconscious. It is an energy field shared by all family members and can also include close friends and lovers. Sometimes, it is referred to as the ‘family soul’ - a web of interconnected thoughts, feelings, images, motivations and much more. Bynum (2003) insightfully tells that:
In a very real sense each family member is deeply interwoven into our intimate psychological functioning. Each is enfolded and reflected in the other. The fragments of past dreamers are the living tissue of our present lives and all are unfolding toward some new extended identity in the future. This system of shared meaning, sharing feeling and shared emotion is generally termed the family unconscious level of the psyche (p. 23).
This collective face of ‘we’ provides a sense of community and continuity. However, Makasiale (2007) asks Pacific people to reconsider our current notion of collective self. Because, as she says, ‘we have so identified with the collective, we have lost our ability to distinguish between uniformity and being part of a collective. Individuality is unacceptable. Yet, a healthy collective has diversity. Unity assumes diversity, but uniformity doesn’t. Uniformity views difference as a threat.’ (p. 80). Makasiale claims further that, ‘We need to learn to individuate because only [strong individuals] can make a strong community’ (Culbertson, Agee and Makasiale, 2007, p. 80).
Making strong individuals begins at home, in the family context. Fāgogo (fables) and mama (lit. masticated food) are Samoan symbols used by Tui Atua to remind us of this: ‘fāgogo is a fairy tale told by the elderly to the young by which the young are soothed to sleep at night’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 6; see chapter 5), and’Ai lava le tagata i le mama a lona matua...’; you derive substance and direction from the mama of your matua (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 7; see chapter 5).
Matua tausi (the elderly usually grandparents) and the fāgogo (fables) held unique places in the life of traditional Samoa. A meaningful time of sharing between the elderly and the young facilitated the transmission of love and wisdom. The fāgogo is the equivalent of the European fairy tale. The telling of these stories from one generation to the next provided guidance from the deepest level of the collective psyche, the archetypal realm. The fāgogo, together with creation myths, carry map fragments that hold the collective wisdom and knowledge of Samoan culture. These maps are multi-layered, like the parables of Jesus, so that the meaning received by the listener is dependent upon his or her level of understanding. They are the equivalent of a metaphysical library that holds the blueprint of a culture - past, present and future. From my own research, I came to understand that creation myths provide the clues as to the underlying structures of consciousness at the cultural level, whereas fāgogo reflect the movement of consciousness through time and shared human life - from past to future.
Samoan creation myths and fāgogo ‘Sina and Loa’ and ‘Sina and the Snake’ provided me with enough map fragments to enable me to write about the Samoan Unconscious (Lupe, 2007). These myths and fāgogo reveal that the Samoan ego emerged from a feminine universe of matriarchal consciousness and is in contrast to the Western ego, which emerged from patriarchal consciousness. In the fāgogo ‘Sina and Loa’, there are only three characters: Loa, the mother, who is described as ‘part ogress with cannibal tendencies’, Sina, the daughter, and Fitilo’ilo’i, the beloved suitor of Sina. In summary, Loa symbolises the archetype of the Great Mother, the ground of matriarchal consciousness. Fiti can be seen as the young male fertilising god from the underworld who brings new life into that matriarchal world. At the centre is Sina, the archetypal maiden who represents the Samoan feminine ego in both men and women. Perhaps this notion of a feminine universe and ego is not surprising given such key female agency in matua tausi, fāgogo, pii pii ama vae vae manava, feagaiga, the ‘ava ceremony and of course as mothers and grandmothers.
Is it wise to turn our backs on such a rich legacy? The Native American believes: ‘A culture without its storytellers will eventually cease to be a culture’.2 Furthermore, storytelling and related spiritual activities were seen as central to their worldview:
The man who sat on the ground in his tipi meditating on life and its meaning, accepting the kinship of all creatures and acknowledging unity with the universe of things was infusing into his being the true essence of civilization (sic). And when the native man left off this form of development, his humanization (sic) was retarded in growth.
Chief Luther Standing Bear3
Such life-sustaining relationships in the West, between the very young and the very old are rare. We don’t appreciate the value of the elderly, nor do we honour their wisdom and knowledge. The emotional and spiritual needs of a young child, more often than not, remain unmet. Many babies today are put into day-care centres by mothers who do not understand that their babies need to be with them. The lack of a secure attachment between mother and child is the most common cause of psychological problems in the West. We are literally driving our children crazy. When a culture/society no longer values the elderly and has forgotten how to care for the babies and children, and the natural environment that sustains us, it has lost its way. This is why fāgogo and the mama of matua tausi are such important ingredients in the ‘recipe’ to keeping Samoan life, indeed human life, healthy and vibrant.
The spirituality of this message is implicit in Tui Atua’s discussion on the ‘ava ceremony and faugagana (proverbs). Tui Atua writes that: ‘The ‘ava ceremony is intended to symbolise sharing, the sharing of the sacred drink, the sharing of the mythological Gods who gifted the ‘ava to the mortal, the sharing of alofa. ‘Ava stands for continuity’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 9; see chapter 5). The ‘ava ceremony is so sacred that the ‘ava distributor, tautu ‘ava is permitted breach of the tapu of a matai meeting. This is commemorated in the saying: ‘Usi le faasoasoa ae tula’i se soli tamālii ma tulafale’, which literally means: ‘tapu can be broken by a man standing up in a house in front of matai to distribute the ‘ava because ‘ava is a gift from the gods (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 9; see chapter 5). When reading through and thinking about this, the following was told to me by my great-grandmother, Tuame. She said:
The ‘ava was once a ritual that was pregnant with meaning; divine nectar from the gods. The ‘ava was held on a regular basis, especially when there were visitors of high rank from other villages or on rare occasions from Fiji or Tonga. Usually, these visitors came as suitors who had got wind of the reputation of a beautiful young woman. Village members looked forward to the holding of the ‘ava because they felt sustained in heart and soul, and closer to the gods who joined with the people - who [the gods] expressed their love by their desire to be present.
Tuame pleads: ‘Bring the ‘ava back, not as rigid protocol, but out of love for the people.’ In bringing back the ‘ava ‘out of love’, we bring back the wisdom of fāgogo and faugagana.
Fāgogo and faugagana ‘draws on Samoan myth and history’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 10; see chapter 5). Faugagana, Tui Atua explains, ‘literally means the fau (i.e., a tree [called fau]) that speaks’ (Tui Atua, 2002, p. 10; see chapter 5). The fau tree is an ordinary looking tree on the outside. However, on the inside there is a special kind of wood that is supple enough to be carved into curves. It is this quality of suppleness that is its strength. To extend the analogy to the human person, we might ask ourselves, ‘Are our minds and hearts supple enough to hear when the fau speaks?’ The fau speaks often in the most unexpected moments. We must be agile enough to step aside from our usual conditioned responses, as Tui Atua was able to do at the airport, to appreciate those surprising and meaningful encounters. Jungian psychology calls such encounters or events ‘synchronicities’ (Jung, 1979, p. 211).
Within the Samoan indigenous reference, the ritual of anapogi (fasting and seclusion) is an excellent practice to develop suppleness of mind and heart. To make a commitment to anapogi requires self-discipline and an understanding of the purpose of such practice. Meditation practice can facilitate physical and emotional well-being through reducing stress and calming the nervous system. However, the most important purpose for meditation is its benefit to the soul. Hartmann (1997) expresses the heart of meditation practice as: ‘The true power of meditation - and the true reason for meditating - is to become awake in this very moment. And, from that place -that here-and-now touching the power of life-we can find the ability to transform ourselves and others in ways which can and will transform the world’ (p. 228).
Anapogi and moe manatunatu (dream dialogues) provide a very powerful and cleansing, but also gentle, way to ‘wake up’ and develop oneself spiritually. Dream dialogues with the ancestors are part of the wisdom traditions of indigenous cultures around the world. Edward Bynum refers to the dream traditions of the Australian Aborigines and the African peoples in the following:
For the Australian Aborigines, the Dreaming or dreamtime is conceived of as the eternally present life-principle that must be personally sustained and reinvigorated by human beings by way of sacred ritual and belief. The purpose of ritual and ceremony itself is to make a place in the waking world where dreamtime is dynamically active in their lives. This includes the dynamically experienced presence of ancestors and other family members. Here, their family unconscious stretches out not only to enfold the living, but also the mythic and powerful deceased ...
In Africa, the importance of dreams - and family dreams in particular - also has a long cultural, clinical, and psychospiritual history. It is a given in many religious societies that family members, both living and deceased, and also the gods themselves, can and do communicate with the dreamer in the dream. This belief greatly expands the personal matrix of experience and causality since this extended family unconscious system enfolds not only the ‘to be born’ and the living, but up to five generations of the departed. The recently departed ancestors are referred to as ‘livingdead’ because they are thought to be in a state of personal immortality and it is through them that the spirit world is believed to become personal. After five generations in this Sasa period, they are said to disappear into the great Zamani. ‘The living-dead’ are thought to be deeply concerned with family affairs (Bynum, 2003, p. 30).
I believe that by mentoring our young people in the practices of anapogi and moe manatunatu, we give them a sacred gift: an important role in ‘preparing for the next generation’. Therefore, within the mentoring process, it is important that we teach our young about the four harmonies, as suggested by Tui Atua in his paper, ‘In Search of Harmony’ (Tui Atua, 2005; see chapter 8). Perhaps it is timely to recall the ancient mentoring practice of faafaletui and adapt this model for the needs of young people today.
Although much of the ancient knowledge has disappeared, enough remains to re-create a frame-work that is meaningful and life-giving. The guiding principle of pii pii ama vae vae manava, which metaphorically refers to balance and interdependence and connectedness (see Tui Atua, 2002, p. 12; see chapter 5) can help us begin to face the darker elements, the shadow side of our collective life and ask ourselves the tough questions, such as:
A cultural framework that is imbued with the original founding principle of pii pii ama vae vae manava, the balance of sharing love and life, can help the Samoan people navigate through confusion and conflict in every aspect of human life. This is a core value of the highest spiritual order, a universal truth that includes and transcends culture. And, it is important to remember that pii pii ama vae vae manava connects us directly to our mothers. As Tui Atua says, ‘So when we say “vae vae manava” we are referring to the ultimate sharing - the sharing of life. The mother giving birth to the child embodies the belief of sharing the breath of life’ (2002, p. 12; see chapter 5).
The following story gave me great comfort when I read it and I hope it brings comfort to others as well. The story comes from a book called Original Wisdom (2001). The author Robert Woolf, a social psychologist, was born and spent his childhood in Indonesia, where he grew up amongst the indigenous peoples. On a field trip to Tonga, he spent time on one of the smaller islands interviewing the people there about their lives. It was here that he met with a Tongan woman who was a gifted healer. During their conversation, he was lamenting the loss of indigenous knowledge and wisdom from the world. He was deeply touched by her profound reply. She said:
Yes, I know what you mean. Yes, we too used to have healers and much knowledge of healing and herbs ... But that is not the whole of it. You see, there have always been people who know. When we most need it, someone will remember that ancient knowledge. So you see, traditions may be lost, but the information is in here and in here (pointing to her head and heart) and when we need it most it will be inside us, for us to find (Woolf, 2001, p. 6).
He noted that her gift of healing did not come from traditional Tongan teachings or from the West, it came from within - a form of experience he referred to as knowing. It is this knowing that is carried within each and everyone of us.
Pii pii ama vae vae manava, the balance of sharing love and life, includes the notion of respect for others, regardless of status, gender and age. Respect in this sense belongs with humility and the willingness to acknowledge the spiritual context which underlies all relationships. Perhaps this is best expressed by Christ’s words, ‘What you do to the least of my brothers, you do unto me’ (Matthew 25:31-46). We are called to honour the ‘in-dwelling Christ’ of each person; the Divine spark that exists in the heart of each one of us as our spiritual legacy.
As a psychotherapist, I have found that the notions of sin, guilt and retribution, as reinforced by most Christian churches, have burdened Pacific and many Western people as well. The qualities of love, altruism, forgiveness, wisdom and compassion are qualities of the heart. However, shame, guilt, fear and retribution belong to a lower level of development in which we, humankind, are still mostly caught up. In the Samoan indigenous reference, we have a guiding star to the level of heart intelligence, and that is the principle of pii pii ama vae vae manava, the balance of sharing love and life.
The tragedy of the barrier of ‘God sickness’ is that it prevents people from having genuine spiritual experiences. It is through the receiving of spiritual messages and inspirations that we are guided forward on the best possible path. Without this capacity, we are in effect blind and deaf, unable to creatively adapt to life’s many challenges. In the field of transpersonal psychology, this barrier is known as ‘repression of the sublime’ (Firman and Gila, 2002, p. 33). People in this state are caught in their small ego-centred world-view. Sadly, in the West, in parts of the East and even in the Pacific, even in Samoa, this is the norm. We could say, using the Samoan metaphor, that the fau speaks, but many cannot hear.
Questions of pii pii ama vae vae manava and ‘God sickness’ can be difficult and deeply uncomfortable questions for many people to accommodate. Yet, such questioning is an important process in the search for harmony, health and wellbeing. In having courage to discuss such matters, we are participating in ‘preparing for the next generation’. We are standing at a threshold.
Rapid changes occurring worldwide are already impacting upon Pacific nations. Hartmann (1998), in his writing on the knowledge and wisdom of indigenous cultures (the Old cultures), argues that such knowledge and wisdom are desperately needed today to help the world survive the crisis of global warming leading to rising sea-levels, and impending food, water and oil shortages. He believes that these perilous changes are directly caused by the greed and arrogance of the younger cultures, spearheaded by the European West. His words are a timely reminder of the importance of our own indigenous reference to us as Samoan people and to the world.
The first and most important step in restoring and re-vitalising our own wisdom tradition, is to make sure that we do not just bring the old ways up then follow them blindly - this would be a cultural regression. Rather, we find ways to create something new from the best of our ancient legacies, weaving these together with the best of our current knowledge from modern Samoa. This can give us a new cultural framework that is both an anchor and a map for the stormy journeys ahead.
Thus, we are standing at the threshold and we have a choice. We can pretend that the current situation is not that serious and, in our complacency, continue to argue about the small things. If so, consider the possibility that rising sea-levels may force the evacuation of many of the Pacific nations within the next fifty years. Also, at the present time, in Samoa, much energy is expended on legal battles fought in the Land and Titles Court. But, what if, within our children’s lifetime, there is no land left to fight over? Alternatively, we can decide to work together to do whatever it takes to provide a worthy legacy for our children and grandchildren. If we don’t make the effort over the next ten to twenty years, we risk leaving them stranded in the ensuing global chaos. We risk leaving the world a poorer place for not sharing our cultural treasures that could have made a difference. We cannot go back and fix the past but together we can create something new, a bright pathway for the future.
The Hopi elders (North America) and Inka elders (pre-Columbian South America) have an evening ritual where they sit together in a ‘vision circle’ and dream of the kind of world they wish for their great-grandchildren to inherit. We can all participate in dreaming a new world into being. And, we are provided with spiritual help along the way - for as the Christian Bible proclaims, ‘Behold, I make all things anew’ (Revelations 21:5).
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1Another very important book in the field of theology and indigenous spirituality is Pacific Indigenous Dialogue on Faith, Peace, Reconciliation and Good Governance (Tui Atua et al, 2007). This excellent book is a rich compilation of essays from a diverse range of authors.
2Ari Ma’ayan, Muskogee Creek Native American and Spirit Coach (as cited in Hartman, 1999, p. 293).
3As cited in Hartmann (1997, p. 203).