Introduction

During the last hundred years parents and teachers have ceased to take childhood and adolescence for granted. They have attempted to fit education to the needs of the child, rather than to press the child into an inflexible educational mould. To this new task they have been spurred by two forces, the growth of the science of psychology, and the difficulties and maladjustments of youth. Psychology suggested that much might be gained by a knowledge of the way in which children developed, of the stages through which they passed, of what the adult world might reasonably expect of the baby of two months or the child of two years. And the fulminations of the pulpit, the loudly voiced laments of the conservative social philosopher, the records of juvenile courts and social agencies all suggested that something must be done with the period which science had named adolescence. The spectacle of a younger generation diverging ever more widely from the standards and ideals of the past, cut adrift without the anchorage of respected home standards or group religious values, terrified the cautious reactionary, tempted the radical propagandist to missionary crusades among the defenceless youth, and worried the least thoughtful among us.

Over the past hundred years, parents and teachers have stopped taking childhood and adolescence for granted. They have tried to adapt education to children’s needs, rather than force children into a rigid educational mold. Two forces have driven parents and teachers toward this new task: the growth of psychology and young people’s difficulties adjusting. Psychology suggested that understanding how children develop could offer great benefits. This meant understanding the stages children pass through. It also meant knowing what adults could reasonably expect of a two-month-old baby or a two-year-old child. Meanwhile, fierce denunciations from the pulpit joined the loud complaints of conservative social thinkers. Records from juvenile courts and social agencies added to the picture. All these sources suggested that something had to be done about the period science had named adolescence. The younger generation seemed to be moving ever further from the standards and ideals of the past. Young people were adrift, without the anchor of respected standards at home or shared religious values. This sight terrified cautious opponents of change. It tempted radical campaigners to launch missionary crusades among defenseless young people. And it worried even the least thoughtful among us.

In American civilisation, with its many immigrant strains, its dozens of conflicting standards of conduct, its hundreds of religious sects, its shifting economic conditions, this unsettled, disturbed status of youth was more apparent than in the older, more settled civilisation of Europe. American conditions challenged the psychologist, the educator, the social philosopher, to offer acceptable explanations of the growing children’s plight. As to-day in post-war Germany, where the younger generation has even more difficult adjustments to make than have our own children, a great mass of theorising about adolescence is flooding the book shops; so the psychologist in America tried to account for the restlessness of youth. The result was works like that of Stanley Hall on “Adolescence,” which ascribed to the period through which the children were passing, the causes of their conflict and distress. Adolescence was characterised as the period in which idealism flowered and rebellion against authority waxed strong, a period during which difficulties and conflicts were absolutely inevitable.

American society included many immigrant groups, dozens of conflicting standards of behavior, hundreds of religious sects, and changing economic conditions. In this society, young people’s unsettled, troubled state was more apparent than in Europe’s older, more settled society. American conditions challenged psychologists, educators, and social philosophers to offer acceptable explanations for the difficulties children faced as they grew up. Today, in post-war Germany, the younger generation faces even harder adjustments than our own children do. A flood of theories about adolescence is filling German bookshops. Just as theorists now seek explanations in Germany, psychologists in America tried to explain young people’s restlessness. The result was books like Stanley Hall’s “Adolescence,” which blamed children’s conflict and distress on the stage they were passing through. Adolescence was described as a time when idealism blossomed and rebellion against authority grew strong. During this period, difficulties and conflicts were said to be absolutely inevitable.

The careful child psychologist who relied upon experiment for his conclusions did not subscribe to these theories. He said, “We have no data. We know only a little about the first few months of a child’s life. We are only just learning when a baby’s eyes will first follow a light. How can we give definite answers to questions of how a developed personality, about which we know nothing, will respond to religion?” But the negative cautions of science are never popular. If the experimentalist would not commit himself, the social philosopher, the preacher and the pedagogue tried the harder to give a short-cut answer. They observed the behaviour of adolescents in our society, noted down the omnipresent and obvious symptoms of unrest, and announced these as characteristics of the period. Mothers were warned that “daughters in their teens” present special problems. This, said the theorists, is a difficult period. The physical changes which are going on in the bodies of your boys and girls have their definite psychological accompaniments. You can no more evade one than you can the other; as your daughter’s body changes from the body of a child to the body of a woman, so inevitably will her spirit change, and that stormily. The theorists looked about them again at the adolescents in our civilisation and repeated with great conviction, “Yes, stormily.”

The careful child psychologist who based his conclusions on experiments did not accept these theories. He said, “We have no data. We know only a little about the first few months of a child’s life. We are only just learning when a baby’s eyes first follow a light. How can we say for certain how a developed personality will respond to religion? We know nothing about such a personality.” But warnings from science about what we do not know are never popular. If the experimental psychologist would not take a firm position, social philosophers, preachers, and educators tried even harder to offer an easy answer. They observed adolescents in our society and recorded the obvious signs of unrest that appeared everywhere. Then they declared that these signs were characteristics of adolescence. Mothers were warned that “daughters in their teens” present special problems. Adolescence, the theorists said, is a difficult period. The physical changes happening in your boys’ and girls’ bodies come with definite psychological changes. You can no more avoid the psychological changes than the physical ones. As your daughter’s body changes from a child’s body to a woman’s, her spirit will inevitably change too, and become stormy. The theorists looked around again at the adolescents in our society and repeated with great conviction, “Yes, stormy.”

Such a view, though unsanctioned by the cautious experimentalist, gained wide currency, influenced our educational policy, paralysed our parental efforts. Just as the mother must brace herself against the baby’s crying when it cuts its first tooth, so she must fortify herself and bear with what equanimity she might the unlovely, turbulent manifestations of the “awkward age.” If there was nothing to blame the child for, neither was there any programme except endurance which might be urged upon the teacher. The theorist continued to observe the behaviour of American adolescents and each year lent new justification to his hypothesis, as the difficulties of youth were illustrated and documented in the records of schools and juvenile courts.

Although cautious experimental researchers did not endorse this view, it became widely accepted. It shaped our educational policy and left parents feeling powerless to act. Just as a mother must steel herself against her baby’s crying during teething, she must prepare for the “awkward age.” She must endure its unpleasant, turbulent behavior as calmly as she can. If the child could not be blamed, teachers likewise could be advised to do nothing but endure. The theorist continued to observe the behavior of American adolescents, and each year brought more support for his hypothesis. School and juvenile court records illustrated and documented the difficulties of youth.

But meanwhile another way of studying human development had been gaining ground, the approach of the anthropologist, the student of man in all of his most diverse social settings. The anthropologist, as he pondered his growing body of material upon the customs of primitive people, grew to realise the tremendous rôle played in an individual’s life by the social environment in which each is born and reared. One by one, aspects of behaviour which we had been accustomed to consider invariable complements of our humanity were found to be merely a result of civilisation, present in the inhabitants of one country, absent in another country, and this without a change of race. He learned that neither race nor common humanity can be held responsible for many of the forms which even such basic human emotions as love and fear and anger take under different social conditions.

But meanwhile, another way of studying human development had been gaining ground: the anthropologist’s approach. Anthropologists study human beings in all their varied social settings. As anthropologists studied their growing collection of information about the customs of so-called primitive peoples, they began to understand something important. The social environment in which people are born and raised plays an enormous role in their lives. One by one, behaviors we had considered fixed parts of being human proved to be merely products of civilization. These behaviors appeared among people in one country but not another, even when the people were of the same race. Anthropologists learned that neither race nor our shared humanity can account for many forms taken by even basic human emotions. Love, fear, and anger take many such forms under different social conditions.

So the anthropologist, arguing from his observations of the behaviour of adult human beings in other civilisations, reaches many of the same conclusions which the behaviourist reaches in his work upon human babies who have as yet no civilisation to shape their malleable humanity. With such an attitude towards human nature the anthropologist listened to the current comment upon adolescence. He heard attitudes which seemed to him dependent upon social environment—such as rebellion against authority, philosophical perplexities, the flowering of idealism, conflict and struggle—ascribed to a period of physical development. And on the basis of his knowledge of the determinism of culture, of the plasticity of human beings, he doubted. Were these difficulties due to being adolescent or to being adolescent in America?

So anthropologists, observing adult behavior in other civilizations, reach many of the same conclusions as behaviorists studying human babies. These babies have not yet had their adaptable human nature shaped by any civilization. With this view of human nature, anthropologists listened to the current discussion of adolescence. They heard attitudes that seemed to depend on social surroundings being attributed to a stage of physical development. These attitudes included rebellion against authority, philosophical confusion, the flowering of idealism, conflict, and struggle. But anthropologists knew how strongly culture determines behavior and how adaptable human beings are, so they had doubts. Were these difficulties caused by being an adolescent, or by being an adolescent in America?

For the biologist who doubts an old hypothesis or wishes to test out a new one, there is the biological laboratory. There, under conditions over which he can exercise the most rigid control, he can vary the light, the air, the food, which his plants or his animals receive, from the moment of birth throughout their lifetime. Keeping all the conditions but one constant, he can make accurate measurement of the effect of the one. This is the ideal method of science, the method of the controlled experiment, through which all hypotheses may be submitted to a strict objective test.

A biologist who doubts an old hypothesis or wants to test a new one can use a biological laboratory. There, the biologist can control conditions with the greatest precision. The biologist can vary the light, air, and food plants or animals receive, from birth throughout their lives. By keeping all conditions except one constant, the biologist can accurately measure the effect of that one condition. This is the ideal scientific method, the controlled experiment. Through controlled experiments, all hypotheses may be put to a strict, objective test.

Even the student of infant psychology can only partially reproduce these ideal laboratory conditions. He cannot control the pre-natal environment of the child whom he will later subject to objective measurement. He can, however, control the early environment of the child, the first few days of its existence, and decide what sounds and sights and smells and tastes are to impinge upon it. But for the student of the adolescent there is no such simplicity of working conditions. What we wish to test is no less than the effect of civilisation upon a developing human being at the age of puberty. To test it most rigorously we would have to construct various sorts of different civilisations and subject large numbers of adolescent children to these different environments. We would list the influences the effects of which we wished to study. If we wished to study the influence of the size of the family, we would construct a series of civilisations alike in every respect except in family organisation. Then if we found differences in the behaviour of our adolescents we could say with assurance that size of family had caused the difference, that, for instance, the only child had a more troubled adolescence than the child who was a member of a large family. And so we might proceed through a dozen possible situations—early or late sex knowledge, early or late sex-experience, pressure towards precocious development, discouragement of precocious development, segregation of the sexes or coeducation from infancy, division of labour between the sexes or common tasks for both, pressure to make religious choices young or the lack of such pressure. We would vary one factor, while the others remained quite constant, and analyse which, if any, of the aspects of our civilisation were responsible for the difficulties of our children at adolescence.

Even researchers studying infant psychology can only partly recreate these ideal laboratory conditions. They cannot control a child’s environment before birth, even if they later study the child through objective measurements. They can, however, control the child’s early environment during the first few days of life. They can decide what sounds, sights, smells, and tastes the child encounters. But researchers studying adolescents have no such simple working conditions. We want to test nothing less than the effect of civilization on a developing human being at puberty. To test that effect as rigorously as possible, we would have to create several different kinds of civilizations. We would then place large numbers of adolescents in these different environments. We would list the influences whose effects we wanted to study. If we wanted to study the influence of family size, we would create a series of civilizations. These civilizations would be alike in every respect except family structure. Then, if we found differences in our adolescents’ behavior, we could confidently say that family size had caused those differences. For instance, an only child might have a more troubled adolescence than a child from a large family. We could work through a dozen possible situations in the same way. We could examine learning about sex early or late, and having sexual experiences early or late. We could examine pressure to develop early, or efforts to discourage early development. We could compare separating boys and girls with educating them together from infancy. We could compare dividing work by sex with having both sexes do the same tasks. We could examine pressure to make religious choices at a young age, or the absence of that pressure. We would vary one factor while keeping all the others constant. We would then analyze which aspects of our civilization, if any, were responsible for our children’s difficulties during adolescence.

Unfortunately, such ideal methods of experiment are denied to us when our materials are humanity and the whole fabric of a social order. The test colony of Herodotus, in which babies were to be isolated and the results recorded, is not a possible approach. Neither is the method of selecting from our own civilisation groups of children who meet one requirement or another. Such a method would be to select five hundred adolescents from small families and five hundred from large families, and try to discover which had experienced the greatest difficulties of adjustment at adolescence. But we could not know what were the other influences brought to bear upon these children, what effect their knowledge of sex or their neighbourhood environment may have had upon their adolescent development.

Unfortunately, these ideal experimental methods are unavailable when we study human beings and the entire structure of a society. Herodotus’s test colony, where babies would be isolated and the results recorded, is not a possible approach. Nor can we select groups of children from our own society who meet particular requirements. For example, we might select five hundred adolescents from small families and five hundred from large families. We would then try to discover which group had experienced greater difficulty adjusting during adolescence. But we could not know what other influences had affected these children. We could not know how their knowledge of sex or their neighborhood environment may have affected their adolescent development.

What method then is open to us who wish to conduct a human experiment but who lack the power either to construct the experimental conditions or to find controlled examples of those conditions here and there throughout our own civilisation? The only method is that of the anthropologist, to go to a different civilisation and make a study of human beings under different cultural conditions in some other part of the world. For such studies the anthropologist chooses quite simple peoples, primitive peoples, whose society has never attained the complexity of our own. In this choice of primitive peoples like the Eskimo, the Australian, the South Sea islander, or the Pueblo Indian, the anthropologist is guided by the knowledge that the analysis of a simpler civilisation is more possible of attainment.

What method, then, can we use if we want to conduct a human experiment? We cannot create the experimental conditions ourselves. Nor can we find controlled examples of those conditions scattered throughout our own civilization. The only method is the anthropologist’s: to visit another civilization and study people living under different cultural conditions. For such studies, anthropologists choose peoples with very simple societies, described as primitive. Their societies have never become as complex as our own. These include the Eskimo, the Australian, the South Sea islander, or the Pueblo Indian. Anthropologists choose these primitive peoples because they know that a simpler civilization is easier to analyze.

In complicated civilisations like those of Europe, or the higher civilisations of the East, years of study are necessary before the student can begin to understand the forces at work within them. A study of the French family alone would involve a preliminary study of French history, of French law, of the Catholic and Protestant attitudes towards sex and personal relations. A primitive people without a written language present a much less elaborate problem and a trained student can master the fundamental structure of a primitive society in a few months.

Complex civilizations, like those of Europe or the more advanced civilizations of the East, require years of study. Only then can a student begin to understand the forces at work within these civilizations. Studying the French family alone would first require studying French history and law. It would also require studying Catholic and Protestant attitudes toward sex and personal relationships. A primitive society without a written language presents a much simpler problem. A trained student can understand the basic structure of a primitive society in a few months.

Furthermore, we do not choose a simple peasant community in Europe or an isolated group of mountain whites in the American South, for these people’s ways of life, though simple, belong essentially to the historical tradition to which the complex parts of European or American civilisation belong. Instead, we choose primitive groups who have had thousands of years of historical development along completely different lines from our own, whose language does not possess our Indo-European categories, whose religious ideas are of a different nature, whose social organisation is not only simpler but very different from our own. From these contrasts, which are vivid enough to startle and enlighten those accustomed to our own way of life and simple enough to be grasped quickly, it is possible to learn many things about the effect of a civilisation upon the individuals within it. So, in order to investigate the particular problem, I chose to go not to Germany or to Russia, but to Samoa, a South Sea island about thirteen degrees from the Equator, inhabited by a brown Polynesian people. Because I was a woman and could hope for greater intimacy in working with girls rather than with boys, and because owing to a paucity of women ethnologists our knowledge of primitive girls is far slighter than our knowledge of boys, I chose to concentrate upon the adolescent girl in Samoa.

Furthermore, we do not choose a simple European farming community or an isolated group of white mountain people in the American South. Although these people lead simple lives, they share a historical tradition with the more complex parts of European or American civilization. Instead, we choose groups whose societies have developed over thousands of years along completely different paths from our own. Their languages do not have our Indo-European categories, and their religious ideas differ in nature from ours. Their social organization is not only simpler than ours but also very different. These contrasts are striking enough to startle and enlighten people accustomed to our way of life. They are also simple enough to understand quickly. So these contrasts can teach us many things about how a civilization affects the individuals within it. To investigate this particular problem, I therefore chose to go not to Germany or Russia, but to Samoa. Samoa is a South Sea island about thirteen degrees from the Equator, inhabited by a brown-skinned Polynesian people. Because I was a woman, I could hope to build closer relationships working with girls than with boys. Also, because there were few women ethnologists, we knew far less about girls in these societies than about boys. For these reasons, I chose to focus on adolescent girls in Samoa.

But in concentrating, I did something very different from what I would do if I concentrated upon a study of the adolescent girl in Kokomo, Indiana. In such a study, I would go right to the crux of the problem; I would not have to linger long over the Indiana language, the table manners or sleeping habits of my subjects, or make an exhaustive study of how they learned to dress themselves, to use the telephone, or what the concept of conscience meant in Kokomo. All these things are the general fabric of American life, known to me as investigator, known to you as readers.

But in focusing my study, I did something very different from studying adolescent girls in Kokomo, Indiana. In a study there, I would go straight to the heart of the problem. I would not need to spend much time on the language used in Indiana, or the girls’ table manners or sleeping habits. Nor would I need to study thoroughly how the girls learned to dress themselves or use the telephone. I would not need to study thoroughly what the idea of conscience meant in Kokomo, either. All these things are part of everyday American life, familiar to me as the researcher and to you as readers.

But with this new experiment on the primitive adolescent girl the matter was quite otherwise. She spoke a language the very sounds of which were strange, a language in which nouns became verbs and verbs nouns in the most sleight-of-hand fashion. All of her habits of life were different. She sat cross-legged on the ground, and to sit upon a chair made her stiff and miserable. She ate with her fingers from a woven plate; she slept upon the floor. Her house was a mere circle of pillars, roofed by a cone of thatch, carpeted with water-worn coral fragments. Her whole material environment was different. Cocoanut palm, breadfruit, and mango trees swayed above her village. She had never seen a horse, knew no animals except the pig, dog and rat. Her food was taro, breadfruit and bananas, fish and wild pigeon and half-roasted pork, and land crabs. And just as it was necessary to understand this physical environment, this routine of life which was so different from ours, so her social environment in its attitudes towards children, towards sex, towards personality, presented as strong a contrast to the social environment of the American girl.

But in this new study of an adolescent girl from a so-called primitive society, the situation was quite different. She spoke a language whose very sounds were unfamiliar. In her language, nouns became verbs and verbs became nouns as if by sleight of hand. All her daily habits were different. She sat cross-legged on the ground, and sitting on a chair made her stiff and miserable. She ate with her fingers from a woven plate. She slept on the floor. Her house was simply a circle of pillars with a cone-shaped thatched roof. Its floor was covered with fragments of coral worn smooth by water. Her entire material environment was different. Coconut palms, breadfruit trees, and mango trees swayed above her village. She had never seen a horse and knew no animals except pigs, dogs, and rats. She ate taro, breadfruit, bananas, fish, wild pigeon, half-roasted pork, and land crabs. It was necessary to understand her physical surroundings and her daily routine, both so different from ours. Just as these differed from ours, her social environment contrasted just as strongly with an American girl's. The contrast lay in attitudes toward children, sex, and personality.

I concentrated upon the girls of the community. I spent the greater part of my time with them. I studied most closely the households in which adolescent girls lived. I spent more time in the games of children than in the councils of their elders. Speaking their language, eating their food, sitting barefoot and cross-legged upon the pebbly floor, I did my best to minimise the differences between us and to learn to know and understand all the girls of three little villages on the coast of the little island of Taū, in the Manu’a Archipelago.

I focused on the girls in the community. I spent most of my time with them. I studied the households where adolescent girls lived most closely. I spent more time playing children’s games than attending their elders’ councils. I spoke their language, ate their food, and sat barefoot and cross-legged on the pebbly floor. In these ways, I did my best to reduce the differences between us. I also tried to get to know and understand all the girls in three small coastal villages. These villages were on the small island of Taū, in the Manu’a Archipelago.

Through the nine months which I spent in Samoa, I gathered many detailed facts about these girls, the size of their families, the position and wealth of their parents, the number of their brothers and sisters, the amount of sex experience which they had had. All of these routine facts are summarised in a table in the appendix. They are only the barest skeleton, hardly the raw materials for a study of family situations and sex relations, standards of friendship, of loyalty, of personal responsibility, all those impalpable storm centres of disturbances in the lives of our adolescent girls. And because these less measurable parts of their lives were so similar, because one girl’s life was so much like another’s, in an uncomplex, uniform culture like Samoa, I feel justified in generalising although I studied only fifty girls in three small neighbouring villages.

During my nine months in Samoa, I gathered many detailed facts about these girls. I recorded their family sizes, their parents’ status and wealth, and how many brothers and sisters they had. I also recorded how much sexual experience they had had. All these routine facts are summarized in a table in the appendix. These facts provide only the barest outline, hardly even the raw material for studying family situations and sexual relationships. The same is true of standards of friendship, loyalty, and personal responsibility. All these hard-to-measure aspects of life are sources of turmoil for adolescent girls in our own society. And because these less measurable parts of the Samoan girls’ lives were so similar, I feel justified in generalizing. In a simple, uniform culture like Samoa, one girl’s life was so much like another’s. So I feel justified in generalizing although I studied only fifty girls in three small neighboring villages.

In the following chapters I have described the lives of these girls, the lives of their younger sisters who will soon be adolescent, of their brothers with whom a strict taboo forbids them to speak, of their older sisters who have left puberty behind them, of their elders, the mothers and fathers whose attitudes towards life determine the attitudes of their children. And through this description I have tried to answer the question which sent me to Samoa: Are the disturbances which vex our adolescents due to the nature of adolescence itself or to the civilisation? Under different conditions does adolescence present a different picture?

In the following chapters, I have described the lives of these girls. I have also described their younger sisters, who will soon be adolescents. I have described their brothers, whom a strict taboo forbids the girls to speak to. I have described their older sisters, who are past puberty. I have also described their elders, the mothers and fathers whose attitudes toward life determine their children’s attitudes. Through these descriptions, I have tried to answer the question that brought me to Samoa: Are the troubles our adolescents face caused by adolescence itself or by the culture they live in? Does adolescence look different under different conditions?

Also, by the nature of the problem, because of the unfamiliarity of this simple life on a small Pacific island, I have had to give a picture of the whole social life of Samoa, the details being selected always with a view to illuminating the problem of adolescence. Matters of political organisation which neither interest nor influence the young girl are not included. Minutiæ of relationship systems or ancestor cults, genealogies and mythology, which are of interest only to the specialist, will be published in another place. But I have tried to present to the reader the Samoan girl in her social setting, to describe the course of her life from birth until death, the problems she will have to solve, the values which will guide her in her solutions, the pains and pleasures of her human lot cast on a South Sea island.

Also, the nature of the problem has required me to describe the whole of Samoan social life. This is because readers are unfamiliar with this simple life on a small Pacific island. I have always chosen details to shed light on adolescence. I have left out aspects of political organization that neither interest nor influence the young girl. Detailed accounts of kinship systems or ancestor worship, genealogies and mythology interest only specialists. These details will be published elsewhere. But I have tried to present the Samoan girl in her social setting. I have tried to describe her life from birth to death and the problems she will have to solve. I have also described the values that will guide her in solving those problems. And I have described the pains and pleasures of her human life on a South Sea island.

Such a description seeks to do more than illuminate this particular problem. It should also give the reader some conception of a different and contrasting civilisation, another way of life, which other members of the human race have found satisfactory and gracious. We know that our subtlest perceptions, our highest values, are all based upon contrast; that light without darkness or beauty without ugliness would lose the qualities which they now appear to us to have. And similarly, if we would appreciate our own civilisation, this elaborate pattern of life which we have made for ourselves as a people and which we are at such pains to pass on to our children, we must set our civilisation over against other very different ones. The traveller in Europe returns to America, sensitive to nuances in his own manners and philosophies which have hitherto gone unremarked, yet Europe and America are parts of one civilisation. It is with variations within one great pattern that the student of Europe to-day or the student of our own history sharpens his sense of appreciation. But if we step outside the stream of Indo-European culture, the appreciation which we can accord our civilisation is even more enhanced. Here in remote parts of the world, under historical conditions very different from those which made Greece and Rome flourish and fall, groups of human beings have worked out patterns of life so different from our own that we cannot venture any guess that they would ever have arrived at our solutions. Each primitive people has selected one set of human gifts, one set of human values, and fashioned for themselves an art, a social organisation, a religion, which is their unique contribution to the history of the human spirit.

This description aims to do more than clarify this particular problem. It should also give readers a sense of a different, contrasting civilization. Other human beings have found this way of life satisfying and gracious. We know that our most subtle perceptions and our highest values are all based on contrast. Without darkness, light would lose the qualities it now seems to have. Without ugliness, beauty would lose those qualities too. Similarly, if we want to appreciate our own civilization, we must compare it with very different civilizations. Our civilization is an elaborate pattern of life we have created as a people. We take great care to pass this pattern on to our children. Travelers returning to America from Europe notice subtleties in their own manners and ways of thinking that previously went unnoticed. Yet Europe and America are parts of one civilization. People studying Europe today or our own history sharpen their appreciation by examining variations within one broad pattern. But if we step outside the stream of Indo-European culture, we can appreciate our civilization even more. In remote parts of the world, groups of people have developed patterns of life very different from our own. They have lived under historical conditions very different from those that led Greece and Rome to flourish and fall. Their ways of life differ so greatly from ours that we cannot guess whether they would ever have reached our solutions. Each people described as primitive has chosen one set of human gifts and one set of human values. From these, each has fashioned its own art, social organization, and religion. These creations are each people's unique contribution to the history of the human spirit.

Samoa is only one of these diverse and gracious patterns, but as the traveller who has been once from home is wiser than he who has never left his own door step, so a knowledge of one other culture should sharpen our ability to scrutinise more steadily, to appreciate more lovingly, our own.

Samoa is only one of these varied and graceful ways of life. But a traveller who has left home even once is wiser than someone who has never left their doorstep. In the same way, knowing one other culture should help us examine our own more carefully and appreciate it more lovingly.

And, because of the particular problem which we set out to answer, this tale of another way of life is mainly concerned with education, with the process by which the baby, arrived cultureless upon the human scene, becomes a full-fledged adult member of his or her society. The strongest light will fall upon the ways in which Samoan education, in its broadest sense, differs from our own. And from this contrast we may be able to turn, made newly and vividly self-conscious and self-critical, to judge anew and perhaps fashion differently the education we give our children.

Because of the specific question we set out to answer, this account of another way of life focuses mainly on education. Education is the process by which a baby, born without a culture, becomes a full adult member of society. We will focus most closely on how Samoan education, in its broadest sense, differs from our own. This comparison may give us a fresh, vivid awareness of ourselves and a more critical view of our practices. With that awareness, we may reassess and perhaps reshape the education we give our children.