Attitudes Toward Personality

The ease with which personality differences can be adjusted by a change of residence prevents the Samoans from pressing one another too hard. Their evaluations of personality are a curious mixture of caution and fatalism. There is one word musu which expresses unwillingness and intractability, whether in the mistress who refuses to welcome a hitherto welcome lover, the chief who refuses to lend his kava bowl, the baby who won’t go to bed, or the talking chief who won’t go on a malaga. The appearance of a musu attitude is treated with almost superstitious respect. Lovers will prescribe formulæ for the treatment of a mistress, “lest she become musu,” and the behaviour of the suppliant is carefully orientated in respect to this mysterious undesirability. The feeling seems to be not that one is dealing with an individual in terms of his peculiar preoccupations in order to assure a successful outcome of a personal relationship, appealing now to vanity, now to fear, now to a desire for power, but rather that one is using one or another of a series of potent practices to prevent a mysterious and widespread psychological phenomenon from arising. Once this attitude has appeared, a Samoan habitually gives up the struggle without more detailed inquiry and with a minimum of complaint. This fatalistic acceptance of an inexplicable attitude makes for an odd incuriousness about motives. The Samoans are not in the least insensitive to differences between people. But their full appreciation of these differences is blurred by their conception of an obstinate disposition, a tendency to take umbrage, irascibility, contra-suggestibility, and particular biases as just so many roads to one attitude—musu.

Personality clashes can easily be resolved by moving elsewhere, so Samoans avoid pushing one another too hard. Their judgments about personality are a curious mixture of caution and fatalism. One word, musu, expresses unwillingness and stubborn resistance in many situations. It describes a mistress who refuses to welcome a lover she previously welcomed, or a chief who refuses to lend his kava bowl. It also describes a baby who won’t go to bed, or a talking chief who won’t go on a malaga. When a musu attitude appears, people treat it with almost superstitious respect. Lovers prescribe rules for dealing with a mistress, “lest she become musu,” and anyone seeking a favor carefully avoids provoking this mysterious, undesirable attitude. The feeling seems to be that the approach is not tailored to an individual’s particular concerns to make a personal relationship succeed. It is not a matter of appealing sometimes to vanity, sometimes to fear, and sometimes to a desire for power. Rather, people seem to feel they are using one of several powerful practices to prevent a mysterious, widespread psychological response. Once this attitude appears, a Samoan usually gives up the struggle without asking further questions and with very little complaint. This fatalistic acceptance of an unexplained attitude leads to a strange lack of curiosity about motives. Samoans are not at all insensitive to differences between people. But their understanding of these differences is blurred by seeing many traits as paths to a single attitude, musu. These traits include stubbornness, a tendency to take offense, irritability, resistance to suggestions, and particular biases.

This lack of curiosity about motivation is furthered by the conventional acceptance of a completely ambiguous answer to any personal question. The most characteristic reply to any question about one’s motivation is Ta ilo, “search me,” sometimes made more specific by the addition of “I don’t know.”⁴ This is considered to be an adequate and acceptable answer in ordinary conversation although its slight curtness bars it out from ceremonious occasions. So deep seated is the habit of using this disclaimer that I had to put a taboo upon its use by the children in order to get the simplest question answered directly. When this ambiguous rejoinder is combined with a statement that one is musu, the result is the final unrevealing statement, “Search me, why, I don’t want to, that’s all.” Plans will be abandoned, children refuse to live at home, marriages broken off. Village gossip is interested in the fact but shrugs its shoulders before the motives.

The accepted practice of giving a completely vague answer to any personal question further discourages curiosity about motives. The most typical reply to any question about someone’s motives is Ta ilo, “search me.” Sometimes the speaker makes the answer more specific by adding “I don’t know.”⁴ People consider this an adequate and acceptable answer in ordinary conversation, although its slightly abrupt tone rules it out on ceremonial occasions. The habit of using this disclaimer was so deeply rooted that I had to forbid the children from using it. Only then could I get a direct answer to even the simplest question. When this vague reply is combined with saying one is musu, the result reveals nothing: “Search me, why, I don’t want to, that’s all.” Plans will be abandoned, children will refuse to live at home, and marriages will be broken off. Village gossip takes an interest in what happened but shrugs at the motives.

There is one curious exception to this attitude. If an individual falls ill, the explanation is sought first in the attitudes of his relatives. Anger in the heart of a relative, especially in that of a sister, is most potent in producing evil and so the whole household is convened, a kava ceremony held and each relative solemnly enjoined to confess what anger there is in his heart against the sick person. Such injunctions are met either by solemn disclaimers or by detailed confessions: “Last week my brother came into the house and ate all the food, and I was angry all day”; or “My brother and I had a quarrel and my father took my brother’s side and I was angry at my father for his favouritism towards my brother.” But this special ceremony only serves to throw into strong relief the prevalent unspeculative attitude towards motivation. I once saw a girl leave a week-end fishing party immediately upon arrival at our destination and insist upon returning in the heat of the day the six miles to the village. But her companions ventured no hypothesis; she was simply musu to the party.

There is one curious exception to this attitude. If someone falls ill, people first look for an explanation in the feelings of the sick person’s relatives. A relative’s anger, especially a sister’s, is considered most powerful in causing harm. So the whole household gathers for a kava ceremony. Each relative is solemnly urged to confess any anger toward the sick person. The relatives respond either with solemn denials or with detailed confessions: “Last week my brother came into the house and ate all the food, and I was angry all day.” Or “My brother and I had a quarrel, and my father took my brother’s side. I was angry at my father for favoring my brother.” But this special ceremony only highlights how rarely people speculate about motives. I once saw a girl leave a weekend fishing party as soon as we reached our destination. She insisted on returning the six miles to the village in the heat of the day. But her companions offered no explanation for her behavior. She was simply musu about the party.

How great a protection for the individual such an attitude is will readily be seen when it is remembered how little privacy any one has. Chief or child, he dwells habitually in a house with at least half a dozen other people. His possessions are simply rolled in a mat, placed on the rafters or piled carelessly into a basket or a chest. A chief’s personal property is likely to be respected, at least by the women of the household, but no one else can be sure from hour to hour of his nominal possessions. The tapa which a woman spent three weeks in making will be given away to a visitor during her temporary absence. The rings may be begged off her fingers at any moment. Privacy of possessions is virtually impossible. In the same way, all of an individual’s acts are public property. An occasional love affair may slip through the fingers of gossip, and an occasional moetotolo go uncaught, but there is a very general cognisance on the part of the whole village of the activity of every single inhabitant. I shall never forget the outraged expression with which an informant told me that nobody, actually nobody at all, knew who was the father of Fa’amoana’s baby. The oppressive atmosphere of the small town is all about them; in an hour children will have made a dancing song of their most secret acts. This glaring publicity is compensated for by a violent gloomy secretiveness. Where a Westerner would say, “Yes, I love him but you’ll never know how far it went,” a Samoan would say, “Yes, of course I lived with him, but you’ll never know whether I love him or hate him.”

It is easy to see how much protection such an attitude gives the individual, considering how little privacy anyone has. Whether chief or child, a person usually lives in a house with at least six other people. Their belongings are simply rolled in a mat, placed on the rafters, or piled carelessly into a basket or chest. A chief’s personal property is likely to be respected, at least by the women of the household. But no one else can be sure from hour to hour of keeping what is supposedly theirs. The tapa a woman spent three weeks making will be given away to a visitor while she is briefly away. At any moment, someone may beg her to give them the rings off her fingers. Keeping possessions private is virtually impossible. In the same way, everything an individual does is public knowledge. An occasional love affair may escape gossip, and an occasional moetotolo may go uncaught. But the whole village generally knows what every single inhabitant is doing. I shall never forget the outraged expression of someone who told me about Fa’amoana’s baby. Nobody, actually nobody at all, knew who the father was. The oppressive atmosphere of a small town surrounds them. Within an hour, children will have turned their most secret acts into a dance song. This relentless public exposure is offset by an intense, brooding secrecy. Where a Westerner would say, “Yes, I love him, but you’ll never know how far it went,” a Samoan would say, “Yes, of course I lived with him, but you’ll never know whether I love him or hate him.”

The Samoan language has no regular comparative. There are several clumsy ways of expressing comparison by using contrast, “This is good and that is bad”; or by the locution, “And next to him there comes, etc.” Comparisons are not habitual although in the rigid social structure of the community, relative rank is very keenly recognised. But relative goodness, relative beauty, relative wisdom are unfamiliar formalisations to them. I tried over and over again to get judgments as to who was the wisest or the best man of the community. An informant’s first impulse was always to answer: “Oh, they are all good”; or, “There are so many wise ones.” Curiously enough, there seemed to be less difficulty in distinguishing the vicious than the virtuous. This is probably due to the Missionary influence which if it has failed to give the native a conviction of Sin, has at least provided him with a list of sins. Although I often met with a preliminary response, “There are so many bad boys”; it was usually qualified spontaneously by “But so-and-so is the worst because he ...” Ugliness and viciousness were more vivid and unusual attributes of personality; beauty, wisdom, and kindness were taken for granted.

The Samoan language has no standard form for making comparisons. There are several awkward ways to compare things through contrast: “This is good and that is bad”. Another uses the phrase “And next to him there comes, etc.” Comparisons are not customary, although people are keenly aware of relative rank within the community’s rigid social structure. But Samoans are unfamiliar with formally comparing goodness, beauty, or wisdom. I tried repeatedly to get people to say who was the wisest or best man in the community. A person’s first impulse was always to answer: “Oh, they are all good”, or “There are so many wise ones.” Curiously, people seemed to have less difficulty identifying the morally bad than the morally good. This difference is probably due to missionary influence. If missionaries have failed to give Samoans a conviction of Sin, they have at least supplied a list of sins. Although people often began by answering, “There are so many bad boys”, they usually added, unprompted, “But so-and-so is the worst because he ...” Ugliness and moral badness stood out as more striking and unusual personal qualities. Beauty, wisdom, and kindness were taken for granted.

In an account given of another person the sequence of traits mentioned followed a set and objective pattern: sex, age, rank, relationship, defects, activities. Spontaneous comment upon character or personality were unusual. So a girl describes her grandmother: “Lauuli? Oh, she is an old woman, very old, she’s my father’s mother. She’s a widow with one eye. She is too old to go inland but sits in the house all day. She makes tapa.”⁵ This completely unanalytical account is only modified in the case of exceptionally intelligent adults who are asked to make judgments.

When people described someone else, they listed traits in a fixed, objective order: sex, age, rank, relationships, defects, activities. Spontaneous comments on character or personality were unusual. For example, a girl describes her grandmother: “Lauuli? Oh, she is an old woman, very old. She’s my father’s mother. She’s a widow with one eye. She is too old to go inland but sits in the house all day. She makes tapa.”⁵ Such descriptions contain no analysis, except when exceptionally intelligent adults are asked to make judgments.

In the native classification attitudes are qualified by four terms, good and bad, easy and difficult, paired. A good child will be said to listen easily or to act well, a bad child to listen with difficulty or act badly. “Easy” and “with difficulty” are judgments of character; “good” and “bad” of behaviour. So that good or bad behaviour have become, explained in terms of ease or difficulty, to be regarded as an inherent capability of the individual. As we would say a person sang easily or swam without effort, the Samoan will say one obeys easily, acts respectfully, “easily,” reserving the terms “good” or “well” for objective approbation. So a chief who was commenting on the bad behaviour of his brother’s daughter remarked, “But Tui’s children always did listen with difficulty,” with as casual an acceptance of an irradicable defect as if he had said, “But John always did have poor eye sight.”

Samoans describe attitudes using four terms in two pairs: good and bad, easy and difficult. A good child is said to listen easily or act well. A bad child is said to listen with difficulty or act badly. “Easy” and “with difficulty” judge character, while “good” and “bad” judge behaviour. So, by explaining good or bad behaviour in terms of ease or difficulty, Samoans treat behaviour as an inherent ability. Just as we might say someone sang easily or swam without effort, a Samoan says someone obeys easily. A Samoan also says someone acts respectfully, “easily,” reserving “good” or “well” for approval of the behaviour itself. So a chief commenting on his brother’s daughter’s bad behaviour remarked, “But Tui’s children always did listen with difficulty.” He accepted the unchangeable flaw as casually as if he had said, “But John always did have poor eyesight.”

Such an attitude towards conduct is paralleled by an equally unusual attitude towards the expression of emotion. The expressions of emotions are classified as “caused” and “uncaused.” The emotional, easily upset, moody person is described as laughing without cause, crying without cause, showing anger or pugnaciousness without cause. The expression “to be very angry without cause” does not carry the implication of quick temper, which is expressed by the word “to anger easily,” nor the connotation of a disproportionate response to a legitimate stimulus, but means literally to be angry without cause, or freely, an emotional state without any apparent stimulus whatsoever. Such judgments are the nearest that the Samoan approaches to evaluation of temperament as opposed to character. The well-integrated individual who approximates closely to the attitudes of his age and sex group is not accused of laughing, crying, or showing anger without cause. Without inquiry it is assumed that he has good typical reasons for a behaviour which would be scrutinised and scorned in the case of the temperamental deviant. And always excessive emotion, violent preferences, strong allegiances are disallowed. The Samoan preference is for a middle course, a moderate amount of feeling, a discreet expression of a reasonable and balanced attitude. Those who care greatly are always said to care without cause.

This attitude toward behavior is matched by an equally unusual attitude toward expressing emotion. Expressions of emotion are classified as “caused” and “uncaused.” An emotional, easily upset, moody person is described as laughing, crying, or showing anger or aggression without cause. The expression “to be very angry without cause” does not imply a quick temper, expressed as “to anger easily.” Nor does the expression suggest an excessive response to a real trigger. Instead, it means literally being angry without a cause, or freely, with no apparent trigger at all. Such judgments are the closest Samoans come to judging temperament rather than character. A well-adjusted person whose attitudes closely match those of his age and sex group is not accused of uncaused emotion. His laughter, tears, or anger are assumed, without question, to have good, typical reasons. The same behavior would be closely examined and scorned in someone whose temperament differed from the norm. And excessive emotion, intense preferences, and strong loyalties are always disapproved of. Samoans prefer a middle course, moderate feelings, and a restrained expression of a reasonable, balanced attitude. Those who care deeply are always said to care without cause.

The one most disliked trait in a contemporary is expressed by the term fiasili, literally “desiring to be highest,” more idiomatically, “stuck up.” This is the comment of the age mate where an older person would use the disapproving tautala laititi, “presuming above one’s age.” It is essentially the resentful comment of those who are ignored, neglected, left behind upon those who excel them, scorn them, pass them by. As a term of reproach it is neither as dreaded nor as resented as the tautala laititi because envy is felt to play a part in the taunt.

The most disliked trait in someone of the same age is called fiasili, literally “desiring to be highest,” or, more naturally, “stuck up.” People use this term for their peers where an older person would use the disapproving tautala laititi, “presuming above one’s age.” It is essentially a resentful comment from people who feel ignored, neglected, or left behind. They direct it at those who outshine them, scorn them, or pass them by. As an insult, it is neither as feared nor as resented as tautala laititi. This is because envy is felt to play a part in the taunt.

In the casual conversations, the place of idle speculation about motivation is taken by explanations in terms of physical defect or objective misfortune, thus “Sila is crying over in that house. Well, Sila is deaf.” “Tulipa is angry at her brother. Tulipa’s mother went to Tutuila last week.” Although these statements have the earmarks of attempted explanations they are really only conversational habits. The physical defect or recent incident, is not specifically invoked but merely mentioned with slightly greater and more deprecatory emphasis. The whole preoccupation is with the individual as an actor, and the motivations peculiar to his psychology are left an unplumbed mystery.

In casual conversations, explanations based on physical impairments or external misfortunes take the place of idle guesses about motives. For example: “Sila is crying over in that house. Well, Sila is deaf.” “Tulipa is angry at her brother. Tulipa’s mother went to Tutuila last week.” Although these statements sound like attempts at explanation, they are really just conversational habits. The physical impairment or recent event is not specifically offered as an explanation. Instead, it is merely mentioned with slightly more emphasis and disapproval. The focus is entirely on the individual’s actions. The motives rooted in that person’s psychology remain an unexplored mystery.

Judgments are always made in terms of age groups, from the standpoints of the group of the speaker and the age of the person judged. A young boy will not be regarded as an intelligent or stupid, attractive or unattractive, clumsy or skilful person. He is a bright little boy of nine who runs errands efficiently and is wise enough to hold his tongue when his elders are present, or a promising youth of eighteen who can make excellent speeches in the Aumaga, lead a fishing expedition with discretion and treat the chiefs with the respect which is due to them, or a wise matai, whose words are few and well chosen and who is good at weaving eel traps. The virtues of the child are not the virtues of the adult. And the judgment of the speaker is similarly influenced by age, so that the relative estimation of character varies also. Pre-adolescent boys and girls will vote that boy and girl worst who are most pugnacious, irascible, contentious, rowdy. Young people from sixteen to twenty shift their censure from the rowdy and bully to the licentious, the moetotolo among the boys, the notoriously promiscuous among the girls; while adults pay very little attention to sex offenders and stress instead the inept, the impudent and the disobedient among the young, and the lazy, the stupid, the quarrelsome and the unreliable as the least desirable characters among the adults. When an adult is speaking the standards of conduct are graded in this fashion: small children should keep quiet, wake up early, obey, work hard and cheerfully, play with children of their own sex; young people should work industriously and skilfully, not be presuming, marry discreetly, be loyal to their relatives, not carry tales, nor be trouble makers; while adults should be wise, peaceable, serene, generous, anxious for the good prestige of their village and conduct their lives with all good form and decorum. No prominence is given to the subtler facts of intelligence and temperament. Preference between the sexes is given not to the arrogant, the flippant, the courageous, but to the quiet, the demure boy or girl who “speaks softly and treads lightly.”

People always judge others by age group. Their judgments reflect both their own age group’s viewpoint and the age of the person being judged. A young boy is not simply seen as intelligent or stupid, attractive or unattractive, clumsy or skillful. Instead, he is a bright nine-year-old who runs errands efficiently and knows to stay quiet around his elders. Or he is a promising eighteen-year-old who gives excellent speeches in the Aumaga. He can lead a fishing expedition with good judgment and treat chiefs with the respect they deserve. Or he is a wise matai who speaks few, well-chosen words and is good at weaving eel traps. The virtues expected of children are not those expected of adults. The speaker’s age also shapes judgments, so assessments of character vary. Boys and girls who have not reached adolescence judge the most aggressive, bad-tempered, argumentative, and rowdy children as the worst. Young people aged sixteen to twenty shift their criticism from rowdy children and bullies to the sexually unrestrained. Among boys, they condemn the moetotolo, and among girls, those known for being promiscuous. Adults, however, pay very little attention to people who break sexual rules. Among the young, adults instead criticize those who are incapable, disrespectful, or disobedient. Among adults, they see the lazy, stupid, quarrelsome, and unreliable as the least desirable people. Adults set different standards of behavior for each age group. Small children should keep quiet, wake up early, obey, work hard and cheerfully, and play with children of their own sex. Young people should work hard and skillfully, not overstep their place, and choose marriage partners carefully. They should be loyal to their relatives, not carry tales, and not make trouble. Adults should be wise, peaceful, calm, generous, and concerned about their village’s reputation. They should live with proper manners and respect for accepted customs. Little attention is given to finer differences in intelligence and temperament. When choosing someone of the opposite sex, people favor neither the arrogant, the flippant, nor the courageous. Instead, they prefer the quiet, modest boy or girl who “speaks softly and treads lightly.”