Polynesia Quotes

breeds of dogs were developed and raised for food in Aztec Mexico, Polynesia, and ancient China.

I was thinking about people," said Polynesia." People make me sick. They think they're so wonderful. The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn't it? And the only thing in animal language that people have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means 'I'm glad'! It's funny isn't it? You are the very first man to talk like us. Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully - such airs they put on, talking about 'the dumb animals.' Dumb! Huh! Why I knew a macaw once who could say 'Good morning' in seven different ways.

As I walked up toward the band kids, Ben shouted, ''Jacobsen, was I dreaming or did you-'' I gave him the slightest shake of my head and he changed gears mid sentence- ''and me go on a wild adventure to French Polynesia last night, traveling in a sailboat made of bananas?'' ''That was one delicious sailboat,'' I answered.

Are today's fears more or less founded than the fears of that time? When it comes to the future, we are just as blind as our fathers. Swiss and Swedes have their anti-nuclear shelters, but what will they find when they come out into the open? There are Polynesia, New Zealand, Tierra del Fuego, the Antarctic: perhaps they will remain unharmed. Obtaining a passport and entry visa is much easier than it was then, so why aren't we going? Why aren't 'we leaving our country? Why aren't we leaving "before"?

Christ will never more come down to earth nor will there be any law-giver, nor will murder cease nor theft, nor rape, and yet... and yet one expects something, something terrifyingly marvellous and absurd, perhaps a cold lobster with mayonnaise served gratis, perhaps an invention, like the electric light, like television, only more devastating, more soul rending, an invention unthinkable that will bring a shattering calm and void, not the calm and void of death but of life such as the monks dreamed, such as is dreamed still in the Himalayas, in Tibet, in Lahore, in the Aleutian Islands, in Polynesia, in Easter Island, the dream of men before the flood, before the word was written, the dream of cave men and anthropophagists, of those with double sex and short tails, of those who are said to be crazy and have no way of defending themselves because they are outnumbered by those who are not crazy.

Polynesians were both the most closely related and the most widely dispersed people in the world. Seven’s

This is what is meant by the Polynesian Triangle, an area of ten million square miles in the middle of the Pacific Ocean defined by the three points of Hawai‘i, New Zealand, and Easter Island.

Therefore, men of Polynesia and Boston and China and Mount Fuji and the barrios of the Philippines, do not come to these islands empty-handed, or craven in spirit, or afraid to starve. There is no food here. In these islands there is no certainty. Bring your own food, your own gods, your own flowers and fruits and concepts. For if you come without resources to these islands you will perish... On these harsh terms the islands waited.

It’s understandable, then, that pretty much every human culture independently developed some version of the belief that a special animating force makes living things alive. The Romans called it spiritus and the Greeks pneuma (both words also meaning “breath”). In China it is called chi, which also translates to “blood” because they felt the life force was carried in the blood. In Japan it is ki, in India prana, in Polynesia mana, and in Arabic it is baraka.

Vision is not so much about just looking but knowing what to look for. It's experience.

Although oral traditions often seem focused on the past, they are actually quite present-centered. In an oral culture, only what matters to the living is retained.

Hawai‘i, for example, you go mauka, toward the mountain, or makai, toward the sea—directions that can point north, south, east, or west, depending upon where you are standing

They had a constellation known as Big Bird, which overlaps our constellations Orion and Canis Major, and they gave the same name to the planet Venus that we give it: Morning Star. Not

But what was really surprising was how early the dates were: at 2,800 years before the present, they pushed the occupation of New Caledonia back to the end of the first millennium B.C. IN

Vast tracts of ocean, whether Polynesia, Micronesia or Melanesia, contain island populations that remain outside the modern world. They know about it, they may have traveled to it, they appreciate artifacts and medical help from it, but they live their daily lives much as hundreds of generations of ancestors before them, without money, electricity, phones, TV or manufactured food.

perhaps to keep out the pigs. They had a large number of words for types of wind, including strong wind, storm wind, light wind, dry wind, winds from various directions, and wind bringing rain.

In a world without writing, there are no inventories or statistics; in fact, writing, so far as anyone knows, was invented in order to make accurate lists of commodities like she-goats and oxen and amphorae of wine.

Whoever they were, the so-called Lapita people appeared to be the first people on the scene in these places, and this, in turn, meant that not only were they the true pioneers of the remote Pacific—the first people to sail over the horizon to islands that were too far away to see—but they were also the first people to reach the Polynesian Triangle. And this meant that they were the immediate precursors and ancestors of the Polynesians.

But it does have the merit of asking whether there is knowledge encoded in Tupaia’s chart that might be difficult for us to see because it is based on unfamiliar assumptions about how information is most usefully organized.

In some traditions, Te Pō is associated with Te Kore, a word that in common speech expresses simple negation but here is elevated to mean something like “Nothingness” or “the Void.” Like Te Pō, Te Kore can be qualified—Kore-nui (the Vast Void); Kore-roa (the Far-Extending Void); Kore-para (the Parched Void); Kore-rawea (the Void in Which Nothing Is Felt)—suggesting that it is less a matter of true absence or emptiness and more a kind of liminal space between being and nonbeing—a “realm of potential being,

The first is that the relationships among all forms of matter are ones of kinship; everything that exists is, in a fairly literal sense, related to everything else. The stone that is the ancestor Raukawa is also, in its own right, an ancestor, being part of the same continuum of creation as the man and the ancestral hero. The second is that the mechanism of creation for everything in the world—not just humans, animals, and gods but even things that we would describe as inorganic, like sand and stones—is a form of sexual reproduction. Creation in traditional Polynesian myths is, fundamentally, a matter of procreation.

All the islands inside this triangle were originally settled by a clearly identifiable group of voyagers: a people with a single language and set of customs, a particular body of myths, a distinctive arsenal of tools and skills, and a “portmanteau biota” of plants and animals that they carried with them wherever they went. They had no knowledge of writing or metal tools—no maps or compasses—and yet they succeeded in colonizing the largest ocean on the planet, occupying every habitable rock between New Guinea and the Galápagos, and establishing what was, until the modern era, the largest single culture area in the world.

According to many Polynesian creation stories, the origin of the universe begins in something known as Te Pō. Typically described as a period of chaos or darkness or a kind of night, Te Pō is what existed before any gods, sky, land, sea, plants, animals, or humans had come into being. It is associated not just with the dim beginnings of the world but with the time before birth, the time after death, and the mysteries of the spirit world. In the dualistic philosophy of the Polynesians, it is opposed to Te Ao, the world of light and ordinary human endeavor. We live in Te Ao, but it is from Te Pō that we come, and to it that we ultimately return. The

In 1951, the first radiocarbon date from the Pacific was reported by Willard F. Libby’s lab at the University of Chicago. Based on a sample of charcoal from the lowest layer of an excavation of the Kuli‘ou‘ou rock-shelter, on the island of O‘ahu, it fixed the earliest occupation of this Hawaiian site at A.D. 1004, plus or minus 180 years.

They were polytheistic, and the name for their most securely reconstructible deity relates to the word for “sky.” Their word for human, on the other hand, was derived from their word for “earth” or “land.” Their poetry revolved around themes of fertility, reciprocity, immortality, and heroic deeds; a single famous phrase, best known to us from the Homeric epics, is glossed as “imperishable fame.

References to Te Pō occur in myths and chants throughout Polynesia, including one of the most famous of all, a two-thousand-line Hawaiian creation chant known as the Kumulipo, meaning “Beginning in deep darkness.” Composed at the beginning of the eighteenth century to mark the birth of the high chief Lonoikamakahiki, it begins, in Queen Lili‘uokalani’s translation: At the time that turned the heat of the earth At the time when the heavens turned and changed At the time when the light of the sun was subdued To cause light to break forth At the time of the night of Makalii [winter] Then began the slime which established the earth, The source of deepest darkness Of the depth of darkness, of the depth of darkness, Of the darkness of the sun, in the depth of night, It is night, So night was born.

The officer argued that even if they managed to find “a desert island,” they would certainly perish from starvation or thirst. Emory pointed out that Polynesians had been managing just fine for hundreds, if not thousands, of years and that there was food and water to be had on even the smallest islands if you knew where to look. Coconuts alone provided food, water, containers, and fuel for a fire; the problem was that most American servicemen had no idea how to husk one. Asked if he could teach them, Emory replied, Of course—all that was needed was a pointed stick. And so began his stint as survival instructor to the U.S. military in the Pacific theater. Emory compiled a little manual of the basics, entitled South Sea Lore (known in its first incarnation as the Castaway’s Baedeker to the South Seas).

The city of Gregoria was ahead. The boys were sleeping, and I was alone in my eternity at the wheel, and the road ran straight as an arrow. Not like driving across Carolina, or Texas, or Arizona, or Illinois; but like driving across the world and into the places where we would finally learn ourselves among the Fellahin Indians of the world, the essential strain of the basic primitive, wailing humanity that stretches in a belt around the equatorial belly of the world from Malaya (the long fingernail of China) to India the great subcontinent to Arabia to Morocco to the selfsame deserts and jungles of Mexico and over the waves to Polynesia to mystic Siam of the Yellow Robe and on around, on around, so that you hear the same mournful wail by the rotted walls of Cádiz, Spain, that you hear 12,000 miles around in the depths of Benares the Capital of the World.

Te Po-nui The great night Te Po-roa The long night Te Po-uriuri The deep night Te Po-kerekere The intense night Te Po-tiwhatiwha The dark night Te Po-te-kitea The night in which nothing is seen Te Po-tangotango The intensely dark night Te Po-whawha The night of feeling Te Po-namunamu-ki-taiao The night of seeking passage to the world Te Po-tahuri-atu The night of restless turning Te Po-tahuri-mai-ki-taiao The night of turning towards the revealed

But what was really surprising was how early the dates were: at 2,800 years before the present, they pushed the occupation of New Caledonia back to the end of the first millennium B.C. IN THE YEARS that followed, Lapita sites would be discovered on the Mussau Islands off Papua New Guinea, the Reef and Santa Cruz Islands, Tikopia Vanuatu, Fiji, Tonga, Futuna, and Samoa—in other words, virtually everywhere between the Bismarck Archipelago and the western edge of Polynesia. Dates from these sites confirmed the age of the culture represented by these ceramics, but they also revealed an unexpected pattern: Lapita settlements across a 2,500-mile swath of the western Pacific—from roughly the Solomon Islands to Samoa—seem to have appeared almost simultaneously around 1000 B.C. Furthermore, east of the Solomons, they appeared to represent a cultural horizon: no one predated them in these islands, archaeologically speaking; no cultural artifacts underlay theirs.

One of Libby’s key assumptions had been that the quantity of carbon-14 in the atmosphere was constant, but this, as it turned out, was not true. Changes in the earth’s magnetic field, sunspot activity, even human activities like burning fossil fuels, exploding atom bombs, and testing nuclear weapons, altered the atmospheric concentration of radiocarbon. Unless radiocarbon dates were corrected using a known formula (i.e., calibrated), they could be off by significant amounts (as much as seven hundred years in the case of dates around 3000 B.C.). Gradually

Proto-Oceanic is the theoretical mother tongue of the Oceanic peoples and the language from which all the Oceanic languages are thought to descend. It is a huge family, encompassing more than 450 languages, including those spoken on all the islands of Polynesia, most of the smaller islands of Melanesia, and all the islands of Micronesia except two. It is itself a branch of the larger Austronesian language family, a truly stupendous grouping of more than a thousand languages, which includes, in addition to all the Oceanic languages, those of the Philippines, Borneo, Indonesia, Timor, the Moluccas, and Madagascar. The very oldest Austronesian languages—and thus, in a sense, their geographic root—are a group of languages known as Formosan, a few of which are still spoken by the indigenous inhabitants of Ilha Formosa (Beautiful Island), an old Portuguese name for the island of Taiwan. Thus, at least from a linguistic point of view, the path back from Polynesia to the ultimate homeland proceeds through the Melanesian and Southeast Asian archipelagoes to an island off the coast of China, where the trail goes cold around 5000 or 6000 B.C.

Then one day, as he was watching one of his workers sift a shovelful of earth, something among the rocks and sand caught his eye, “a flat fragment of some brick-red substance,” which appeared briefly and then disappeared. It looked, thought Suggs, exactly like a piece of pottery. But that couldn’t be—pottery was found throughout Island Southeast Asia and much of Melanesia, but it had never been seen east of Samoa. And yet, there it was: an unmistakable potsherd from the lowest level of the dark band of sand that indicated human habitation. Almost immediately, a second, larger fragment emerged, then a third: a piece of an ancient pot rim with a grooved and rounded lip and marks on the inner and outer surfaces, “from the hand of the potter who had smoothed this vessel in the dim past.” In all, five fragments of pottery were discovered, belonging to just three vessels: a poorly fired, crumbly brown pot with a coarse temper; a well-fired reddish-brown bowl with a flared rim; and a fine-tempered fragment, also reddish brown, with marks that showed it had been polished using some kind of tool. Modest though they were, these ceramic tidbits changed “the complexion of Polynesian prehistory”—though, as was so often the case, it was not immediately clear in precisely what way.

It was the artifact of choice for a technique called seriation, which involved sorting objects by shape or style or some other formal feature and then ranging them in series, on the principle that things that are alike probably belong to the same period and that changes in style are often incremental. Like stratigraphy, seriation is a means of establishing relative chronologies; combined with the new technique of radiocarbon dating, it could be used to nail down whole stretches of cultural time. There was, however, no pottery in Hawai‘i, and Sinoto wondered what else could be used as a “diagnostic” artifact. The answer was fishhooks. Like

Two possible reasons for this might be that, like politics, all navigation is local, and that what is true in one geographical region is not necessarily true in another. The night sky in New Zealand is not the same as the night sky in Papua New Guinea, which is not the same as the night sky in Hawai‘i. The winds and currents in the Solomons are not the same as those around Rapa Nui or in the Marquesas. A second consideration might be that in many Oceanic societies, navigational knowledge is believed to have been privileged and known to only a few, which may mean that it was especially easy to lose once it was no longer central to a society’s survival.

them—or something like it. They even got the Doctor some tobacco one day, when he had finished what he had brought with him and wanted to smoke. At night they slept in tents made of palm leaves, on thick, soft beds of dried grass. And after a while they got used to walking such a lot and did not get so tired and enjoyed the life of travel very much. But they were always glad when the night came and they stopped for their resting time. Then the Doctor used to make a little fire of sticks; and after they had had their supper, they would sit round it in a ring, listening to Polynesia singing songs about the sea, or to Chee-Chee telling stories of the jungle. And many of the tales that Chee-Chee told were very interesting. Because although the monkeys had no history books of their own before Doctor Dolittle came to write them for them, they remember everything that happens by telling stories to their children. And Chee-Chee spoke of many things his grandmother had told him—tales of long, long, long ago, before Noah and the Flood—of the days when men dressed in bearskins and lived in holes in the rock and ate their mutton raw because they did not know what cooking was, never having seen a fire. And he told them of the great mammoths, and lizards as long as a train, that wandered over the mountains in those times, nibbling from the treetops. And often they got so interested listening that when he had finished they found their fire had gone right out, and they had to scurry around to get more sticks and build a new one. Now, when the King’s army had gone back and told the King that they couldn’t find the Doctor, the King sent them out again and told them they must stay in the jungle till they caught him. So all this time, while the Doctor and his animals were going along toward the Land of the Monkeys, thinking themselves quite safe, they were still being followed by the King’s men. If Chee-Chee had known this, he would most likely have hidden them again. But he didn’t know it. One day Chee-Chee climbed up a high rock and looked out over the treetops. And when he came down he said they were now quite close to the Land of the Monkeys and would soon be there. And that same evening, sure enough, they saw Chee-Chee’s cousin and a lot of other monkeys, who had not yet gotten sick, sitting in the trees by the edge of a swamp, looking and waiting for them. And when they saw the famous doctor really come, these monkeys made a tremendous noise, cheering and waving leaves and swinging out of the branches to greet him. They wanted to carry his bag and his trunk and everything he had. And one of the bigger ones even carried Gub-Gub, who had gotten

The way a star compass works is this: You begin by envisioning the horizon as a circle marking the meeting point of the earth and the sky—which, of course, is exactly how it looks from a boat on the ocean or the high point of a small island. In the mind of an experienced navigator, this circle is dotted with points marking the rising and setting positions of particular stars. When the navigator imagines himself at the center of this circle and his destination as a point on the horizon, the star compass becomes a plotting diagram, giving the bearing of his target island in terms of the rising and setting points of particular stars. A “star path” is a course defined by the series of stars that rise over the course of a night in a particular direction.

The splitting off of the Oceanic branch of this language family is thought to have taken place in the neighborhood of the Bismarcks around the time of the first Lapita settlement, and it is strongly linked with the rapid colonization of the islands between there and Samoa between 1500 and 1000 B.C. Thus, the reconstruction of Proto-Oceanic opens a window onto the otherwise fairly mysterious Lapita world. Little survives in archaeological contexts in the tropics—none of the baskets or cordage or wooden housewares, no foodstuffs or clothing, no buildings apart from stone foundations and the dark impressions left by long-decayed posts. But something of the texture of these people’s lives can be extracted from their reconstructed vocabulary, working back through the ages via whatever was essential enough to pass on.

It is almost impossible to imagine such a world today: one without books or calendars or accounts, never mind the Internet, one in which nothing has ever been documented and all the information that can be possessed is held in the minds of a few. But literacy has emerged only in the past five or six thousand years, and for most of human history this was how knowledge was stored and communicated. The advent of writing is often seen as one of the watershed developments in human history, and it can be argued that the presence or absence of writing shapes cultures in fundamental ways—some would even say it shapes consciousness itself. But even if that is too great a claim, it is certainly true that the ability to document what is known changes the way knowledge is constructed, including the kinds of information that can be transmitted and the shape that information takes.

The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since. Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total. As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone. I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more. Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom. I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen. Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred. It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before. I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.

The archaeologist attached to the Bayard Dominick’s Marquesan team had reported in 1925 that the Marquesas offered “few opportunities for archaeological research.” But in 1956, a new expedition set out to reexamine the possibilities in these islands at the eastern edge of the Polynesian Triangle. An energetic Columbia University graduate student named Robert Suggs was sent ahead to reconnoiter, and he quickly discovered that the previous generation had gotten it all wrong. Everywhere he looked, he saw archaeological potential. “We were seldom out of sight of some relic of the ancient Marquesan culture,” he writes. “Through all the valleys were scattered clusters of ruined house platforms. . . . Overgrown with weeds, half tumbled down beneath the weight of toppled trees and the pressure of the inexorable palm roots, these ancient village sites were sources of stone axes, carved stone pestles, skulls, and other sundry curios.” There were ceremonial plazas “hundreds of feet long” and, high on the cliffs above the deep valleys, “burial caves containing the remains of the population of centuries past.” The coup de grâce came when Suggs and his guide followed up on a report of a large number of “pig bones” in the dunes at a place called Ha‘atuatua. This windswept expanse of scrub and sand lies on the exposed eastern corner of Nuku Hiva. A decade earlier, in 1946, a tidal wave had cut away part of the beach, and since then bones and other artifacts had been washing out of the dunes. Not knowing quite what to expect, Suggs and his guide rode over on horseback. When they came out of the “hibiscus tangle” at the back of the beach and “caught sight of the debris washing down the slope,” he writes, “I nearly fell out of the saddle.” The bones that were scattered all along the slope and on the beach below were not pig bones but human bones! Ribs, vertebrae, thigh bones, bits of skull vault, and innumerable hand and foot bones were everywhere. At the edge of the bank a bleached female skull rested upside down, almost entirely exposed. Where the bank had been cut away, a dark horizontal band about two feet thick could be seen between layers of clean white sand. Embedded in this band were bits of charcoal and saucers of ash, fragments of pearl shell, stone and coral tools, and large fitted stones that appeared to be part of a buried pavement. They had discovered the remains of an entire village, complete with postholes, cooking pits, courtyards, and burials. The time was too short to explore the site fully, but the very next year, Suggs and his wife returned to examine it. There

French Polynesia embraces a vast ocean area strewn with faraway outer islands, each with a mystique of its own. The 118 islands and atolls are scattered over an expanse of water 18 times the size of California, though in dry land terms the territory is only slightly bigger than Rhode Island. The distance from one end of the island groups to another is four times further than from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Every oceanic island type is represented in these sprawling archipelagoes positioned midway between California and New Zealand. The coral atolls of the Tuamotus are so low they’re threatened by rising sea levels, while volcanic Tahiti soars to 2,241 meters. Bora Bora and Maupiti, also high volcanic islands, rise from the lagoons of what would otherwise be atolls.

By the state I mean centralised political authority, usually a king, supported by tribute and taxes, and with a monopoly of armed force. Although it has been estimated that only about 20% of tribal societies in Africa, the Americas, Polynesia, New Guinea, and many parts of Asia actually developed the state, the state was almost as important a revolution in human history as agriculture itself, because of all the further developments it made possible, and a large literature on the process of state formation has developed

The flood myth motif is widespread among many cultures, as seen in Mesopotamian flood stories, the Puranas (ancient Hindu texts), in the Greek Deucalion mythology, the lore of the K'iche' and Maya peoples of Central America, as well as the Muisca people of present day Colombia in South America. In fact, there are oral traidition stories pertaining to this concept from antiquity, from cultures of Sumeria, Babylonia, Germany, Ireland, Finland, the Maasai of Africa, Egypt, India, Turkestan, China, Korea, Malaysia, Lao, Australia, Polynesia, and Native people of North America, Mesoamerica and South America... to name just a handful.

A friend who lives in Micronesia told me that the inhabitants of one of the islands of Polynesia were given refrigerators by a group of visiting, well-intentioned missionaries. They had noticed that the locals, who were subsistence fishermen, had to fish every day because any excess catch spoiled in the tropical heat. The missionaries thought it would be a blessing if excess fish could be refrigerated, allowing the fishermen to put their attention to other wealth-generating activities. On a return visit a year later, the missionaries noticed that there was no trace of the refrigerators in the community. Their inquiries informed them that the elders had ordered all the equipment dumped in the ocean. The reason? Refrigerating excess fish meant that surplus was no longer given to the elderly or infirm, as had been their custom for a thousand years. It was unacceptable to the tribe that "progress" resulted in more wealth for some and hunger for others.

That’s what I like about Polynesians. They wear their hearts on their sleeve knowing that, for adults, there are better games to play than hiding their emotions from each other

Polynesia it’s known as the “honi”, and the point is to exchange “ha”— the breath of life, and “mana”— the spiritual power within people. Back through the mists of time, many cultures have believed that an individual’s soul was carried on the breath.

We know now that all the people of Polynesia carry taro root and coconut palm and breadfruit with them when they settle a new island, but they themselves will tell you that the gods planted these things here. Some of their stories are quite fabulous. They say that the breadfruit tree was crafted by the gods to resemble a human body, as a clue to humans, you see- to tell us that the tree is useful. They say that this is why the leaves of the breadfruit resemble hands- to show humans that they should reach toward this tree and find sustenance there. In fact, the Tahitians say that 'all' the useful plants on this island resemble parts of the human body, as a message from the gods, you see. This is why coconut oil, which is helpful for headaches, comes from the coconut, which looks like a head. 'Mape' chestnuts are said to be good for kidney ailments, for they resemble kidneys themselves, or so I am told. The bright red sap of the 'fei' plant is meant to be useful for blood ailments." "The signature of all things," Alma murmured.

Nestled in the tropics of the Coral Sea, New Caledonia was a French territory and where Julie and Marc had just sold the sailboat that took them 15,000 miles around the world. Of course, recouping their initial investment had been part of the plan. All said and done, their 15-month exploration of the globe, from the gondola-rich waterways of Venice to the tribal shores of Polynesia, had cost between $18,000 and $19,000. Less than rent and baguettes in Paris.

During the era of that trade, Africa was largely ruled by Africans, who established the conditions under which slave sales took place. The crew of a slave ship was in no position to defy African rulers and their armies by going out across the land and capturing people willy-nilly. The stronger African peoples captured and enslaved the weaker peoples—the same pattern found over the centuries in Europe, Asia, the Western Hemisphere, and Polynesia:

the

One of the many pernicious aspects of this research was the way it was used to classify human “races.” In biology and anthropology, race has long been abandoned as a meaningful category; indeed, although the term has been in use since the seventeenth century, it has never been precisely defined. There has never been any agreement about the number of human races, or what the definitive characteristics of a race might be: skin color, hair type, head shape, etc. Genetic research in the twentieth century has shown that there are no genes that correspond to racial types and that the range of variation within so-called races is greater than the variation across them. But scientists in the early 1920s were working with an essentialist model of race as something immutable, definitive, and grounded in biological reality.

This is also evidenced by wider genealogies of similar gods across Polynesia, where they also hold dominion over the afterlife. These connections of death and creation show that Kane and Kanaloa were two necessary halves of the world, a philosophy that is not overly concerned with the dichotomy of good versus evil. In cultural activities and old chants, there exists a vast amount of mythical and religious lore that invokes Kane and Kanaloa together. Both gods were invoked by those involved with canoes, whether they were builders, explorers, or sailors, with Kane being for the consecration of newly built canoes and Kanaloa for sailing.

Whether you move in distinguished circles or you take refuge among the head-hunters of Polynesia, whether you lock yourself into a monastery or decide to spend the rest of your life in the company of beautiful and lascivious women, you always have to face the same percentage of stupid people – which percentage (in accordance with the First Law) will always surpass your expectations.

There is another reason little is known about ‘Io; the name of this God of the Polynesians was too sacred to be mentioned openly. This was also true of the Israelites’ God, Yahweh. This is why the Israelites also called their God by periphrases, like Elohim (God Almighty) or Adonai (Lord). This is not unusual. The ancient name of the One True God of Aneityum (New Hebrides), Nigeria, the Yezidis (Turkey), the Incas, the Navaho and other ancient cultures also were not openly mentioned.16 The priests of Polynesia were under oath not to tell of the most sacred things, and the penalty for breaking this oath was death. The Polynesian authority, E. Handy, says that it is doubtful that the common folk were even allowed to know the true name of the Supreme Being.17 This was not an unusual situation. In ancient Babylon at one time, the priests were monotheistic and the people were polytheistic as it was in Polynesia.18 This was also the situation with the ancient Chinese, Nigerians, Incas, and other peoples. It is easy then to understand why there is only a vague knowledge of the Supreme God in Hawaii.

Kāne (Tāne in most of Polynesia, Atea in the Marquesas) was the aspect of the supreme being who was, in a sense, representative of the supreme being. He was the creator of all living things. Kāne was the heavenly father of all men and the creator of men. In this sense, the Kāne aspect of the triune God of Polynesia, corresponds to the Son aspect of God in the Bible. Many primitive Supreme Gods also relegated the task of creation to a subordinate being who was usually called the First Father or Creator.

There are many accounts in Polynesia of the creation of man. Some of them state that the supreme triune God made the heavens and the earth in six days and rested on the seventh day. This is exactly as stated in the book of Genesis. The legends also say that, last of all on the sixth day, the triune God created man in the likeness of Kāne. Hence, man is also called Kāne. (In the Marquesas, the first man is called Atea after the creator of men, Atea) The body of the man was made of red earth and his head of whitish clay mixed with the spittle of the gods. When the clay image of Kāne was ready, the three gods breathed into its nose and it became a living being.1 Genesis 2:7 says, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils and man became a living soul.

The next in-depth historical account, in both the Hebrew and Polynesian traditions, is the story of the Great Flood. The hero of the Great Flood in Polynesia was called Nu‘u and his wife, Lili-Noe. The name, Nu‘u, is very similar to the Hebrew and Arabic names for this man, Nuh or Noah.

1. These legends have similar counterparts not only in Polynesia but from every part of the world. The Hawaiian legends could be traced back for generations, and were known to various persons residing on different islands who had no communication with each other. Also, both the narrations and songs were best known by the very oldest of the people; those who never learned to read and whose education and training were under the ancient system. These legends were told to the missionaries by the Hawaiians before the Bible was translated into the Hawaiian tongue and before the Hawaiians knew much of the Bible. The Hawaiian who helped in translating the history of Joseph was amazed by its similarity to their ancient tradition.

When the Hawaiians arrived in Hawai‘i, they created places of refuge called Pu‘uhonua that were similar to the Cities of Refuge mentioned in the book of Numbers in the Bible. The Cities of Refuge of the Israelites and the Places of Refuge of the Polynesians (Places of Refuge are found throughout Polynesia) served the same function. They were places a person could flee to and, whether guilty or innocent, be safe from any harm. Some other similarities they shared were: 1. The areas of refuge were specifically designated as such. 2. The Cities of Refuge of the Israelites were designated in specific districts and were large enough for a man to live his entire life. Kamakau says that in ancient times, places of refuge were large divisions of land cut out from a district.37 They corresponded to an ahupua‘a subdistrict. The ahupua‘a was a pie-shaped portion of land that extended from the mountain to the sea. It was large enough and contained all that was necessary for a man to live his entire life. 3. The safety of the refugee extended only to the boundaries of the designated area. 4. The safety of the refugee was guaranteed not by earthly powers but by spiritual powers and authority. 5. In the Hebrew refuge, safety from harm was only extended until the accused person could receive a fair trial by his peers. If he were guilty, he was killed. (Deuteronomy 19:1-13) In Polynesia, there is some evidence that this was also the case.

Many other religions around the world have also shown strong evidence of beginning with the belief in One Benevolent Creator God, who instituted humane laws of moral conduct, followed by a rapid slide into the belief in many cruel gods who demanded human sacrifice and other inhumane practices. This was true in Polynesia. The Bible clearly shows that God knew of this pattern, Romans 1:18-23 says “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness; Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and godhead; so that they are without excuse: because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.” (author’s emphasis)

My family, the Alderidge family, is one of the major four syndicates that specializes professionally in what some might call “criminal activity.” We never leave enough evidence to get caught, and we never fail a mission. If you are born in the family, you work for the family, and you never go against the family. With members all over the world, we have our hand in everything from elections and assassinations to bank robberies and jewelry heists. That is how it has been for hundreds of years. I, however, am praying I get stationed in Paris with my Aunt Magdalena who makes personnel files on everyone from presidents in Polynesia to your average pancake flipper in Memphis. You never know who you might need to blackmail, bribe, or break to complete a mission. You may fear Big Brother spying on you, but the person you should truly fear getting your personal information is my Aunt Magdalena.

Numbers, as it happens, are one of the very best tests for relatedness among different languages.

Greek dúō, Vedic dvá(u), Latin duo, Welsh dau, Old Church Slavonic dŭva, and so on. Banks’s chart is similarly persuasive: two is given as rua in Tahitian, loua in the language of the Cocos Islands, roa in New Guinea, rove in Madagascar. Seven is hetu in Tahitian, fitou in the Cocos, fita in New Guinea, fruto in Madagascar. Even allowing for errors, the overall effect is to suggest strongly that the languages in Banks’s set are related.

The Dutch East India Company, which was headquartered in Batavia (now the Indonesian capital of Jakarta), was the great mercantile engine of the seventeenth century, and all the major geographic discoveries in the Pacific during this period were made by Dutch captains in search of new markets and new goods for trade. One of these was a commander named Abel Janszoon Tasman, who, in 1642, set out with a pair of ships bound for the southern Pacific Ocean. Tasman followed what looks, on the face of it, like the most unlikely route imaginable. Departing from the island of Java, he sailed west across the Indian Ocean to Mauritius, a small island off the coast of Madagascar, which itself is a large island off the coast of southeastern Africa. There, he turned south and continued until he reached the band of powerful westerlies that would sweep him back eastward, all the way across the Indian Ocean, until he finally reached the Pacific. Tasman followed this lengthy and unintuitive route—sailing nearly ten thousand miles to reach an ocean that was less than twenty-five hundred miles from where he had begun—because the winds and currents in the Indian Ocean operate the same way they do in the Pacific, circling counterclockwise in a similar gyre.

The main obstacle between the Indian and Pacific Oceans is the continent of Australia, and the earliest Dutch discoveries in the seventeenth century were off Australia’s west coast. But Tasman’s route took him so far south that he missed the Australian mainland altogether, and the first body of land he met with after leaving Mauritius was the island, later named in his honor, of Tasmania. Continuing on to the east, he crossed what is now the Tasman Sea, and about a week later he sighted a “groot hooch verheven landt”—“a large land, uplifted high.” It can be difficult to tell how large a body of land is from the sea—European explorers were constantly mistaking islands for continents—but this time it was unmistakable. The land before them was dark and rugged, with ranks of serried mountains receding deep into an interior overhung with clouds. A heavy sea beat upon the rocky coast, “rolling towards it in huge billows and swells,” offering no obvious place to go ashore. So Tasman turned and followed the land as it stretched away to the northeast. For

But before the ink was even dry on this resolution, a fleet of seven canoes set out from shore. Two of these took up positions nearby, and when a small boat ferrying men from one of the Dutch ships to the other passed between them, they attacked it, ramming the boat, boarding it, stabbing and clubbing the men, and throwing the bodies overboard.

Tasman christened the place Murderers Bay and made no further attempts to land in New Zealand.

What later eighteenth- and nineteenth-century visitors to New Zealand commonly reported were the great waka taua: enormous single-hulled war canoes—up to a hundred feet long, with a breadth of five or six feet—which could carry as many as seventy or eighty men. Nowhere else in Polynesia were single-hulled vessels of such prodigious dimensions ever seen, for the simple reason that nowhere else in Polynesia did trees grow to this size. Carved, whenever possible, from a single trunk, they were designed as coastal and river vessels and were never intended for transoceanic travel.

This apparent evolution in canoe design is a salutary reminder that cultures are not static and that there is a logic to their transformations. If the Māori stopped making double-hulled oceangoing canoes, it must have been because they were no longer sailing across the ocean. But Tasman’s evidence suggests that as late as the mid-seventeenth century, at least in the South Island, the inhabitants of New Zealand were still using vessels of a type that linked them to the rest of Polynesia and to the tradition of long-distance ocean travel.

Faced with what looked to them like traces of their own most ancient traditions, nineteenth-century Europeans concluded that Polynesian and European mythologies had sprung from the same roots and that the ancestors of the Polynesians and their own forebears must therefore be related. It was not immediately obvious just where in history—or geography—this connection was to be found. Some argued that Polynesian origins could be traced to the ancient Greeks, others that they were to be found somewhere in Egypt, among the pharaohs and their tombs. An idea popular among the early missionaries was that the inhabitants of Polynesia were descended from a lost tribe of Jews.

Richard Taylor envisioned Polynesians as a tribe of wandering nomads who had made their way from the eastern Mediterranean, across what is today Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, and Malaysia, “until in the lapse of ages they reached the sea, and thence, still preserving their wandering character, from island to island driven by winds and currents, and various causes, they finally reached New Zealand.

Missionary attempts to translate The Pilgrim’s Progress into Tahitian were similarly confounded. The Tahitians described it as “a very dark book,” not because of its emphasis on the wages of sin but because it “did not relate to any person but was entirely a ‘parau faau,’ figurative account. That is, a tale without foundation.

Although it is pottery that has come to define them, the crowning technological achievement of the Lapita people must have been their canoes. Almost all the islands in the one-thousand-mile chain that begins in the Bismarcks and ends in the Solomons are intervisible, with water gaps generally smaller than forty miles. But from there to the next group of islands, the distance is 250 miles, and it’s 500 miles from there to the group after that. No one has ever uncovered even a scrap of a Lapita canoe—it has been too long, the materials are too perishable, the atmosphere too damp—but words for sail, outrigger, boom, washstrake, rib, caulking, paddle, bailing, and cargo can all be reconstructed in Proto-Oceanic, a hypothetical language (like Proto-Indo-European) that is associated with the Lapita expansion.

As one anthropologist put it, the original settlers of New Zealand, whose journey constitutes the final chapter in this great migration, “would have been heirs to perhaps 3,000 years of successful Austronesian expansion”—three thousand years of founder tales “stacked one upon the other.” Under such circumstances, what “ambitious young man of a junior line” would not seek to become a founder himself by setting off in search of his own island, no matter how far away?

THE DISCOVERY OF the Lapita peoples yoked Polynesian prehistory firmly to the western Pacific and thus, ultimately, to Asia. But it could not entirely put to rest a competing notion that there was a link between Polynesia and the continent on the other side, namely South America. It had been popular in the nineteenth century to argue that the strength and prevalence of the easterly winds “most preposterously” conflicted with the idea of anyone sailing eastward across the Pacific and that the inhabitants of Polynesia must therefore be “descended from the aborigines of Chili and Peru.” This notion continued to percolate in the early twentieth century, and in the 1930s and ’40s it attracted the attention of the Norwegian adventurer and anthropologist Thor Heyerdahl.

It’s queer,” said Liv, “but there are never breakers like this on the other side of the island.” “No,” Heyerdahl replied, “but this is the windward side, there’s always a sea running on this side.” This prompted him to begin thinking about the geography: how the sea was always “rolling in from eastward, eastward, eastward” and how the “eternal east wind” was always pushing it up over the horizon to the islands. The first men who reached these islands knew well enough that this was so. . . . And we knew ourselves that far, far below the horizon to eastward, where the clouds came up, lay the open coast of South America. It was 4,300 sea miles away, and there was nothing but sea between. An old Marquesan who was sitting with them then offered this tidbit of information: “Tiki,” he said, “was both god and chief. It was Tiki who brought my ancestors to these islands where we live now. Before that we lived in a big country beyond the sea.

That night when Heyerdahl went to bed, the stories of Tiki and his ancient homeland swirled in his mind, “accompanied by the muffled roar of the surf in the distance,” sounding, he thought, “like a voice from far-off times which . . . had something it wanted to tell.” Suddenly it struck him that the sculptures he had seen up in the forest, “the huge stone figures of Tiki,” as he called them, were “remarkably like the gigantic monoliths which are relics of extinct civilizations in South America.” And so, he wrote, “the whole thing began.

The unsolved mysteries of the South Seas had fascinated me . . . and I had made my objective the identification of the legendary hero Tiki.” According to the ethnologist Edward Handy, Tiki was one of many gods in the Marquesan pantheon. He was a trickster figure who was also known as the first ancestor of men, whom he created through his union with a heap of sand. The word tiki was also used generically in the Marquesas, as it is in other parts of Polynesia, to mean figures carved in human or animal form that depict deified ancestors or family gods.

In the past, Handy believed, the word had likely meant “a figure or design representing a procreating human progenitor, referring back always to the ultimate origin of man.” Heyerdahl, however, became convinced that Tiki was a historical figure.

Over the next few years, Heyerdahl assembled a theory about the settlement of Oceania based on a mix of his Marquesan insights, observations about the weather, some not very good linguistics, nineteenth-century theories about the diffusion of knowledge, and some dubious Spanish conquistador lore.

One of the first to pooh-pooh the significance of the voyage was Te Rangi Hiroa. “A nice adventure,” he was quoted as saying. “But you don’t expect anyone to call that a scientific expedition. Now do you?

This was really all the general public cared about, but among anthropologists, the larger question was whether the theory behind the voyage made sense.

And the answer, at least for the majority, was no. As one critic put it: Heyerdahl’s arguments could not be supported “chronologically, archaeologically, botanically, racially, linguistically, or culturally.” Heyerdahl always insisted that the academy was arrayed against him, but many of his key points were indefensible, and those that were not were often unacceptably stretched.

Many of the things Heyerdahl claimed were simply not true. Polynesians were not sun worshippers; the Tahitian word pahi did not translate as “raft”; the moai of Easter Island were not identical, or even very similar, to the megalithic sculptures of Tiwanaku; the languages of the Pacific Northwest were not related to those of Polynesia. And then there was the cringe-making problem of the “white god” Kon-Tiki. Much of Heyerdahl’s argument rested on the need, as he saw it, to explain the presence of sophisticated megalithic masonry and sculpture on the islands of eastern Polynesia. His solution—the arrival of a mysterious white civilization that then inexplicably vanishes, leaving behind evidence of its superior know-how and taste—is a familiar European fantasy trope of the 1920s and ’30s. Among professional anthropologists of the 1950s, it was impossible to take seriously, and a few were prepared to concede what is now obvious: that it was difficult “to avoid reading racism from this work.

There was, however, one piece of evidence that no one could argue with, and that was the presence in central and eastern Polynesia of a key American food crop: the sweet potato. This sweet, starchy, nutritious member of the morning glory family, officially known as Ipomoea batatas, was first cultivated by indigenous peoples in the Americas and was already widely established there by the time Europeans arrived. The first European reference to the plant is, in fact, from Christopher Columbus, who brought back a sample for Queen Isabella as an example of the products of the New World.

A century or two later, when they began reaching the islands of Polynesia, European observers found that the sweet potato was an important staple in many of the islands of the central and eastern Pacific. At Easter Island in 1722, Jacob Roggeveen was offered sweet potatoes in trade; in Hawai‘i, one of Cook’s officers reported that they were so plentiful “the poorest natives would throw them into our Ships for Nothing”; and in New Zealand, where many traditional Polynesian food crops would not grow because of the climate, visitors found extensive sweet potato plantations. Indeed, the first “absolute botanical proof” of the plant’s presence in Polynesia—proof that these early observers were not conflating it with the visually similar but botanically distinct yam—is an herbarium specimen collected in New Zealand in 1769 by Joseph Banks.

the Great Fleet is a cherished piece of modern New Zealand mythology. It recounts the arrival of an armada of seven great voyaging canoes carrying men, women, and children—as many as seventy to a vessel—with all their gods, plants, animals, food, water, implements, and tools. The canoes, which arrive more or less together, separate once they reach Aotearoa, each one traveling to a different part of the coast, where the occupants alight and settle, thereby establishing the land rights and lineages of people who would later trace their descent from these founding figures. For most of the twentieth century, the arrival of the Great Fleet was considered to be “the most famous event in Māori history because,” as one eminent Māori scholar put it, “all tribes trace their aristocratic lineages back to the chiefs of the voyaging canoes.” It was also the capstone of the Polynesian migration story and the end of the great voyaging era. New Zealand was the last of the Polynesian islands to be settled; following the arrival of the Great Fleet, in the words of a Māori proverb, “The tapu sea to Hawaiki is cut off.

Before they depart, Ru looks about him and names the directions: “The east he called Te-hitia-o-te-ra (The-rising-of-the-sun), the west Te-tooa-o-te-ra (The-setting-of-the-sun), the south he named Apato‘a, and the north Apatoerau”—terms we have encountered before, in the margins of Tupaia’s chart. Then, sailing from the west toward the Society Islands, Ru and Hina draw their canoe to each of the islands in turn, naming them in their proper geographic order: first Maupiti, then Bora Bora, then Taha‘a, then Ra‘iatea. A similar sequence occurs in the well-known Hawaiian story of the volcano goddess Pele, who sets out from her home in Kahiki in a canoe belonging to her brother Whirlwind, with Tide and Current as paddlers. Approaching the Hawaiian Islands from the northwest, she reaches first Ni‘ihau, then Kaua‘i, then O‘ahu, then each of the others in turn—following the correct geographic sequence—until, finally, she settles in a crater on the island of Hawai‘i.

In one version, the voyage is recounted, as in the stories of Pele and Ru, as a series of island stops within the Marquesan archipelago. But in another it is described as a series of legs, each defined by the appearance of a star in the sky who challenges the voyagers with a question about their identity. Only when they give the correct answer—“We are Pepeu and Utunui, Mahaitivi’s boys, like the wind, like the wind we glide behind the sky, our hair darts into the air, we go to Aotona”—does the star permit them to move on. This idea of sailing under a series of stars perfectly matches the concept of a star path—a sequence of stars rising at roughly the same point on the horizon, each of which is used, in turn, to maintain a constant heading—one of the presumed techniques of ancient Polynesian navigation.

THE QUESTION OF who Polynesians were—in a biological sense—was of particular interest to one of the period’s leading anthropologists, a man who went by the names of both Peter H. Buck and Te Rangi Hiroa.

As he put it to Ngata, “the Pakeha [European] attitude towards the native races is on the whole saturated with the deepest hypocrisy. . . . Even in ethnology, I doubt whether a native people is really regarded as other than a project to give the white writer a job and a chance for fame.

But Polynesians cared enormously about their lineages and scrupulously maintained information about who was descended from whom, making their genealogies extremely valuable as historical sources. The only problem was that, as they went back in time, Polynesian genealogies moved seamlessly from what we might consider the “historical” through the “legendary” to the “mythological.” Some of the genealogies Fornander used ran to as many as ninety-nine generations, which meant a span of nearly three thousand years. Even the much more common twenty- or thirty-generation genealogies that were routinely used to date Polynesian events span periods of six hundred to nine hundred years—three or four times the conventionally accepted time frame for accurate transmission of oral information.

He makes an exploratory circuit of the islands, and when this is done he sails back to Hawaiki and reports what he has found. There he lives out his life, for, according to the story, Kupe never returns to Aotearoa. Thus the rhetorical question E hoki Kupe? (Will Kupe return?), which is an ironical proverb signifying that one has no intention of revisiting a place.

This idea of two distinct varieties of people (which quickly hardened into a Polynesian/Melanesian divide) turns what is, in fact, a spectrum of skin tones and peoples across the Pacific into a more or less binary division between black and white. With this binary came a tangle of other ideas about morality, intelligence, temperament, beauty, social and political complexity, even depth of time. Melanesians were routinely described by Europeans as not just dark-skinned, but “primitive” in their political, economic, and social structures. In eighteenth- and nineteenth-century accounts, they are depicted as small, dark, and mistrustful, the women “ill-favoured” and “ugly,” the men “despotic” and cruel. Banded together in small, autonomous groups, they appeared to Europeans to lack any form of law, government, or organized religion and compared unfavorably with their larger, fairer-skinned, more hierarchical neighbors the Polynesians, differing from them, in one unforgettable formulation, “as the wolf from the dog.” The term “Melanesian” had thus long served in European discourse as a marker for otherness and inferiority, and in the racially charged climate of the early twentieth century, Te Rangi Hiroa could hardly fail to be aware of this. When the anatomist J. H. Scott (the probable author of the Otago Medical School notice offering to buy Māori skeletons) asserted, “We know the Maoris to be . . . the result of the mingling of a Polynesian and a Melanesian strain,” or when Sullivan argued for a “Melanesian element” in his Tongan or Samoan data sets, Te Rangi Hiroa would certainly have recognized the subtext. And in his own early somatological studies, which were written explicitly with the work of these other men in mind, you can see him struggling with the problem.

One index of this complexity was actually recognized by both Forster and d’Urville, though neither of them understood it at the time. This was the extraordinary proliferation of languages in Melanesia. It had been the similarity of languages across the islands of Polynesia that had first led to the idea of a single Polynesian “nation,” but no such unity exists in the islands to the west. Even today on New Caledonia—an island roughly the size of New Jersey—between thirty and forty languages are spoken. One hundred and ten languages have been recorded in the islands of Vanuatu. And in New Guinea, which is famous for being the most linguistically diverse place on earth, there are more than 950 languages belonging to a still unknown number of language families. To a linguist, what such extreme diversity indicates is depth of time. Languages are always changing—splitting and morphing and turning into new languages—and the more time they have in which to do this, the more languages there are. Consider the changes that have occurred in English just since Chaucer’s day, and then imagine what might happen if this process were to continue for, say, forty thousand years.

Fornander’s history demanded dates, but there are no dates in Polynesian traditions. There is no absolute system of time beginning at some specified moment and proceeding at regular intervals. There are cyclical calendars tied to the seasons and the phases of the moon, but there is nothing like the term “1850” or any kind of conceptual system that might generate such a term.

Incredible maybe, but also, as it happens, true. Banks had stumbled upon one of the most remarkable facts about the peopling of the Pacific, which is that all the languages of Polynesia, Micronesia, Fiji, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and the Philippines, as well as almost all the languages of Indonesia and the Solomon Islands and some of the languages of Malaysia, New Guinea, Madagascar, and Taiwan, belong to a single language family known as Austronesian. Today there are believed to be more than a thousand languages in the Austronesian family, with more than three hundred million speakers worldwide, making it one of the largest language families on the planet.

Ghyben-Herzberg lens. This is a layer of fresh water which floats on top of the seawater that infiltrates the porous coral rock.

Census taking proved almost impossible, because some portion of the population was always “away,” hunting turtles or collecting birds’ eggs or gathering coconuts or visiting in some other corner of the archipelago.