Attempting to capture the intangible: spirituality in state education

Deborah Fraser and Peter Grootenboer

Abstract

Spirituality has quietly featured in the secular school curriculum for decades but little attention was given to it until “spiritual well-being” was defined and briefly discussed in the 1999 Health and Physical Education in the New Zealand Curriculum document (Ministry of Education, 1999). The definition provided in this statement, however, is so broad ranging that it provides little clarity to teachers who are required to interpret what spirituality might mean for classroom practice. This article explores the implications of spirituality for teaching and learning in Aotearoa New Zealand. It examines several teachers’ narratives of classroom experiences that reveal spiritual dimensions. In attempting to capture the intangible, these narratives provide some insights to the possibilities, both conscious and unconscious, of creating a climate that fosters spirituality.

Introduction

At first glance some might well question the relevance of spirituality for secular schools. While this country has endorsed “spiritual well-being” in Health and Physical Education in the New Zealand Curriculum (Ministry of Education, 1999), the area remains somewhat amorphous and vague. Indeed, spirituality could be considered an anachronism (given that most schools are secular in nature) or a vain attempt to include an area that seems politically and culturally inclusive but may in fact cause great schisms, conflict, and dissent. What, then, is the significance of spirituality for state schools and how can teachers begin to acknowledge this area in their work? How might it influence the curriculum decisions they make and what can it mean for the students they teach? In accord with the literature on spirituality in education, there are few clear paths to follow in investigating these questions and little agreement. There appears to be much written on philosophical aspects and ontological debates, but much less on empirical studies with teachers and students in schools.

This article outlines the relevance of spirituality to secular education, arguing that the divide between secularity and spirituality is a false binary. It examines the incidence of the term within the New Zealand curriculum and discusses the particular influence of Māori culture in Aotearoa. It argues for an emphasis on spiritual experience as a starting point for research and it examines some implications for classroom practice supported by evidence from New Zealand teachers’ narratives of practice.

The spiritual and the secular in education

The shift to secular education is a relatively recent phenomenon, as education in a formal sense originated in religious or spiritual centres including ashramas, mosques, temples, and monasteries. For example, in Roman Catholic Europe and England, literacy was largely the preserve of the monasteries. The curriculum of such monasteries had a strong emphasis on philosophy and religious doctrine and education was intended for a select few.

Formalised education for all is a recent phenomenon in world history (and is yet to be realised in a number of countries). While Britain combines church and state, it is more common in modern Western societies such as New Zealand to provide a secular state education. The secular nature of schools initially emphasised knowledge, facts, and skills. The pendulum swing away from anything spiritual seemed to emphasise the classical rationalist view that education was to develop the intellect and leave the emotional, moral, and spiritual needs of students to family and religion. Interestingly, the scientific community with its reputation for objective and secular modus operandi has recently shown a growing regard for the study of spirituality, with the creation of instruments for measuring it (MacDonald, Friedman & Kuentzal, 1999; MacDonald, LeClair, Holland, Alter & Friedman, 1995), the study of meditation in Buddhist monks (Stein, 2003), and the search for a genetic basis to religious and spiritual beliefs (Kluger, 2004).

Nonetheless, talk of spirituality has often been avoided in secular settings because of the relationship to religion and the associated tensions that emerge when religious ideologies clash or one dominates in prescriptive, exclusive ways. While spirituality can and often is associated with religion, it is broader and not bound to any particular religious doctrine. Spirituality is expressed through religion for some and is not associated with any religious belief for others. Indigenous ways of knowing acknowledge spirituality but have suffered for many years from marginalisation, deficit theorising, and Western attitudes to indigenous spirituality as mythic romanticism rather than serious epistemology (Shields, Bishop & Mazawi, 2005).

In this country the Education Act 1877 signalled the formal separation of church and state due to disagreement over which version of Christianity and which version of the Bible would be used. As a result of this Act, state schools were obliged to provide a free, compulsory, and secular education, although legally this referred only to primary schools. Some church and missionary schools, established in the early days of British settlement, continued. Today there are more than 400 “special character” (mostly Roman Catholic) schools that teach religion as a central part of the whole curriculum and receive full state funding. Most state schools, however, are secular, and just what that means is changing.

According to etymology, the word “secular” comes from the Latin saecularis, meaning “the world, especially as opposed to the church … of or pertaining to the world and not in monastic seclusion … of or belonging to the present or visible world as distinguished from the eternal or spiritual world” (Murray, Bradley, Craigie & Onions, 1933, p. 365). Despite this distinction in the definition from the spiritual world, secular does not mean anti-religion. Rather, with its worldly focus on the material and visible, it is different from religion. Moreover, secular education in New Zealand has long included a few fleeting references to spirituality. The influential secular school principal, Frank Milner (1936), commented that schools should foster students’ spirituality. A year later, the public school syllabus promoted the following liberal policy:

There still survives in the schools a great deal of the old-fashioned formalism that regarded education more as a mechanical process than as a means of securing for every child the fullest possible spiritual, mental and physical development. It is hoped that the present Syllabus will give encouragement to those teachers—and fortunately there are many of them—who regard the child not as inanimate clay in the hands of the potter, or as an empty vessel sent them for filling, but as a soul, a personality, capable of being developed and trained for the wider service of humanity.

(Education Department, 1937, p. 65)

This statement reflects a very contemporary view; it could comfortably sit within current curriculum policy. While the spiritual and the soul were not defined in this syllabus, at least they were not ignored or omitted. Little has been mentioned in official curriculum documents since this progressive statement on the subject, but the word spirituality has survived and reappears in a few notable places.

Spirituality in the New Zealand school curriculum

Passing mention was made of spirituality in the now defunct art education syllabus, which stated, for example: “Art education helps students to respond to their experience in ways that enrich their sensory, emotional, spiritual and intellectual awareness” (Department of Education, 1989, p. 6), and “because art is closely linked to social, cultural and spiritual action and belief, its contribution is particularly important” (p. 20). The syllabus also asserted that art works can be valued for their “aesthetic appeal or spiritual significance” (p. 13). No mention is made of how a teacher might use art to promote spiritual awareness and, as in many curriculum statements, the details of application are often glossed over. It is interesting to note that in the current arts curriculum (which combines music, art, drama, and dance) there is less reference to a spiritual dimension. Only two very general statements are made: the assertion in the preamble that the arts “enrich our emotional and spiritual lives” (Ministry of Education, 2000, p. 9) and the rather vague claim that “visual arts link social, cultural, and spiritual action and belief” (p. 70). Given the similarity in wording, the latter statement appears to be a cut-and-paste from the previous syllabus. Moreover, spirituality is linked to visual art but is absent in discussion of drama, dance, and music.

The New Zealand Curriculum Framework, which is the foundation document for all the subject statements, mentions “spiritual dimensions of a person’s growth” (Ministry of Education, 1993, p. 16) but it was not until the publication of the health and physical education curriculum statement (Ministry of Education, 1999) that a definition was attempted.

It defines spiritual wellbeing (in Māori, taha wairua) as “the values and beliefs that determine the way people live, the search for meaning and purpose in life, and personal identity and self-awareness. (For some individuals and communities, spiritual well-being is linked to a particular religion; for others, it is not.)” (p. 31). This statement signals an inclusive approach that may accommodate religious beliefs, but is not limited to or defined by religion. However, a number of conservative critics believe that spiritual development is only possible within a religious context (Irwin, 1999; Logan, 1999). For example, Logan (1999) argued that without a religious base the concepts in the health and physical education curriculum regarding spirituality are meaningless. He criticised the curriculum for its mix of “reforming zeal, rejection of traditional values [and] postmodern relativism” (p. 8). Similarly, Irwin (1999) argued for spirituality embedded within a theological context in order to examine traditions of faith. He added that such a study would be informative and highly preferable to the “misty metaphysics” (Irwin, 1998, p. A.13) inherent in the curriculum’s attempt at a definition. He proposed that the concepts of self-worth and personal identity are undefined in the curriculum and are tantamount to intrusion in the inner life of children. The lack of acknowledgement of a “transcendent moral being” (Irwin, 1999, p. 161) as embraced by the main monotheistic religions is problematic in Irwin’s view, and affords inappropriate secular control of spirituality.

Spirituality was formally severed from secular education in 1877, but such a separation has always been illusionary. If each person comprises emotional, social, intellectual, physical, and spiritual dimensions, then it is not entirely possible to sever one dimension from the others in day-to-day existence (see Durie, 1994). What secular schools do is explicitly emphasise some aspects of our lives rather than others, just as church, temple, mosque, and synagogue emphasise spiritual aspects. But to claim that we leave our spiritual self at the school gates seems virtually impossible.

The influence of Māori culture

Not only does the health and physical education document include a secular view of spirituality; it also takes cognisance of a Māori perspective of wellbeing with reference to Durie (1994) and his whare tapa whā model (literally, the four walls of the house; a metaphor for the dimensions of each person). In this model, wellbeing or hauora comprises four components: the physical, the mental and emotional (taken as one), the social, and the spiritual. Durie argued that all four dimensions are necessary for strength and symmetry and that there are reciprocal influences between each one.¹ It is no surprise that wellbeing includes a spiritual dimension in his model, as the spiritual is generally regarded as a natural part of te ao Māori (the Māori world) and also one of the paths to learning (Pere, 1995). In addition, there is an expectation in Mäoridom that spiritual abilities be used in the service of others (Bevan-Brown, 2004). A strong sense of connection permeates Māori philosophy, with the belief that Māori as individuals, families, and tribes are inextricably linked to the living, the land, and those extended family members who have died. As one Māori teacher commented:

When I talk with a child, about what he is doing, I do not just see that child in front of me. I see all the people connected to that child, going back generations in a great cluster. So I feel that whatever I’m saying is not just to that child but to all his relations, all those who are living and dead. I also realise that what the child does is not just his efforts but reflects a whole line of influences. (personal communication, June, 2003)

It comes as no surprise that an emphasis on spirituality in secular education is most obvious or apparent in kura kaupapa Māori (Māori immersion schools), most bilingual classrooms (Māori-English), and most courses or institutions that honour Māori language and culture. Similarly, educational settings with high numbers of Pasifika (Pacific Island) students are likely to incorporate a spiritual dimension, albeit, often a Christian interpretation. Debates about definition or the place of spirituality do not seem to emerge to the same degree as cited above, if at all. It is common practice in kura kaupapa Māori and bilingual classrooms for the day to begin with karakia (prayers), which may include acknowledgement of those who have died and those whom we honour (in the Waikato region of New Zealand this includes acknowledgement of the Māori Queen, Te Arikinui Dame Te Atairangikaahu). In the karanga (calling forward of the guests) at the pāwhiri (formal welcoming ceremony) the visitors and their ancestors (those who have died) are acknowledged. The ability to recite one’s whakapapa (genealogy) is valued as it honours one’s tüpuna (ancestors), stresses one’s connection to others, and clarifies one’s identity. Identity itself is not just a personal or social construct—it is a historical, cultural, spiritual, and genetic one that traces one’s emergence from others and, as a corollary, one’s responsibility to others. This is reflected most palpably in the lineage and heritage of the wharenui, which is a house “of civic celebration and spiritual sanctuary” (O’Connor & Macfarlane, 2003, p. 229).

This is but a very brief introduction to the importance of Māori culture in this country and the influence that kura kaupapa Māori and bilingual classes in particular have had on what happens in schools. It is not unusual these days for a number of mainstream schools to greet visitors through the kawa or protocol of the local iwi. Young people, Māori and tauiwi alike (with the guidance of certain teachers, kuia, kaumätua, and so forth), learn the ways of knowing that are central to the pöwhiri—it is a distinct example of when Māori epistemology and ontology determine how things are done. We might question where else this happens in mainstream schools. Indeed, Māori views of spirituality and the influence of these views on education constitute an enormous area, to which this article cannot begin to do justice. Nonetheless, to omit reference to Māori views regarding spirituality in education would be totally inappropriate and would effectively erase this area; which has happened all too frequently in the history of this country. Generally, there is no division between spirituality and the rest of human experience in te ao Māori, as captured in Dune’s model. So the pāwhiri is as much a spiritual experience as an emotional, physical, intellectual, and social one. Koro Apirana, the stern grandfather in the book of the award-winning movie The Whale Rider, explains that such a relationship is integral to Māori culture:

‘You have all seen the whale,’ he said. ‘You have all seen the sacred sign tattooed on its head. Is the moko there by accident or by design? Why did a whale of its appearance strand itself here and not at Wainui? Does it belong in the real world or the unreal world?’

‘The real,’ someone called.

‘Is it natural or supernatural?’

‘It is supernatural,’ a second voice said.

Koro Apirana put up his hands to stop the debate. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it is both. It is a reminder of the oneness which the world once had. It is the pito joining past and present, reality and fantasy. It is both. It is both,’ he thundered, ‘and if we have forgotten the communion then we have ceased to be Māori.’

(Ihimaera, 1987, p. 115)

Indeed, this world view emphasises that the rational and empirical is not in opposition to the spiritual and intangible, but rather part of the wholeness of what it means to be human. Such wholeness is evident in the pöwhiri, karakia, whaikörero, kapa haka, and waiata that are explicit expressions of both Māori culture and spirituality. These expressions are evident in many state schools, particularly when there is strong Māori leadership in the school and when Māori culture is honoured. Education for indigenous people such as Māori should not come at the expense of their cultural values, but “rather should enhance further the relationship between culture and education” (Whitinui, 2004, p. 89). The importance of the spiritual dimension to Māori and their unified perspective on the integration of the spiritual with the temporal and secular cannot be separated from the learning–teaching context if schools are to become more culturally responsive.

This issue, and a number of other ways that teachers can foster spirituality, is the focus of the section to follow.

Researching spirituality in schools

This is a journal on curriculum matters, but there is no curriculum as such for spirituality, despite what it might say in the health and physical education document. The way in which the definition of spirituality (mentioned earlier), for instance, can be interpreted is so multilayered that it is at risk of being all things to all people and thus fairly meaningless to most. This is a central problem in the literature on spirituality (Thatcher, 1999)— definitions range from “deepest realities” to “purpose and meaning”, “sense of ultimacy”, “being present”, and so forth. Some definitions include a moral dimension (doing the “right” thing) and others focus on the psychological experience. The current New Zealand curriculum definition (quoted earlier) attempts to incorporate a bit of most of these with its emphasis on purpose, meaning, values, and beliefs. Moreover, it adds the concepts of self-awareness and personal identity, which seem to be less about spirituality than about psychology. Even if we were fully to grasp the intent of this all-encompassing definition, teachers are still left to their own devices when it comes to classroom implications.

It seems only logical, however, not to have a specific curriculum for spirituality such as there is for mathematics, science, technology, and so on. How can such an area be prescribed or outlined? There are no learning outcomes for spirituality and, even if well-meaning educators were to devise some, they are likely to be bland and superficial. For example, while the pāwhiri incorporates a spiritual dimension, taking part in one is no guarantee of spiritual growth or awareness. Some people, particularly a few tauiwi (including the Minister of Education) go through the “ritual” and have publicly complained that it is altogether too long-winded. Clearly, these people gained nothing spiritual from the experience.

Fraser and Grootenboer (2004) found that teachers viewed spirituality in a variety of ways and that their pedagogical approaches were embedded in their classroom climate. Nine teachers in two multicultural urban primary schools took part in a study that focused on how teachers viewed spirituality and what their views might mean for their classroom practice. The study consisted of an initial individual survey followed by a series of semi-structured group interviews. The preference for group interviews came from the teachers themselves, which was somewhat surprising given the personal nature of the topic. The group interviews comprised all six from one school together and the three from the other school together. Moreover, what began as semi-structured interviews often became personal narratives and conversations, as would be expected when groups of people who know each other well discuss issues they regard as important. Indeed, towards the end of the study they commented on the cathartic and therapeutic nature of the discussions—discussions that touched on issues they felt were vital but had never been the subject of professional discourse in their careers as teachers.

The teachers varied in experience and seniority from early career teachers to a seasoned male deputy principal. Four of the teachers were Māori, four were Pākehā (including one immigrant from the UK) and one identified as biracial (Malaysian-Pākehā). Eight of the nine teachers were female. As emphasised in narrative inquiry the focus was on experience (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). It seemed that teachers’ stories were likely to reveal more about their beliefs and perceptions regarding spirituality than asking them to define what it meant to them. Indeed, other studies have found that asking participants to define what a term like spirituality means to them produces vague and general responses that do little to illuminate the concept (this is also argued by Singleton, Mason & Webber, 2004). The review of the literature on spirituality also confirmed the focus on experience as it yielded little in the way of a clear, universally accepted direction. Therefore, they were asked about their spiritual experiences, both professional and personal.

As might be expected, the personal stories teachers told of spiritual experiences were diverse and wide-ranging, from near death experiences to a sense of wonder in the outdoors. Similarly, the professional stories they shared varied greatly, but a central theme of connection emerged, which is in turn related to a range of sub-themes such as transformation, fortitude, empathy (relational consciousness), and community.

Implications for classroom practice

The most common theme or core category (Charmaz, 1995; Glaser, 1992) to which the other themes related was connection and the teachers shared a number of experiences they believed fostered this sense of connection. Some of these had nothing to do with the teacher explicitly but indicate instead a climate that these teachers fostered. This is illustrated by an account from Mere’s classroom:

One of my boys had a problem with his parents splitting up and he came in and all my kids knew something was wrong and all the boys said, Are you all right?’ He didn’t answer but they sensed something and all shuffled over and gave him a hug and I’m sitting there going, ‘Wow, how did that happen?’ I could see my girls wanted to hug him as well, but they knew that was for boys. [Normally,] you never would see these big boys go up and give a hug and sit there and rub his back. He was feeling really good. And that’s not something you teach them, that’s sort of, they sort of know and that just happens. I was sitting there feeling really good.

Mere identified this as a moment where the children’s spirituality came to the fore in her classroom and she was particularly moved by the boys’ lack of self-consciousness as they supported one of their classmates. Among these 11- and 12-year-old boys it is not considered normal or “cool” to hug one another, and yet in this situation there was a sense that they knew that this was the appropriate thing to do and no one seemed concerned about what the other children might think about them. Moreover, Mere appreciated the significance of this event for all of the boys concerned and had the sensitivity to not interfere or comment.

Another example that was student initiated occurred in Marama’s classroom. In this instance the sense of connection reported by Marama was beyond the visible and temporal:

M: A few years ago I had a girl come into the unit and she was really, really, really shy and she could hardly speak and you couldn’t hear her when she spoke. She had really low self-esteem. After a few years, because she was a girl, the expectation is that the girls in that class would train up in karanga (the formal calling on of visitors in welcome) and the boys in the class would train up in whaikörero (speech making). So we were preparing her for this and I was really dreading the day when it was going to be her turn because I knew she would get all teary and nervous, and you just know when kids are not ready. One day she surprised me and I can’t remember who was coming into the class, or school, but she said she wanted to do it. So she puts on the skirt and she goes out there and I remember standing in the room really nervous thinking, ‘Oh my God she’s going to crack’, and then when she opened her mouth I could hear her tupuna (ancestor/s) come out of her body and that was just sooo awesome. After it was all over I just held her. I felt like crying because suddenly she had found this voice. It was wicked.

D: So the tone, the sound, the resonance, everything was …?

M: Everything … was not her voice, it was an old lady from her line. ‘Cause we’re not related to her so I didn’t know who she was …

D: Do you think she was conscious at any stage of that? Was she …

M: She was going with the flow. I was watching her and she was just away and then afterwards when she came back she said, ‘Was that all right?’

I said, ‘You sounded so awesome, you know I could hear your tupuna in you’ and she understood what I meant by that and she didn’t get frightened, she was just all smiles and beams.

D: How did the other children respond to her after that?

M: After that, it was like, okay, who’s going to karanga and everybody was pushing her out the door, you know …

D: So it changed how they related to her as …?

M: Oh yes she became [more confident] …

D: And how she was viewed and valued?

M: Oh, yeah. New-found respect. And her parents were so overwhelmed, like her mum cried and you know her dad was just standing with his head down and you could just see the pride …

This experience was clearly transformational for the girl involved, and moving for her parents. She rose to the occasion in a way that belied her timorous demeanour. Moreover, her transformation appeared to be more than just fleeting, as this experience changed the way in which the other children related to her. They recognised for the first time her leadership qualities and her skill in the karanga. The teacher’s explanation is very much in keeping with Māori tikanga (or cultural beliefs). Gifts, talents, strengths, and courage are often regarded as passed down by ancestors, often genetically, but in this case also spiritually. It is also common in te ao Māori to consider a close and ongoing relationship between the living and the dead, the natural and the supernatural, as discussed earlier.

Given that teachers are often socioculturally distanced from many of the children they teach (Hargreaves, 2001; Macfarlane, 2004), how do they ensure they connect with children who belong to cultures different from the teacher’s own? How does a majority culture (teachers of European descent comprise the majority in New Zealand) make sense of and make space for the beliefs of a minority culture when the subject matter is sensitive? Sheryl shared the following episode:

One of the most touching things that happened was a little boy in my room last year and this year and they’re brothers and they both wanted to make their brother a birthday card and their brother died before they were born.

And on Mother’s Day they make their mum a card and that says, you know, we love you and this card is from … and they always add their dead brother’s name to theirs and to me that’s really cool.

When we go round and do statistics and graphing and how many children in your family, you know, Te Manu will talk about Anaru, ‘even though he’s dead he’s still my brother’ and really open so that’s cool, so you put two brothers and a sister. He gets in our graph because the child is kept as important in the family structure. It’s important for him to feel that he’s included in this world and I could shut that down so easily. I could say, ‘No! he’s not alive, he doesn’t count’. It’s easier to shut it down than it is to nurture it.

You know, just because people aren’t in our world any more, they’re still part of us. I get quite teary about that story. It’s funny, it’s always been sitting in the back of my mind, that’s the child coming to you and saying this is important and we’ve got to value that moment and nurture it.

It seems that Sheryl, who is not Māori, found a way to honour the relationship between life and death in a naturally inclusive way, a perspective that she could understand or at least appreciate. Her willingness to listen to the child and include his story of his dead brother showed a sensitivity to what was deeply important to that child. Children’s need to talk about and acknowledge loved ones who have died (even siblings they did not know, as in this story) was also found as a common theme in the Children and Worldviews project (Erricker, Erricker, Ota, Sullivan & Fletcher, 1997). They found that many young children found ways to talk to their deceased grandparents through pictures or objects or special places they frequented, and many believed that their grandparents continued to communicate with them. This issue of the “presence” of deceased relatives, therefore, should not be considered as relevant only to certain cultural groups. However, teachers can respond appropriately to the way in which a child, of any culture, tells their story of loss.

While these three narratives involve experiences that were student initiated and required little if any active interaction or intervention by the teacher, it is highly likely that these students could express themselves in these powerful ways as a result of a classroom climate that the teachers had established. This climate created a space where students could unselfconsciously extend who they are and what they can become. As Sheryl commented, “you can’t orchestrate and determine spirituality” and “it’s easier to shut it down than it is to nurture it” by interfering, ignoring, judging, or devaluing such events in the classroom.

Some of the other experiences recounted by the teachers, however, did involve explicit actions by them and reflected their values and how they more deliberately influenced the climate of their classrooms. The teachers reported that some lessons can be powerful triggers for fostering spirituality. While a spiritual experience cannot be planned in the same way as a science activity, there are contexts and opportunities that seem ripe for spirituality. Alan, for example, mentioned the strength of literature to capture children:

I always try to read a book, a serial story in class, which touches people in some way, hopefully in a spiritual or a very caring, or whatever way, and I read this book called A Fortunate Life, which isn’t anything [explicitly] to do with church or spirituality at all, it’s just this incredible, this wonderful story.

It’s about a young man in Australia, and this guy has this terrible home life and leaves home at age eight, and goes to work and how he survives and at the end of his life when he writes this story, it’s a true story, he writes the story and calls it A Fortunate Life. But if you look at what he’s been through you think, really, he’s been through hell, but at the end of his life he is such a wonderful human being and has been shaped by all that adversity. It’s a spiritual experience to look at what he experienced and the children keep asking, ‘Can you read this story because I love it’, you know they get caught up in it. So that’s one of the things I try to contribute in a class is to read a book that has some impact and makes people feel and think and experience something, maybe a God’s love or the importance of their attitude towards their fellow human beings, those sort of things, and I think somehow it’s got to be an emotion that’s got to touch them … so I try and choose a book that says something very deep to them.

The connection Alan expressed here is to something beyond the selfish needs of the ego but instead to some inner strength that enables a sense of persistence despite the odds and in the face of adversity. Alan deliberately introduced a story he hoped would encourage his students and provide them with some inspiration, especially in the face of hardship. Connecting to this true story enables students to learn from the fortitude of others and feel less alone when facing problems of their own.

The teachers stressed that a sense of connection and belonging at school came from fostering children’s sense of self and sense of community. The teachers did not mention self-esteem at all, nor did they focus only on valuing the self—rather, they discussed the importance of self as personal and self in relationship to others, as outlined in the following conversation:

Sheryl: We have birthday cards at our school and the birthday cards say that you were born on this day to do something special in the world and every kid in the school on their birthday gets one.

Ngaire: Yeah, the principal comes into the classroom …

Sheryl: To give it to them.

Ngaire: And talks about them in assembly and for some children it’s the only birthday card they might get, but they get a message that you were born into this world on this day to do something special and it’s affirming their sense of self and I think that’s really important. That is probably the most important building block, that you are here, you are valuable, you are loved, you have something to contribute, and others have something to contribute to you.

And then I think you develop in the child a sense of partnership that it’s not just you, there are other people that you need to connect with to make your experiences successful. And then you go out as the child as a member of a wider community with other groups, with more than one connection, so you’re growing them upwards and outwards, but each step is very dependent on the other one being firmly embedded.

I think a lot of teachers get frustrated because they’re trying to build the sense of community in their classrooms without having built the sense of self within each child to feel valued, supported, and linked to something. I think those are probably building blocks that all of society needs.

As Sheryl added, a sense of belonging did not mean that personal comfort, self-esteem, and ego needs were paramount. In contrast, belonging helped build connection with others:

It’s got to come from somewhere and I think it’s so hard to put into words, but it is that connectedness of what’s inside you to the connectedness of what’s inside somebody else. And that’s why I think it’s easier to identify the children who I believe, or see are barren in that area, because I don’t see that degree of connectedness to anything other than their immediate self and immediate needs and their immediate environment.

Conclusion

At the risk of adding yet another amorphous definition to a plethora in the literature, our work thus far suggests that spirituality is more closely understood through experience and that this experience is invariably unselfconscious, meaningful, and transformative. The spiritual experience requires connection to something or someone that develops the self, as Eisner (2002) would express, from both the inside out and the outside in. Values, virtues, and morals are not spirituality, but a spiritual experience is likely to reveal behaviour that seems to promote values (see the examples cited earlier of empathy, courage, fortitude, and so forth). The difference is that there is no explicit intention in spirituality to “do the right thing”. Rather, the spiritual experience involves a sense of connection that enhances who people are in ways that are largely unpremeditated and unpredictable. Hence, a curriculum on spirituality is not viable, but a classroom climate that enhances spiritual experiences is.

Clearly, the exploratory study reported here would benefit from further data gathering so that classroom observations, interviews and discussion with children, and journal notes could further flesh out the themes and provide new insights. Ongoing research in this area could involve teachers and children in helping to co-construct methodologies that are both respectful and illuminating. If researchers take the trouble to respond thus to those involved they are more likely to uncover the subtleties and nuances of teachers’ and children’s experiences. Children’s in-school and out-of-school stories would add insight to their experiences and contribute to the growing body of work about children’s spirituality (see, for example, Eaude, 2003; Erricker et al., 1997; Erricker, Ota & Erricker, 2001; Hart, 2003; Kessler, 2000; Lovecky, 1998; Piechowski, 2003; and the International journal of Children’s Spirituality).

The connections made between teachers and students through various classroom events, between students and their peers, and between students and some ephemeral “other”, all seemed to contribute to spirituality in state classrooms. Spirituality need not be avoided in secular schools or regarded as a particular curriculum focus. Neither need it be feared as devisive, exclusive, or irrelevant. The teachers’ narratives reveal a variety of ways in which spirituality is highly relevant and profoundly important to the students they teach. These narratives also show how spirituality can emerge unsolicited from students and can also be explicitly encouraged by teachers. Invariably, however, the emergence of a spiritual experience cannot be guaranteed or orchestrated, but it is most likely to be fostered through the climate of the classroom. This climate is part of that intangible factor that teachers and their students co-create and which ensures that classrooms include and nurture some of the most important aspects of students’ lives.

Acknowledgements

Sincere thanks are due to the teachers who gave so generously of their time and insights; to Angus Macfarlane (Te Arawa confederation of tribes) who provided invaluable feedback and guidance; and to the research committee of the School of Education at the University of Waikato, who helped fund the project.

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Notes

1&;&;&;&;Salter (2000) explained that an earlier model with five sides existed (known as the niho taniwha or dragon’s teeth), with the fifth dimension referring to whenua or land, reinforcing the close association Māori have with land.

The authors

Deborah Fraser works in the Department of Human Development and Counselling at the University of Waikato, New Zealand. She has published a range of articles and chapters on secular spirituality and is on the editorial board of the International Journal of Children’s Spirituality. In addition to her interest in spirituality in education, she has published in the areas of curriculum integration, gifted education, and child cancer. She currently directs a collaborative research project in arts education with teachers as co-researchers, and co-edits the Waikato Journal of Education.

Email: deborah@waikato.ac.nz

Peter Grootenboer is a senior lecturer in the School of Education at Charles Sturt University, Wagga Wagga, Australia. Before working at the tertiary level, he taught in Australian and New Zealand secondary schools. His main research interest is in the affective dimension of education, particularly in mathematics.

Email: pgrootenboer@csu.edu.au