Spiritual Lit and the Singapore Dream
What if I told you that everything I write doesn’t just come from me, but is connected to a source much larger and infinite? You’d probably call me delusional and a bit woo-woo. A bit out there.
This, however, would not have been a strange concept to ancient people. The earliest examples of literature – hymns, poems, essays and myths – were recorded in ancient Mesopotamia more than 5000 years ago¹. In fact, the first writer known by name was the Sumerian high priestess Enheduanna, who is credited with changing her entire culture and setting the scene for the literary works of today. She wrote praises for the goddess Inanna and texts dedicated to the temples she looked after². Most early creative writing was spiritual in nature, from epic tales of gods, goddesses and fantastical creatures to psalms of divine praise. Humans are able to find transcendence through self-expression, and recorded history says that we have always made art which sought to express a connection with something larger than the individual.
This behaviour has altered with time, as most things do. The monoliths of industry and progress allow no escapees. Now, if one were to find themselves in a city like modern day Singapore, spiritual literature is banished to obscure shelves in the library or proclaimed respectfully within the confines of religious spaces. After all, this is a secular country, though it is hard for most of us to agree on what that word really means³. In a state where it is still illegal to practice same-sex love, a government cannot really claim secularism, though it does try. It can however claim a number of other isms. Sexism – women earn a whopping S$640,000 less than men over a career of 40 years⁴. Ageism – local employers are far less likely to hire those who are older⁵. Capitalism – Singapore was the 2nd freest economy in the 2017 Economic Freedom of the World Index and is a prime example of what we call state capitalism⁶.
How does capitalism affect Singapore literature? Well, it turns it into a free market product instead of a soul mechanism. Literature has become one of many tools of the system. It can be a vulgar display of power, in which the chosen lexicon prevents accessibility to those who speak a less colonial language. It can be an agent of archaic academic practices, when we are again made to revere the words of some deceased white dude. It can be the pressure to make Insta poetry to collect more followers and improve one’s social metrics.
Esther Vincent Xueming, poet and editor of The Tiger Moth Review says “literature is also a commodity with an entire system of economics attached to it: one of competition and profit-making, which begs the question of power relations within the literary ecosystem”. Just like in nature, ecosystems thrive when there is balance and continuous exchange. Healthy ecosystems cannot afford an overgrowth of ruthlessly selfish participants.
A capitalist society, however, encourages each person to attain their personal best. Capitalism is built on the backs of competition and individuality. What then is this thing called individuality - the characteristic which makes us special, unique, irreplaceable? Especially in such a hybrid place as Singapore, which has grown out of Asian collectivism and Western individualism to become one of the financial capitals of Asia, individuals are part of an elaborate balancing act between the self and the system. Even when they are bohemian creative types, like me. I myself am a product – of my upbringing.
As a young Singaporean person, competition was in my diet like the ubiquitous chicken rice. I grew up participating in all sorts of competitions: science, theatre, track and field. My gut still remembers the twist of anticipation while waiting for my turn to prove myself. Slaying failure gets addictive, and in Singapore we start early. The need to win is ingrained in our culture and written into public policy⁷. The betterment of the economy and the plushness of financial success are unashamedly some of our key driving forces.
Luckily, I was born into an incredibly financially unstable family. This created a firm distance from the Singaporean Dream within my mind. A little fun competition was commonplace for me and my friends, but winning seemed unattainable in my low-SES psyche. My earliest role models for success were unable to make ends meet, even be on the same street. As a working artist, my creations never consciously enmeshed with monetary gain because money was not something I knew how to have. This pattern obviously provided tragic consequences for my bank account. It also gave me much more freedom to pursue a spiritual relationship with my work and the world.
Of course, none are spared from the fundamentals of early childhood conditioning. My liberation hasn’t come without battles against my own judgemental capitalist thoughtforms. I’ve spent years comparing myself against other more visible artists and wondering how to make myself bigger, better, more. Yet the gift of multiple traumas never permitted me to slip completely back into the rat race which has its grip on most of us. My painful experiences have made me question everything and seek answers in that which is larger than myself. The journey has taken me to a place before there was self-driven art made for the sake of that dolla dolla bill.
I’ve found the deepest corners of myself in meditation on top of mountains, I’ve met spirits and gods through shamanic practices, I’ve channeled divine wisdom from sources larger than the eye could understand. It is in those moments that text and song flow through me in ways that no man-made system could ever teach. That being said, the structure of my Singaporean education has surely shaped my ability to make sense of whatever words come to me, and for that I am grateful. Perhaps I even see some of my experiences in Enheduanna, and how she separated herself from the trade and wealth of Ur⁸ to find something bigger. Maybe we are all equally searching for something bigger, be it through capitalism or spiritual practice.
I do know one thing. If I built my career upon making art which fit into materialist paradigms of profit and gain, then I wouldn’t be as fulfilled or creative as I am today.