Slave Driver! Sixty-five years ago the name Simon Legree was synonymous with a cruel and tyrannical individual. Harriet Beecher Stowe's slave driving villain was familiar to all who had read Uncle Tom's Cabin - or heard about him in church sermons or at the local union hall. Are we loosing purchase on a cultural repertoire familiar to our grandparents' generation but virtually unknown to their great grandchildren?
WHO IS SIMON LEGREE? Sixty-five years ago just about
everybody had heard the name of Harriet Beecher-Stowe’s villainous slave-owner.
Nearly a hundred years may have passed since the publication of her celebrated
anti-slavery novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
but people were still reading it.
To summon up the image of a tyrannical slave-driver one had
only to invoke Simon Legree’s infamous name. Which is why the vast crowd
rallying in support of locked-out Auckland carpenters in February 1949 was so quick
to roar its approval when the trade union leader, Jock Barnes, thundered: “We
will not bend the knee to the Auckland Employers’ Federation – these upstart
Simon Legrees!”
Jock Barnes could have invoked the names of any number of historical and fictional characters in front of that working-class crowd and been entirely confident of their recognition. He could have quoted from Shakespeare or Dickens; made reference to Julius Caesar or Napoleon Bonaparte; and his audience would not have wondered who or what he was talking about.
Jock Barnes could have invoked the names of any number of historical and fictional characters in front of that working-class crowd and been entirely confident of their recognition. He could have quoted from Shakespeare or Dickens; made reference to Julius Caesar or Napoleon Bonaparte; and his audience would not have wondered who or what he was talking about.
Most of all, however, he could have quoted the Bible – the
book everybody knew. Had he invoked the characters of Moses and Pharaoh, and
called upon the Auckland employers to “Let my people go!”, his listeners would
have responded every bit as lustily.
On Christmas Day, 1814, above the bright Bay of Island’s
beach of Oihi, the Reverend Samuel Marsden conducted the first ever Christian
service on New Zealand soil. More than any other import from the
European-dominated world, Christianity has defined the cultural evolution of
New Zealand society.
It was the Christian faith which ensured that Maori and
Pakeha would, eventually, come to espouse a set of common moral purposes. Its
complex web of insights and values was powerful enough to restrain both the
colonisers and the colonised; tempering the inevitable conflicts associated
with colonisation and speeding-up the processes of reconciliation afterwards.
Indeed, in the Bible’s Book of Exodus Maori prophets found a source of both inspiration
and hope that, ultimately, the Pakeha Pharaoh might also be prevailed upon to
“Let my people go!”
Samuel Marsden was an Anglican missionary, and his Church of
England was to play a decisive historical role in Christianity’s spread
throughout the North Island. The gospel of peace did not, however, spread as
rapidly as the military impact of the musket. Indeed throughout the 1820s and
30s the missionaries and the musket-bearers seemed to be involved in a grim
competition to discover who could reap the larger harvest.
Historians put the toll of death and displacement arising
out of the Musket Wars at between twenty and thirty thousand (out of a Maori
population of, at most, 150,000). By the late 1830s, as more and more tribes
acquired firearms, the slaughter was slowed by the emergence of a rough balance
of terror. Equally important to the cessation of hostilities, however, was the
power of the Christian message of love and forgiveness. Conversion lifted the
traditional burden of utu
(reciprocity and restitution) from Maori shoulders. Had the tribes not
converted it is difficult to say when, or even if, the killing would have
stopped.
The intimate historical relationship between Maori and the
Anglican Church continues into the present day in the form of the Church’s
unique constitution. Inspired by the provisions of the Treaty of Waitangi, the
Anglicans have accorded Maori a decisive role in the governance of their
Church. Some, like Professor Whatarangi Winiata, have argued that the Church’s
constitutional innovations should become the model for a reconstitution of the
entire New Zealand State.
Were the whole of New Zealand as seized of Christian
principles as the Anglican Church and all the other denominations, such a
prospect would not sound so politically far-fetched. Since the 1970s, however,
Christianity in New Zealand has been in steep decline – to the point where, in
the last census, less than half the population was willing to identify as such.
Now, it might be objected that although only 49 percent of
New Zealanders currently identify themselves as Christians, a much larger
percentage of the population continues to subscribe to Christian values. But,
in the face of what might best be described as New Zealand’s “moral
restructuring” can such an optimistic view be sustained?
Between 1984 and the present, the prevailing Neoliberal
ideology has waged an unceasing war against the Christian values of compassion,
forgiveness, solidarity and redistribution. The New Testament’s rejection of
wealth and power sits very uneasily with a system whose values are best
displayed in the moral squalor of “reality television”.
In 1949 New Zealanders could still be roused to moral
indignation by a reference to Simon Legree. Their easy familiarity with their
society’s religious and literary traditions made them powerfully responsive to
moral appeals.
Is that still true in 2014?
Sixty-five years from now, how will Kiwis answer: “Who is
Jesus Christ?”
This essay was
originally published in The Press of Tuesday,
23 December 2014.
