In October 1819, my grandmother’s grandfather’s grandfather, Hiram Bingham I, stood with his wife, Sybil, and his friends outside Park Street Church in Boston and bade farewell to family before venturing into the unknown. They would spend the next five months on a cramped ship sailing to a foreign land of strange people, full of “destitution, degradation, and barbarism.” They did not know if they would ever return to America.
Unlike others who voyaged out to sea, they were not whalers, nor merchants trying to make a quick profit. Instead, their goal was far more ambitious: to uplift an entire nation out of heathenry to civilization. Or as Hiram wrote, to “most effectually and most extensively promote the Redeemer’s cause with the means that are put into our hands”.
I first came across Hiram’s memoir, A Residence of Twenty-One Years in the Sandwich Islands, on my honeymoon to the Hawaiian Islands last summer. I had vague knowledge of a family connection to the area, and decided to do some research into it. As I started reading, I had a growing sense of deja vu as I recognized my own patterns of thinking in Hiram’s words. [...]
The Twenty-One Year Honeymoon
In many ways, the islands of Hawaii are a paradise on Earth, but to the missionaries who knew them as the Sandwich Islands, they were a savage place. These islanders, after all, had killed Captain Cook just 40 years ago. From 1782 to 1810, the nation was ravaged by war. King Kamehameha I, adopting Western military technology such as gunpowder, forcefully unified the islands into a single kingdom and suppressed potential rivals.
A young boy, Opukaha’ia, was left an orphan by Kamehameha’s warriors, who killed his father, mother, and infant brother. With nothing left for him in Hawaii, he joined the crew of a passing ship, and eventually made his way to New England, where he converted to Christianity and befriended theology students at Yale and Andover. Opukaha’ia described his native Hawaii as a land in need of salvation, and the local ministers decided to send a mission to spread the Gospel and the light of civilization. Opukaha’ia would return to Hawaii with the missionaries and serve as a translator. [...]
Hiram truly felt the commandment to “love thy neighbor”, and for him, the 130,000 native Hawaiians on the other side of the globe were neighbors just as much as the inhabitants of his hometown in Vermont. Thus, Hiram was eager to become a missionary as soon as he had finished his studies.
Unfortunately, during preparations for the mission, Opukaha’ia fell ill and died. Still, the plan went ahead. As Hiram writes, a good Christian must “extend the influence of the Gospel, because Christ requires it, rather than because of his own engagement. To know, to be qualified, to have opportunity, constitute the special call to do good.” Parents and relatives urged the missionaries not to go, but Hiram saw things differently: somebody had to and no one else would.
There was just one problem: Hiram needed a wife. Sending a young single man to a land of licentious heathens was asking for trouble, and therefore only married couples were allowed to be missionaries. Thus, after being ordained as a Congregational minister, Hiram proposed marriage to Sybil Moseley, a woman he had met at the ordination ceremony just twelve days earlier. Fortunately, she accepted, and later that month, the couple was on a ship bound for Hawaii — not as a two-week honeymoon, but as a mission that would last twenty-one years.
A Fortuitous Arrival
After a sea voyage of 18,000 miles, during which Hiram and Sybil’s first child was conceived, the missionaries spotted the peak of Mauna Kea on the morning of March 30, 1820. Five months after departure, the sight was exhilarating: the work of spreading Christianity, literacy, and civilization was finally at hand.
There was just one important restriction, put in place by the American missionary board: absolutely no meddling in the politics of the natives.
by Anonymous, Astral Codex Ten | Read more:
Image: An old family portrait of Hiram and his six brothers taken sometime 1854-1860. Bottom row: Asa, Amos, Calvin, Luther. Top row: Hiram, Stephen, David. Not pictured were his six sisters.
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[ed. What a crew. I used to drive Bingham St. in Honolulu often while growing up. Relatedly (or maybe not) I consider myself a liberal, even progressively so in the general sense of how the term is used these days. But I've always thought zealots in the progressive movement share many of the same qualities as missionaries in the old Hawaiian days. A conceptual empathy for everyone (sometimes bordering on condescension or pity) and a desire to enlighten and convert people to their way (the only way) of thinking, which in practice means giving them broad control and powers over all affairs. That never ends well - at least for the locals.]



















