This is what happens when ideology colonises faith. The course promises to “explore Christianity through te ao Māori and mātauranga Māori,” which sounds academic enough until you realise what it actually means: everything from creation to salvation must now be re-examined through the Treaty of Waitangi. The crucifixion? A lesson in power imbalance. The resurrection? A symbol of indigenous resilience. The Holy Spirit? Possibly a metaphor for cultural partnership. It’s theology, rewritten for the politically correct age where grace gives way to grievance, and scripture takes a back seat to “lived experience.”
And make no mistake this is not an isolated curiosity tucked away in some obscure corner of campus. It’s everywhere. Every institution, every discipline, every profession is being repainted in the same ideological colours. The law is no longer about equality before it, but about “incorporating tikanga.” Education is no longer about literacy and numeracy, but “decolonising the curriculum.” The military once about defending the nation now holds workshops on cultural humility. Medicine? Doctors are told to “treat the whole whakapapa,” as if understanding your great-grandfather’s tribal affiliations will lower your blood pressure.
Is there nothing off-limits that they won’t rewrite for a Māori worldview? Apparently not. From Parliament to the pulpit, the same script is playing out: take something that worked, call it colonial, dismantle it, rebrand it with Māori words, and declare it progress. Even Christianity, the faith that survived Rome, revolution, and reform, must now survive the onslaught of bicultural bureaucracy.
Once, universities encouraged debate. Now, they reward conformity. At Otago, you could write an essay explaining how Māori spirituality enriches Christian understanding and get an A+. But write one defending the authority of Scripture over cultural relativism, and you’ll likely be accused of “failing to engage with indigenous perspectives.” The modern academic doesn’t seek truth they curate feelings. Passing a theology paper now depends less on your understanding of God, and more on your ability to perform repentance for other people’s sins.
And where are the churches in all this? Silent. Meekly nodding along, terrified of being called “insensitive.” The Church that once stood against tyranny now bows before the altar of cultural fashion. Pastors preach about climate change, systemic bias, and Treaty partnership anything but sin, salvation, and the uncomfortable notion of absolute truth. When academia rewrites the Gospel to suit the times, it’s the Church’s duty to protest. Instead, they applaud.
Let’s be honest this is no longer about respect for Māori culture. It’s about control. Every corner of public life must now align with “te ao Māori.” Every decision, policy, and prayer must first pass the litmus test of bicultural approval. Even the Son of God, it seems, requires cultural validation before being discussed in a lecture theatre.
New Zealand has become the world’s laboratory for moral experimentation a place where common sense is sacrificed to symbolism, and logic must genuflect before ideology. Our leaders talk endlessly about “partnership,” but in practice it’s submission one worldview elevated above all others, protected from scrutiny, wrapped in sacred language no one dares question.
The irony is almost biblical. The same crowd that decries “colonial religion” now colonises Christianity itself, rewriting it to fit the Treaty narrative. And Otago, once a place of learning, now leads the charge baptising politics in holy water and calling it enlightenment.
There was a time when New Zealanders built things railways, industries, communities. Now we rebuild the past endlessly, repainting it in ideological colours and pretending it’s progress. The tragedy is that while the rest of the world moves forward, we’re stuck navel-gazing, rewriting even our faith to meet the approval of cultural bureaucrats.
The Gospel doesn’t need a Māori worldview, or any other worldview, to give it meaning. Its truth transcends culture, language, and politics. Yet in today’s New Zealand, truth itself has become the one thing you’re not allowed to believe in unless, of course, it comes with the right accent and a Treaty citation.
Steven is an entrepreneur and an ex RNZN diver who likes travelling, renovating houses, Swiss Watches, history, chocolate art and art deco.
1 comment:
Once upon a time, theology meant studying God, Scripture, and faith. At the University of Otago today, it means learning to see the Bible through a Māori lens—or, more accurately, a Māori-centered interpretive framework approved by a faculty committee.
The “Māori Theology and Religion” course is small, selective, and expensive. It’s immersive, yes—marae-based weeks with more than ten senior professors guiding a handful of students. But it’s not designed as broad education in Christianity. It’s a carefully curated experience: students are taught to view scripture and doctrine primarily through issues of identity, power, and colonization. Salvation? Possibly secondary. The resurrection? A cultural case study. Standard theological positions exist, but only as backdrop to what matters most here: perspective.
This is the classic pattern in contemporary humanities and theology programmes. Content isn’t merely delivered—it’s framed. The goal is not neutral understanding, but the cultivation of a particular worldview. Students leave not just knowing, but thinking in line with a predefined lens. The course doesn’t just explore; it socializes. Its aim is unmistakable: produce graduates who fit professional niches where Māori-centered interpretation is expected. Iwi organizations, community advocacy, Māori ministry, and academia that prizes indigenous frameworks over traditional doctrine—these are the target careers.
Cultural immersion at the marae reinforces this ideological architecture. The teaching is intimate, intensive, and tightly framed. Small cohorts mean each student’s exposure to the faculty’s interpretive priorities is direct and persistent. The university’s financial commitment is enormous—dozens of faculty contributing for a cohort likely numbering in the tens—but the payoff is influence. A tiny intake, high cost, maximum ideological impact.
The long-term effect is predictable. Graduates enter institutions and subtly shape discourse: which narratives count, whose voices are valid, and what knowledge is authoritative. Scripture and traditional doctrine become reference points filtered through identity and historical grievance. Standard theological positions are relegated, subordinated to social and cultural readings.
This is left-wing progressive not in the casual political sense, but in epistemology. It defines what counts as knowledge, whose experience is central, and what questions are worth asking. In these classrooms, moral and cultural framing trumps doctrinal objectivity. Students are taught to prioritize lived experience over text, identity over universality, culture over creed.
Call it postcolonial theology, progressive ethics, or simply indoctrination. The effect is the same. A small, costly programme produces a pipeline of graduates equipped less for universal theological debate than for advancing a particular worldview.
Otago’s course is a microcosm of a wider trend. Across universities globally, theological faculties increasingly act as ideological engines rather than purely academic departments. Courses are immersive, selective, and framed to teach not only content, but moral and social perspective. Students are not just educated—they are trained in thought, guided to adopt a lens that will shape their future professional and cultural influence.
In short, the university isn’t just teaching religion. It’s shaping worldview. And it’s doing so in a concentrated, expensive, and carefully supervised package. Which is why, when you hear “Māori Theology and Religion,” you should hear something more like: Progressive Theology 101—left-wing epistemology included, Scripture optional.
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