EMQ » Jul – Sept 2025 » Volume 61 Issue 3
Summary: Take any website of a missionary society and there is bound to be a map. Maps are visually attractive and picture comprehensively the geographical focus of mission. However, as Brad Gil wrote, essentially “All maps are wrong”.
By David Onnekink
Introduction: The Language of Cartography
Missionary maps are ubiquitous. Is it possible to imagine global mission without a world map? At the Seoul/Lausanne 2024 conference, world maps were used to introduce the “State of the Great Commission” report. It makes sense. If the global mission project entails bringing good news to the ends of the earth, progress can and should be tracked on a world map. However, maps are imbued with cultural and political values that may very well contradict the gospel. Creating maps that are faithful to the gospel implies investing in learning the language of cartography.
In the nineteenth century, missionary geography was a subdiscipline of missiology, but that is no longer the case. In recent decades, the science of cartography has broadened our understanding of the way in which maps foster world views rather than just information. It is necessary for missions to catch up with these developments. Learning the language of cartography is a vital prerequisite to understanding what stories maps are really telling. This can prevent miscommunicating the gospel and invite new, creative strategies to visualize mission. So how do we translate the gospel into maps?
The Legacy of Missionary Maps
Cartography is a powerful tool for the missionary movement and has been so since its inception. Reportedly, when William Carey wrote his famous pamphlet in 1792 that birthed the Protestant missionary movement, he had “hanging up against the wall a very large map, consisting of several sheets of paper pasted together by himself, on which he had drawn, with a pen, a place for every nation in the known world … The substance of this was afterwards published in his Enquiry.”[1] Whereas Protestant missionary maps emerged around 1800, it was not until the mid-nineteenth century that their full potential was realized. In public lectures in churches and town halls, schools, and Sunday schools, missionary maps became a regular feature. The golden age of missionary cartography was the second half of the nineteenth century. This period saw splendorous maps and deeply researched missionary atlases such as by the indefatigable German minister Reinhold Grundemann. This culminated in the Statistical atlas of Christian missions, produced in the aftermath of the World Missionary Conference in Edinburgh in 1910.[2]
Looking at what may be the most spectacular example, the Pictorial Missionary Map (1861) by the London based John Gilbert, it is easy to see how cartography was entangled with politics, colonialism, and cultural bias. In Gilbert’s map, heathen territories are pictured in pitch black with obvious colonial and racist overtones. The cartouches – the illustrations surrounding the map – show reprehensible heathen practices. The map invites the observer to support mission but is also a ringing endorsement of European imperialism. The fact that the map was translated into Swedish and Dutch is testimony to its universal appeal in the Protestant world.
Maps like these were critiqued by theologians in their own time. Reformed minister Philip Hoedemaker, in a 1903 sermon, warned about the conflation between mission and empire: “We color our missionary maps black where the Church of Christ has not yet been established, and in this way we say that the realm of darkness exerts unlimited power here. There is undoubtedly an element of truth in this. But Scripture has a different point of view and teaches us a more humble truth.”[3] Hoedemaker realized something very essential: one cannot pinpoint the kingdom of God on a map. No missionary mapmaker thought you could, but the language of the maps conveyed precisely this message.
Cartography as Language: The Case of the 10/40 Window Map
This historical excursion is not a nostalgic trip into ancient missionary cultural heritage. It is a stark reminder that mission, culture, and politics tend to merge. This may still be the case, as an analysis of the hugely influential 10/40 Window, developed by missionary strategist Luis Bush in 1989, will illustrate. It is a clever, inspiring, and innovative cartographic representation that has been perpetuated by many missionary societies. It has been both hailed and vilified. My point here is not so much to debunk the map, rather to analyze its language.[4]
The notion of a window on a map is truly innovative. It invites the observer to see the area between 10 and 40 degrees North latitude, and suggests openness, rather than control or power. At first glance, it seems to be an accurate map. However, analyzing the map’s grammar reveals several cultural presuppositions that may or may not be intended. These testify to the fact that this map is deeply entangled with Western politics and culture.
A first observation is that the map has political connotations, accentuating the borders between Islam and Christendom which became politicized in Samuel Huntington’s famous map of civilizations.[5] Huntington’s map only appeared in 1996, but it is now impossible to look at the 10/40 map without being reminded of a “clash of civilizations.”
Secondly, the striking absence of the Western hemisphere from the map suggests that the United States are primarily the observers that see the target area through the window. A third observation is that the map endorses the Western Westphalian political system by prioritizing state borders in a map that pretends to be about faith and people. Fourthly, colors suggest homogenous nations but, in effect, negate religious minorities. For example, what about Christians in the Middle East?
A fifth feature of the map is that it is in English, which is so obvious that it is easy to overlook. Even so, it perpetuates nineteenth century British cultural imperialism and US global leadership. A final observation is that the 10/40 Window is an example of meta-geography, just like the West and Africa.[6]
Meta-geographical structures help us to get a grip on a complicated reality. The problem is that they are also vulnerable to stereotyping. Once the window is invented as a cultural space, it is filled with Western preconceptions (countries in the window are non-Western and thus backward, closed, poor, stagnant). These points underscore the complexity of cartographic language and the fact that it is inextricably entangled with cultural preconceptions neither the cartographer nor observer may even be aware of.
The Grammar of Maps
Given this complexity, is it even possible to translate the gospel into maps with integrity? If not state borders, then what? How can colors be used properly? And which language should be used? To tackle these questions, it is vital to learn the language of cartography. Missionary societies invest immense amounts of money and time into translating the Bible into all kinds of languages, rather than simply using Google Translate, precisely because it is crucial to select exactly the right words. Why not learn the language of maps?
In the field of cartography there are two opposite views. One holds that any map that is accurate is a neutral representation of the world, benefiting from georeferencing and GPS. Missionary societies can just pick or draw a map, and fill it with visuals and texts to showcase their activities. This article shows that this is a naive take on cartography. The other holds that maps are plain lies.[7] They have nothing to do with the actual world but are simply a set of propagandic world views. In my lectures, I enjoy explaining to students how even weather maps on the nine o’clock news represent cultural stereotypes and power structures. But this position is ultimately untenable in that it makes any map unusable and unreliable.
My own take is that a map, as Denis Wood has formulated it, is essentially a proposition.[8] A map proposes a view of the world and the language it uses must be consistent. Acknowledging that maps contain cultural bias, and that cartography has specific rules is no different from understanding that translating the Bible into another language is vulnerable to cultural associations, subject to rules of grammar, and problems of accurate translation. There is no set recipe. It requires patience and creativity.
Even so, cartographic grammar has certain ground rules.[9] Firstly, projection is important. Mercator’s projection is now often seen as colonial (used for ships of the European empires to navigate the oceans). In contrast, the Gall-Peters and Robinson projections are more respectful to the Global South. Secondly, selection is crucial. Every cartographer must choose which features to highlight and which to leave out, because reality must be simplified on a map. Cartographer Brian Harley has warned that maps contain cartographic silences, issues that are suppressed.[10] Thirdly, colors are not neutral but exude cultural values. [11] Blue, for instance, is a beloved color in the Protestant world, whereas red is often negatively associated with Catholicism, and black with darkness. A cursory glance at Gilbert’s missionary map confirms these stereotypical qualities of color. Fourthly, symbols and illustrations are important and hold cultural values. In James Nisbett’s beautiful Children’s Missionary Map of the World of 1843, ships sail the oceans to spread the gospel across the world. But these are European sailing boats and symbolically claim dominion of the ocean. Fifthly, texts are not neutral. The title of a map, the legend, the language that is used: all contain cultural values and assumptions.
How to Translate the Gospel Into Maps
These are the ground rules, but how can we use this cartographic grammar to create a gospel language? There is no recipe available, but any missionary maps should be grounded in missiology. Creating a proper missionary map starts with a definition of central missiological values. The next step would be to translate these values into map language. It is up to missiologists and missionary societies themselves to define their core values, which is not the purpose of this article. Even so, a few suggestions and examples might be useful to kickstart the process.
A first example concerns projection. A deep truth of the Christmas story is that a tiny stable in a tiny village for a moment became the center of the world, rather than Rome. Modern maps, however, often convey the message that power matters. Usually, the prime meridian is in the middle, a remnant of British imperial global power. What if the map is decentered? For example, the ingenious AutaGraph map (1999) by the Japanese architect Hajime Narukawa has no identifiable geographic center. A missionary map may be intended as a tool to change the world, but should it not also change the way the viewer perceives the world?
A second example has to do with selection. Missionary maps tend to forget that two thirds of the globe consist of sea, rather than land. Millions of people are travelling the seas at any given moment, as migrants, tourists, refugees, or workers. The website of MarineTraffic offers live images of global ship movements. How can missionary maps acknowledge the travelling and displaced people in the world? How can they acknowledge that the world mainly consists of sea, rather than land?
A third example pertains to color. Whilst color adds to the splendor of the map, it might also play into cultural values. A simple, beautiful map was produced by the World Evangelical Alliance (WEA).[12] It shows the world on an even dark blue background, and WEA constituent members in light blue dots in a worldwide network, highlighting equality in an interconnected alliance.
A fourth example has to do with illustration. Most missionary maps choose either an even background or the political borders of states. But the world is not made from blank space nor is it a political structure. The earth is soil, mountains, rivers and forests, and people are part of creation. Evert Nijland’s 1891 Zendingskaart van Oost- en West-Indië (Missionary map of the East and West Indies) contains mountain ranges and volcanoes, acknowledging the natural settings of mission.[13] Missionary maps could acknowledge nature as the theatre of God’s glory, as Calvin described it.[14] A missionary environmental map would be truly innovative.
Fifthly, what if maps have a different take on language? Google Maps nowadays is multilingual, referring to cities and states in both English and their own, original language. Hence the capital of Japan is displayed both as Tokyo and 東京都.The message this could convey is that mission involves a respectful meeting of cultures, rather than a one-way stream dominated by the English language. If you can translate the Bible, you can also translate a map.
Conclusion
This exploration of missionary maps, past and present, serves as a call to re-imagine and create maps that reflect the heart of mission. It is an invitation to learn a new language. The Bible is translated into many languages, powered by the linguistic skill and perseverance of missionaries and scholars. So, let’s invest in learning and developing the language of cartography.
Author biography
David Onnekink (David.Onnekink@tuu.nl) is Endowed Professor of Christian Ecological Thought at the Theological University Utrecht. He is the author of several scholarly articles on mission and cartography, and co-creator of an online exhibition on missionary maps. On his website are numerous links to online versions of missionary maps and atlases: www.bluebelts.nl.
[1] George Smith, The life of William Carey, D.D: shoemaker and missionary (repr. Cambridge, 2011), 30.
[2] This sections draws from David Onnekink, ‘Between kingdom and empire: the social power of Dutch missionary maps 1850-1940’, online pre-publication 26 April 2023 in Journal of Ecclesiastical History, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0022046922002044 .
[3] Ph. J. Hoedemaker, De duistere achtergrond der dingen: leerrede over Eph. 6:12 (Amsterdam, 1903), 16.
[4] The following sections draws from Hannah de Korte and David Onnekink, ‘Maps matter. The 10/40 window and missionary geography’, Exchange. Journal of Contemporary Christianities 49 (June 2020), 110-144. DOI 10/1163.1572543X-12341558.
[5] Arthur Jay Klinghoffer, The power of projections: how maps reflect global politics and history (Westport CT, 2006), 132.
[6] Kären Wigen and Martin Lewis, The myth of continents: a critique of metageography (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London, 1997).
[7] Mark Monmonier, How to lie with maps (London 1991).
[8] Denis Wood, Rethinking the power of maps (New York 2010).
[9] Piers Fotiadis, ‘The strange power of maps. How maps work politically and influence our understanding of the world,’ School of Sociology, Politics, and International Studies (University of Bristol, Working Paper No. 06-09), 31.
[10] J.B. Harley, ‘Silences and Secrecy: the Hidden Agenda of Cartography in Early Modern Europe’, Imago Mundi 40 (1988), 57-76.
[11] David Onnekink, ‘The Cultural Significance of Colour in Protestant Missionary World Maps, ca. 1840-1940’, Imago Mundi – The International Journal for the History of Cartography 76/1 (2024), 1-16; https://doi.org/10.1080/03085694.2023.2255516.
[12] https://worldea.org/our-family/about-our-members/.
[13] Evert Nijland, Zendingskaart van Oost- en West-Indië (Utrecht 1891).
[14] H.P Santmire and J.B. Cobb ‘The World of Nature according to the Protestant Tradition’, in Roger S. Gottlieb (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Ecology (Oxford 2006), 115-146: 121.
EMQ, Volume 61, Issue 3. Copyright © 2025 by Missio Nexus. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from Missio Nexus. Email: EMQ@MissioNexus.org.
