Religious Discourse in Nineteenth-century Ontario

Religion, Ideology, Discourse, and Capitalism

Scholars of religion have long appreciated that religion can function as both an apology for the status quo and its injustices as well as a vehicle for protest against these injustices. As Berger (1967) correctly notes, religion is both a “world-maintaining” and a “world-shaking force.” Sometimes it is predominantly one or the other, and sometimes both simultaneously, legitimating and challenging different aspects of the systems of power in society. Religion clearly has the power to bring about changes in how people view their environment and how they react to it, and religion is sometimes used to instigate change by social reformers. For example, many modern social reformers, such as the founders of liberation theology, saw religion as an important social phenomenon replete with metaphors of change and equality through which they could reach the common person and introduce new ideas about justice, thus motivating radical change of the social order. In this article, greater coverage is given to one half of the equation: the function of religion as generating a discourse on the work ethos and the nascent working class in the early days of industrialization, the co-opted means to change common world views to serve the interests of the social and economic elite. However, the article also allows for alternative voices to be heard, voices that take issue with the official discourse and insist that their struggle be heard.

In the Marxist conception, religion is inherently a “negative” concept because it tends, structurally and historically, to be an instrument of ideology. Ideologies are systems of ideas used to hide the true facts of a situation to the political advantage of one group over another, either straightforwardly or by way of mystification and obfuscation. The interests of the ruling group are often imposed on others, for example, by arguing that these interests are natural, unavoidable, and hence in the best interests of society. The defining feature of an ideology, then, is its political nature and involvement in the exercise of power in society.

Gramsci (1971) accepts that ideology is a reflection of the unequal distribution of power in society, but he avoids many of the pitfalls of the more vulgar forms of the Marxist critique. On the one hand, he does not perceive all culture to be solely the direct reflection of the social relations generated by economic conditions. Rather, he recognizes that cultural systems exist in a dialectical relationship with the material forces of history; they mutually influence each other, and they operate in semi-autonomous ways. On the other hand, he more accurately perceives just how significantly cultural systems are implicated in the governance of society. Ideology does not appear as a phenomenon imposed on the proletariat by the bourgeoisie, a phenomenon that will somehow wither away under communism. Rather, Gramsci “reasoned that political control requires both control and consent” (Williams, 1996). The state is the principal agent of coercion, but it is the institutions of civil society, such as the church and educational system, which create consent. These cultural agents of ideology are used to achieve what Gramsci calls “hegemony.” Within this framework, moreover, both the rulers and the ruled are deemed willing and equally important participants in the ideological process of “naturalizing” the unequal distribution of power. There is less suggestion in Gramsci’s view than Marx’s that the status quo is the direct result of the cynical manipulation of religion and other elements of culture by a ruling group that is somehow free of true belief in ideology. Rather, hegemony is more likely to exist when all parties to the process sincerely believe that the views being imposed are part of the natural or divine order of things (Berger, 1967). Methodologically, this rationale suggests that criticizing a position as ideological does not entail demonstrating that conscious political manipulation is involved. True ideological hegemony occurs when the “folklore” and “common sense” of a society—the practical understandings and conventions of life—can be harnessed by a more conscious and organized set of conceptions to create a transformative effect within a society. As Williams (1996) concludes with reference to Gramsci: “He took religion seriously as a source of social power because of its abilities to combine the experienced, everyday, ‘life-world’ of the people with an intellectually elaborated theoretical system. In that sense religion is a tremendous political resource, combining the emotional and cognitive elements of action with a universalist legitimation” (374).

A discourse is similar to ideology except in that the concept of ideology is based on a distinction between true and false statements about the world, only the latter of which constitute ideology. In his formulation of discourse, Foucault argues “that power provides the knowledge and it is the power, rather than facts about reality, which makes things true” (Hall, 1992: 293). At this point, it is pertinent to ask whether such knowledge is produced in order to be deliberately conducive to the interests of the powerful. This article endorses the Foucauldian view that such discourse cannot be reduced to class interests. At the same time, it would be wrong to suggest that discourse is natural or innocent: “It is clear that discourse was moulded and influenced by motives and interests. Yet motive and interests are almost never wholly conscious or rational” (Hall, 1992: 294). Foucauldian analysis of discourse suggests that though religious leaders did not deliberately go about creating a false world view that furthered their own interests, they nevertheless stressed religious teachings that served their ends of creating a work ethos that motivated a hard-working and pliant work force. These efforts were not rational or conscious; yet neither were they totally innocent. The religious leaders truly believed in the religious beliefs they disseminated; however, once they realized that some beliefs produced results that worked for their own interests and that of the state, which was composed of the government and business elite, they probably stressed those beliefs.

The partnership between religion and the state was ubiquitous, and religious leaders also allied themselves with business leaders who supported the churches as well as the state. Thus, religious leaders sought to quell social unrest and help create a hard-working and obedient working class by suggesting that hard work, obedience, and meekness were qualities liked by God. In doing so they were still serving God, and yet this worked to their advantage and to that of the state and business. These beliefs formed the basis of the discourse on work and the working class in newly industrializing Ontario. Many of these beliefs have come down to us today as values and norms that can be traced to religious teachings of the past. As Wilson (1969) observes, “the secular society of the present, in which religious thinking, practices and institutions have but a small part, is nonetheless the inheritor of values, dispositions and orientations of the religious past” (262).

The critical discourse on Weber’s thesis is too vast and complicated to review here (e.g., Dickson and McLachlan, 1989; Eisenstadt, 1968; Fischoff, 1944; MacKinnon, 1989; Marshall, 1983; Poggi, 1983; Sombart, 1951; Tawney, 1926; Viner, 1978). Like many others, however, I assume that there is a sufficient measure of truth to the “elective affinity” detected between Protestantism and capitalism. The French historian Elie Halévy (1938) argued that the English working class had failed to develop the revolutionary social consciousness one would expect (compared with their French and German counterparts) because the “organic intellectuals” of the class had been absorbed by the Methodist and Evangelical movements. E. P. Thompson pursued this line of thought in his book The Making of the English Working Class (1968). In the debate stimulated by his book, much depends on determining, as Kenneth Thompson observes, “how important religion was in forming a non-revolutionary working class consciousness; and why…it took the form that it did” (Thompson, 1985: 127–128; see also Hobsbawm, 1967). Specifically, Thompson notes that the argument has tended to focus on five questions:

Was there an affinity between pre-existing religious cultural elements and the new ideological currents that came to prominence during the Industrial Revolution, e.g. a reservoir of Protestant dissent that could be channelled in different directions?

Was there an imposition on the working class of extraneous ideology emanating from the dominant class and transmitted through the agency of its intellectual leadership, e.g. the clergy, Sunday schools, and church building movements funded and encouraged by the state or members of the middle and upper classes?

Were there certain functions that religion served for the working class in a period of disruption and hardship that might explain why religious solutions were adopted?

Did religion help to separate off from the working class its leading strata, the so-called “aristocracy of labour,” [i.e.] those workers who, by virtue of their skill and relative independence, might have been…capable of developing revolutionary working-class consciousness?

What factors might have affected the degree of overlap between the culture of working-class communities and the ideological content of those institutions in which the middle and upper classes performed a dominant leadership role, particularly religious institutions? (Thompson, 1985: 127–128).

Religious leaders believed what they were saying and they did not perceive any conflict in serving God while pursuing religious teachings that served their own interests and that of their cohorts, the business elite of the new Ontario industrial order.

Religion and the New Industrial Order in Ontario

Prior to 1840, the Canadian economy was dependent on the export of primary resources such as lumber and grain. As late as the 1860s, the majority of the Ontario population was agrarian and fairly self-sufficient. The average farmer had little connection with markets beyond the local communities, because farming families rarely generated sufficient surplus (Ryerson, 1973). Most of the members of this agrarian “petit bourgeois society” worked long enough to complete the tasks necessary to eke out a moderately prosperous living (by paid standards). Labor was not geared to the clock and although domestic labor (the burden of which fell heavily on women) was a constant (Griffin-Cohen, 1988), other forms of labor often came in spurts, with people alternating between several days of steady toil and extended periods of leisure and idleness (Rinehart, 1987: 28–29).

With the onset of industrialization in Canada, as elsewhere, the working class had to be made to meet the needs of the new productive processes. The stop-and-go pre-industrial task orientation had to change so that manufacturers could optimize production from their machines. The nascent breed of industrial workers had to be inculcated with values that reconciled them to a life of more continual and repetitive work. Religion would play its role in doing this: “He who refuses to labour…disobeys the laws of God, perverts nature, weakens his intellectual faculties, and by requiring his fellows to labour too much, that he may be supported in idleness, becomes an enemy to his race and is unworthy of a place in the workshop of the Great Architect” (Journal of Education, 1848: 368). Journals such as The Journal of Education for Upper Canada, from which this quotation is taken, acted as propaganda vehicles for the influential Methodist minister Egerton Ryerson, who was also the Chief Superintendent of Education. Ryerson was instrumental in developing a school curriculum that focused on teaching the working class industrial order and obedience. There is an extensive literature on the history of education that addresses the connection between school education and favored industrial values, epitomized by Alison Prentice’s classic The School Promoters (1977). The book is a fine illustration of how compulsory education in Ontario created a captive audience of young students who were inculcated with values appropriate to the industrial order, and thus generated a safe and disciplined working class.

The Christian character in school literature is generally portrayed as “meek and obedient,” a direct reflection of fears of growing insubordination and political unrest in Ontario (Baldus and Kassam, 1996). By the time Upper Canada was united with Lower Canada to form the province of Canada in 1841, every facet of colonial life was changing. The pace of immigration had quickened as political instability and economic distress impelled thousands of members of the lower classes of Britain to flee to Canada (Sissons, 1959: 4). The burgeoning population settled in urban centers, which grew increasingly commercial. With urbanization came increases in crime and other social problems (such as drunkenness and disorderly conduct), prompting a general concern for the “morality” of the new populace. The political turbulence set in motion by the French Revolution, the War of 1812, and the Canadian rebellions of 1837 persisted well into the century. This, in conjunction with the impact of the American Civil War (1861–1865) and the Fenian raids into Canada from the United States in the same period, led the upper classes to feel a need to foster acquiescence in the ordinary people. The unruly masses had to be reduced to order and regularity if “the contagion of democracy and irreligion so rapidly diffusing through the Province” was to be resisted (Macdonnell, 1835). Many of the elite would agree with Susanna Moodie when she lamented that the laboring class had “become infected with this ultra-republican spirit. All respect for their employers, all subordination is at an end.” In fact, she complained that “they fancy themselves not only equal to you in rank but … demand the highest wages” (Moodie, 1913: 248).

In 1816, Toronto was a settlement of only 720 inhabitants. By 1842, it was a town of 20,000 and it grew to a population of 56,000 by 1891. Here, as in other industrializing centers, like Hamilton, the contrast between the rich and poor was becoming starkly evident as palatial residences lay close to the hovels in which the poor lived (Kealey, 1980). Such contrasts fed class tensions and represented “breeding grounds for social and industrial conflict” (Darroch, 1983). The teeming urban poor saw little justification for such vast and growing differences in living standards (Baldus and Kassam, 1996). Much of the history of the ideology of nineteenth-century Ontario reflects a search for explanations of the different allocations of wealth (Bliss, 1974). The rhetoric of the “divine plan” and the stress on “rewards in the hereafter,” which figure so prominently in the sermons and literature of the churches, were attempts to reconcile the promise of equality with the inequities of industrial society. The religious leaders of the day had long acknowledged the moderating political effects of religious instruction and openly courted the favor and financial support of the upper classes on such a basis.

As the social and economic face of Ontario changed, many in the churches sought to cement the association of moral rectitude with material success, which was thought to be essential in maintaining the social order, stability, and deference that were presumed to be the mark of “real liberty.” As the Christian Guardian opined:

Class must exist to some extent as long as there are different degrees of thrift, intellect and religious education in a community. It is no cause for complaint against the Church that she adapts her services and instruction to the wants of these different classes of hearers.… It is shown that a large portion of the antagonism to the Church, by what we call the lower classes, is the outcome of communistic feeling of the poor and suffering against the rich and respectable class, without regard to their religion or Church. It is to some extent the outcome of the feeling of the unsuccessful and the needy against those who are successful and comfortable. (17 September 1884: 310)

Some church officials felt that workers largely deserved their fate and were in need of Christian reform: “Even when in receipt of large wages they often recklessly squander their earnings and lay up nothing for a rainy day, and many, through intemperate habits, will work only one half of this time. Nothing but acquiring habits of saving and self-restraint will permanently benefit this improvident class” (Canadian Methodist Magazine, July 1877: 69). The salvation of the individual and the nation rested with religion, church leaders argued, for if “religion be base of character…there will be goodly superstructure enterprise” (Canadian Methodist Magazine, January–June 1879: 56).

As Clark (1948) suggests, with disestablishment and the onset of true religious voluntarism, the alliance of the business community and the churches was reinforced by reciprocity of interests. Business leaders were often prominent church members and contributed generously to church coffers. This support of their missionary and philanthropic activities increased the social presence of the churches (Clark, 1948). Likewise, Ontario was soon dotted with a “profusion of spires” as lavish campaigns of church building began (Grant, 1988). The Protestant ethic of individualism glorifying personal freedom was wedded to an economic idealism exalting free enterprise and the operation of the natural law of supply and demand. With a few exceptions, the churches championed the interests and concerns of the new urban middle class and their more well-to-do parishioners.

Sermons and the Values of the New Industrial Order

The industrial relations of the time were still volatile. The typical manufacturer was trying to establish himself as the “boss,” whose benevolence “allowed” his dependent workers to gain employment. The workers, however, were becoming radicalized, seeing themselves as the key producers in society, with the factory owners viewed as idle drones living too lavishly off the profits accrued through mere ownership (Lipton, 1967: 12). The many sermons found promoting values conducive to creating the labor force required by the emerging industrial order can be sorted roughly into three broad groups: (1) those dealing with issues of social control, (2) those dealing with justification of social inequities, and (3) those encouraging the development of an appropriate work ethic.

Religious Teachings and Women’s Labor

The repeated references in this study to the concept of “labor” beg for gender analysis, particularly given the prescriptive gender ideology of “separate spheres” prominent in the era. In the 1840s, De Tocqueville alluded to the separation of male and female spheres in his portrayal of young middle-class American women. He found that, despite their earlier independence, once they were married, society relegated them to the narrow sphere of “domestic duties and forbids (them) to step beyond it” (De Tocqueville, 1835). In pre-industrial times, women’s labor was crucial to agricultural production, and, although both men and women were involved, they usually did different things. With the advent of industrialization, however, labor was split into separate spheres: men were involved in industrial production whereas women stayed at home and cared for the family. The constant presence of such domestic duties, regardless of the employment status of the men of the house, suggests that a life of sloth of the type that the Rev. Meacham railed against was not available to many of the women of nineteenth-century Ontario, who eked out an isolated existence working within their homes. No doubt, this seemed appropriate to many of those subscribing to the Biblical framework discussed above, in which Eve’s transgression resulted (as they thought, justly) in the domestic and biological burdens of her female descendants.

Accordingly, Christianity was seen as assigning total authority in domestic and especially public matters to men. Women were encouraged in sermons and other religious teachings to accept their subservience to men as being in accordance with God’s will and the divine order, and to devote themselves to their household duties attentively and without complaint. Although feminism (including Christian feminism) and its challenge to this dominant framework began to develop in the nineteenth century (see, for example, Ambrose and Hall, 2007), women were viewed as less threatening to the social order than men, and perhaps for this reason disseminating values and teachings to counter such trends received less attention in the sermons of the era.

It is important to note that despite the counterproductive effects of the patriarchal teachings of the church on women’s challenges to the existing order, involvement with the church did sometimes give women the opportunity to create a life in the public sphere for themselves, allowing them to teach in school, attend church, and raise money for missionary work. However, these roles generally “built on rather than challenged their primary responsibilities,” which remained domestic (Van Die, 2002: 234–263).

Labor Movements and the Leisure Activities of the Working Class

Most of the later social historians agree that industrial change also ushered in industrial conflict in Ontario and that the working class was small but robust, strident, and demanding change at certain times while remaining fairly mild at other times. Morton (2000) suggests that the 1880s was the decade of the greatest industrial change as well as the greatest clashes. Kealey (1981) calls this decade that of the “Knights of Labour,” after the extraordinary working-class organization that was dedicated to a more egalitarian social order and opposed the exploitation of labor by providing an institutional rallying point for all workers. Kealey (1981) studied the records of the Knights of Labour and found evidence of a working class that included diverse ethnic groups and religions as well as both men and women. Some labor historians have been so impressed by the unity and activism of this group that they have labeled it “the cutting edge of the working class movement” (Palmer, 1979). However, others have criticized this picture of a harmonious, diverse, and powerful working class. For example, Ryerson (1981: 401) claims that though the Knights of Labour did foster the rhetoric of working-class solidarity, they were also committed to harmony between labor and employer, and to industrial peace. Moreover, despite the fact that we are able to unearth working-class newspapers, work songs, and resolutions, rather than indicating a robust working class, there is the suggestion that these works are the work of intellectuals who were part of the labor elite rather than mainstream workers (Hann, 1976: 35–76).

Baskerville (2002: 143) makes a similar reference to the rhetoric and the reality of working-class bravado, suggesting that skilled workers reacted to the conditions by organizing labor unions, which were often local branches of British or American-based international unions. Moreover, the significance of the Trade Union Act, frequently cited as labor’s Magna Carta, was more symbolic than real. The Act assumed that unions would incorporate, but unions refused because it would make them liable to civil suits. As a result, employers refused to negotiate labor contracts that would not be recognized by the civil courts. Consequently, union membership declined, and the weakening of labor unions was exacerbated by the recession of 1873 as the demand for labor was reduced. Though the success of the Knights of Labour in mobilizing the working class was short-lived, its legacy lived on. Middle-class complacency had been shaken. The “class question” continued to arise in various quarters till the federal Royal Commission on Relations of Labour and Capital was formed to investigate the social problems of the nascent industrial order (Baskerville, 2002).

Amusements were seen as keeping people away from work, and, more important, keeping them away from church, which was the greatest means for inculcating Christian morality. The churches endeavored to create a puritan atmosphere and eschewed leisure activities, advocating hard work and a life of worship and prayer. Toronto took the lead in promoting this Christian ambiance, and was called “Toronto the Good.” The churches did not like vying for leisure time, nor did they take kindly to the fact that many young people were growing up without the benefit of the church’s moral instruction. Naïve young people were warned about the perils of city life that could lead them astray. Saloons were preached against, as well as the “private billiard tables” where young men were seen as engaged in “unintellectual” exercises, which were considered similar to “playing marbles with a stick.” Equally depraved were bowling saloons and shooting galleries (Canadian Methodist Magazine, July–December 1879: 182–184).

Even roller skating was criticized as an unwarranted distraction:

When the roller rink was first suggested it was thought by many that it promised the largest amount of healthful exercise with the least exposure to anything hurtful. Experience is, however, leading to a different conclusion.… Pastors of churches complain that the young people are drawn from the week-night services and in many cases the interest in religion is completely lost.…(Christian Guardian, 28 January 1885: 56)

Working-class piety and amusements differed from those of the upper classes as much as men and women indulged in different amusements. Marks’s (1996) comparative study of three small urban centers in Ontario makes both empirical and methodological contributions that shed light on gender, religion, work, and leisure. She steers clear of religious history that presupposes “a seamless Protestant way of life” (3) and tries to give an account of “what was happening beyond lectern and pulpit in the pews of neighbourhood churches, and in the roller rinks and taverns that competed with the church pews for the allegiance of small town Ontarians” (6). The author shows that, aside from sports and leisure groups, two working-class movements that emerged during the 1880s, the Knights of Labour and the Salvation Army, often contested the sacred terrain of “true Christianity.” The movements tended to attract different segments of the working class, and, although religion was part of the message of both, the messages were very different. The Salvation Army used the same medium of religion that had been used to criticize workers, to attract them to their version of a “blood and fire” revivalism. The simplicity and fervor of revivalism held great appeal for working-class women as well as unskilled laborers (Marks, 2001: 174). With the emergence of these movements, a culture of opposition to the existing social order first became noticeable. However, this culture did not come about spontaneously, but was intrinsically related to the manufacturing conditions in late nineteenth-century Ontario. Spearheaded largely by workers who had previous union experience in Britain, a working-class movement was slowly forming. In turn, the recognition of this early radicalism elicited a class-oriented response from employers and the state, with the government trying to provide security to the increasingly restless workers, and employers refining management strategies to combat the growing unrest (Kealey, 1995).

A curious mixture of sympathy and impatience is displayed in the sermons and other writings regarding those who were beginning to protest at the long hours, dismal working conditions and poor wages of industrial workers. On the one hand, employers are constantly urged to improve the miserable conditions in which their employees labored. On the other hand, workers are admonished for not working hard enough, not being frugal enough, and for being disloyal and disrespectful to their betters. Labor militancy, especially when it led to strikes and outbreaks of violence, was denounced as evidence of the “universal shrinkage of values” (Canadian Methodist Magazine, July 1877: 277).

When objections are raised as to the vast discrepancy between the meagre wages of laborers and the wealth of the railway barons, the people are told simply that “railways and factories must be run on commercial principles or they will not run at all. Capital will not be invested…unless it will earn interest” (Canadian Methodist Magazine, July 1877: 277). Profits were the necessary rewards for taking on the risks associated with large undertakings, which then provided the jobs needed by the workers. According to the Canadian Methodist Magazine, class harmony was possible “when all classes act according to the Golden Rule,” and only then would “strikes…be abolished, and the chasm between capital and labour…greatly reduced” (July 1877: 69).

The Social Gospel and Christian Socialism

Although religion served to sustain the emerging industrial order, there is ample evidence that evangelism sometimes was a vehicle of protest and empowerment for the marginalized and the disempowered. Canadian historians have recently demonstrated the influence of Christianity on the development of labor and socialist movements. Specifically, Turkstra (2006) elucidated the relationship between labor and religion by examining a number of labor newspapers such as the Industrial Banner, which was established in Southern Ontario in 1892; The Tribune, which was the mouthpiece of the Toronto District Labour Council; and The Hamilton Labour News, which was an independent trade union newspaper. Drawing on Turkstra’s work, one can place the relationship between the churches and labor leaders on a continuum. At one end is the disillusionment that labor leaders experienced with the church for its complicity with wealthy capitalists, which was vehemently expressed by a worker writing to the editor of The Tribune: “There is no getting away from the fact that the Church at present is for the class, not the mass” (The Tribune, 4 November 1905; Turkstra, 2006: 98). Time and again labor newspapers attributed the growing absence of workers in the churches to the apathy of the clergy regarding the problems of the working class. They appealed to the churches to take a neutral stance if they were not able to help workers with their issues, rather than favor the elite segments of society. At the other end of the continuum, some labor leaders demanded much more—they demanded that the church join their fight for more just conditions. The Industrial Banner criticized the silence of the preachers when female workers at the Adams Shoe Company suddenly received a large cut in their wages and went on strike. In this case, the church was believed to have a duty to support the grievances of the striking female workers. The Socialist Democratic Party went so far as to state that the ethics of Christianity and Socialism were identical, followed by the announcement that “the churches are dead,” because they did not care about the human needs of their people. Some labor leaders clamored that support for labor was a Christian duty—after all, was not Jesus Christ of working-class origins? Exploitative practices, especially the exploitation of child labor, were seen as contrary to the teachings of the Christ who had blessed little children (Turkstra, 2006: 101–103). The example of Jesus was called upon to deride the wealthy and call attention to the unequal distribution of wealth. The Industrial Banner, for example, printed several speeches by W. A. Douglas, who spoke out against the amassing of wealth by a few and questioned whether Jesus would be a guest of these rich captains of industry if he should ever happen to visit. Heron (1984: 63) also draws attention to the manner in which the rhetoric of labor leaders often used religious imagery to dramatize their criticism against the rich as well as the clergy who sided with them.

Marks (1991: 103–110) asserts that the Knights of Labour did not manipulate religion to suit their ends through their use of religious imagery. Rather, she insists that the use of religious rhetoric simply indicates the “acceptance of the basic tenets of Christianity.” Using the language of religion was as commonplace for leaders of labor as it was for industrial leaders, business leaders, education leaders, and clergy. For example, labor leaders, like the Knights of Labour and earlier Christian socialists, depicted labor unions as the true model of Christianity, thereby emphasizing the value and moral justice of labor unions (Kealey and Palmer, 1987: 311–312). Likewise, liberal Christianity, in the form of the Social Gospel and Christian Socialism, offered a critique of the social and economic order, and alternative religious messages, values, and responses. Workers and labor leaders also used the language of religion in their struggles against the forces of capitalism. The recognition that the language of religion bestows legitimacy seems to have percolated down from Strachan and was used by leaders of business and government as well as labor. Marks (1995: 279) redresses the coercive image of religion as simply championing the ruling class and restraining the poorer populations: “when labour historians have studied religion at all, they have emphasized its repressive elements.” The author explores ways in which religious and leisure activities could reflect both opposition and accommodation to the dominant culture of nineteenth-century Ontario. For example, when small towns and cities in Ontario were invaded by the Salvation Army in the 1880s with their brass bands and noisy parades, working-class Ontarians, who had long felt uncomfortable in the grand Protestant churches that dotted Ontario (see Grant, 1988), flocked to them. Unlike the elite Anglicans and upper-class Methodists, the more “vulgar” Methodist preachers used simple language in their sermons and appealed to the working classes. It was the Salvation Army and the more homely Methodism of the 1880s that provided many of the working class with a vehicle for their repressed aspirations.

There were instances in which labor unions and churches worked hand-in-hand. For example, Gauvreau (2006) draws attention to the fact that churches and labor unions were not always mutually exclusive, especially in working-class areas such as Hamilton, where they reinforced each other, contributing to a working-class culture. Gauvreau’s (2006) central premise is that homogeneous churches like those in Hamilton differed from the socially diverse congregations dominated by the middle class, which engendered worker alienation. And the attitude of the churches did become more sympathetic towards workers, the poor, and the needy over time. The inter-church movement of the early twentieth century, for example, spearheaded recognition of the dismal treatment of workers and highlighted the many problems brought about by industrialization, leading to social reform and particularly the Social Gospel, with its explicit interest in using Christian teachings to bring about social justice. Thus, it is important to note that not all religious groups were handmaidens of industrial capitalism. Though they often endorsed the work ethic and linked it with religiosity, this characterization was sometimes interspersed with critiques of capitalism. In fact, some religious groups, such as the evangelicals, even lent their support to labor radicalism (Kealey, 1995). For example, Crouse (2005) elaborates how the American evangelicals inspired their working-class listeners at gatherings in factories, churches, and even saloons. Only recently have Canadian historians begun exploring the creation of working-class urban congregations (see Smith, 2003). Examples of workers being drawn to populist movements, such as the Salvation Army and the evangelicals, contradict the long-standing Canadian historiography that the emerging working class lost their connection to churches just as mainstream Protestantism became the religious expression of the middle class in the culture and society of English Canada.

Conclusion

Scholarly work on religion in nineteenth-century Ontario has not paid adequate attention to exploring religion’s function as a discursive means of inculcating the values and norms needed for industrial capitalism. This article has sought to address this lacuna by placing religious belief in its social and economic context, and moving beyond denominational boundaries. This focus is very much in keeping with current scholarly work (Prentice, 1977; Houston and Prentice, 1988; Marks, 2001; Curtis, 2009). More important, this article draws a connection between religion and the formation of a working class in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Ontario by providing a glimpse into the ways in which religious leaders used their moral authority to associate a work ethos appropriate to the new industrial order with righteousness and the will of God. The article has also examined alternative voices that used the language of religion to contest the industrial order, thereby adding complexity and nuance to the rise of industrialization and the emergence of the working class in nineteenth-century Ontario.

In a Gramscian manner, the churches played an important role in securing the “general consent” necessary to establish a new ideological perspective on industrial capitalism. Over time, a “discourse” was produced through the reiteration in religious sermons of the ethos of hard work, obedience, and acceptance of the growing material inequality of industrial society, which led to such thinking becoming a part of the culture of Protestant Ontario, some of it persisting as part of our culture today. Over the course of the century, Protestant churches in Ontario were drawn into a mutually beneficial alliance with the business community. As Grant (1988) notes, “industry yielded sufficient surplus to allow other uses for profits…[and] given the extent to which religious institutions shaped the provincial mentality—religious undertaking took the first claim.” Churches dotted the Ontario landscape thanks to the philanthropy of businessmen. The support of business made the churches more powerful and churches, in turn, often endorsed the requirements of industry within the larger sphere of Christianity. As Clark (1948: 355) put it, “big business bought out the churches.” In witting and unwitting ways, the Protestant clergy helped cement the seemingly natural tie between industrial progress and piety in the minds of the Canadian public.