Invictus paints an inspiring portrait of Mandela’s passion for reconciliation, and his unflinching personal and political commitment (indeed, for him it seems there was no separation of the two) to forgiveness and moving forward in unity.
Early in the film, there are a few very telling pieces of dialogue that demonstrate how pervasive the racial segregation and mistrust was at the time and how incredibly insightful Mandela was in understanding the human heart and the forces that feed into hatred and racism.
When Mandela first enters his presidential office following his election, he can see that the hitherto predominantly white staff have all begun to pack up their things and make themselves scarce. He asks his PA, Brenda, to assemble all staff for him to address; “whoever has not already left.”
Before he enters the room he says to his highly zealous bodyguards, “I’d like you to stay out here. I cannot talk to them hiding behind men with guns.” As he enters the room where everyone is seated, two of the white staff members are shown whispering to each other, “here he comes”… “he wants the satisfaction of firing us himself”.
Into the awkward silence walks a determinedly friendly Mandela, looking his staff in the eye with a smile and greeting them in Afrikaans. From the front of the room he proceeds to reassure the staff that they are still wanted: “If you are packing up because you think… the colour of your skin disqualifies you, have no such fear.”
What a striking thing for him to say!
Surely the first impulse of human nature in such a situation would be to ‘teach them a lesson’ about what it feels like to be discriminated against on the basis of skin colour; to say, ‘now you know how it feels to be scorned and treated with suspicion by those in power’; to rub their faces in all the previous injustices for which they have been directly or indirectly responsible. To make them sorry. To make them pay.
But no. Instead, he simply reassures them. They are wanted, trusted. He leaves it up to them to decide whether they can work in the service of a black president, but he makes it clear that there is no enmity from his side.
Shortly afterwards, the team of black bodyguards are shown assembled in their office when, after a knock on the door, four rather intimidating white policemen enter the room, asking for Jason Tshabalala. Jason, the chief black security guard, immediately jumps to his feet and defensively asks, “Am I under arrest?” The new men proceed to explain that, on the contrary, they have been enlisted to reinforce the presidential bodyguard, presenting a letter signed by Mandela himself. Furious, Jason goes to see the president to complain about this impossible situation.
Mandela, of course, knew very well how Jason and the others would hate to work closely with the newly appointed men. He challenges Jason that “the rainbow nation starts here. Reconciliation starts here.”
Jason snaps back, “Reconciliation, sir? Comrade President, not long ago these guys tried to kill us.”
Mandela replies, “Yes, I know. Forgiveness starts here too. Forgiveness liberates the soul. It removes fear. That is why it is such a powerful weapon.”
This is really the theme of the whole film. The triumph of forgiveness.
A few more scenes in, and we get to the main plot line. The newly black-dominated National Sports Council has voted unanimously to scrap the Springboks – their colours, their anthem, and their name – and replace them with something that represents black South Africans.
President Mandela intervenes in the nick of time, and it is his speech to the NSC that most clearly demonstrates his insight into the cycle of hatred and what is necessary to break it.
“… on Robben Island, in Pollsmoor Prison, my jailers were all Afrikaners. For twenty seven years, I studied them. I learned their language, I read their history, I read their poetry. I had to know my enemy, in order to prevail against him. And we prevailed, did we not? All of us here … we prevailed.
Our enemy is no longer the Afrikaner. They are our fellow South Africans, our partners in democracy. And they treasure Springbok rugby.
If we take that away, we lose them. We prove that we are what they feared we would be.
We have to be better than that.
We have to surprise them with compassion, with restraint, and generosity.
Yes, I know. All the things they denied us.
But this is not the time to enjoy a moment’s petty revenge. This is the time to build our nation using every single brick available to us – even if that brick comes clothed in green and gold.”
As the story rolls on we see, time and time again, Mandela persisting in seeking to reverse the cycle of fear and hatred; and time and time again, others unable to see his logic, unable to get past their sense of justice.
Ultimately though, the film leaves us with heart-warming images of broken-down barriers and new-found friendships, as gradually the other characters begin to see fellow humans on the other side of the colour line.
Of course, as Christians, we cannot help but think of Jesus as this theme of forgiveness plays out. We think of his teaching that we ought to bless those who persecute us. We are reminded of the biblical command to not repay evil for evil, but overcome evil with good. We think of his plea for forgiveness for his murderers as he breathes his last.
And truly it seems as if Mandela himself must have been inspired by the forgiving spirit of Christ, to find the power to treat his former persecutors with “compassion” and “generosity”, and to so determinedly avoid a spirit of bitterness, self-pity and anger.
The film takes its name from the title of a poem, written in 1875 by Victorian poet William Ernest Henley. In the film, Mandela relates how this poem inspired him and kept him strong through his long years in prison, and he shares it with Springboks captain, Pienaar (Matt Damon’s character), in an attempt to inspire him to victory.
It is a short but stirring poem:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Invictus is a Latin word, translated as “unconquered”. As I reflected on this word, the poem, and the film, it struck me that – however noble and inspiring Mandela’s attitudes and actions were, and however enduring his legacy – the sad truth of it all is that every human soul is ultimately conquered, by death.
We may believe we are master of our fate and captain of our soul, because we prove able to overcome adverse circumstances in “this place of wrath and tears”, but ultimately the same fate awaits every single one of us and nothing we do can change that.
In human terms, death has the final say.
But this is where the power of the risen Lord Jesus goes so far beyond the power of the ‘human spirit’; not only in his ability to empower us to love and forgive when human nature would drive us to hate and repay, but ultimately – and even more triumphantly – in his glorious victory over death itself.
Even if we succeed in living lives of virtue, nothing we do can repair the rift between us and God. The Bible makes it clear that we, by nature and by daily choice, have rebelled against His rightful rule and have created enmity between us and Him. His standard is perfection, and each of us falls far short of it (Romans 3:23). It is not within our power to win reconciliation between ourselves and our Creator.
But HE wins it for us.
He, the hated, sends his innocent Son to die at the hands of the haters.
In his life, the Son shows us what perfect obedience looks like.
In his submitting to an unjust execution, he shows up the full ugliness of human pride and depravity.
As he takes the nails and crown of thorns, the insults and the mockery, and ultimately the most horrific death – for our sakes – he shows us how desperately God wants to reconcile us to himself.
When he promises eternal life to a helpless but repentant criminal dying beside Him, he shows us that we contribute NOTHING to our salvation; we need not and cannot do anything to earn it – all we can do is ask and receive.
And finally, when the tomb is found empty and he reappears in his resurrected body, he shows us that death no longer has the final say.
“Death is dead, love has won, Christ has conquered”.[1]
The only one who can truly speak the triumphant words of Henley’s poem is Jesus Christ. His head was bloody but unbowed. His ‘soul’ the only one that has proven unconquerable.
If we are to accept Jesus’ gift of reconciliation, then we must lay down the desire to steer the ship of our own life.
If we want to take hold of the hope he offers – hope of eternal life instead of the “Horror of the shade” when our life on this earth ends – then we must let Him be the master.
If we want our fate to be something other than final death; if we want to participate in the resurrection life he has won on our behalf, we need to surrender and let Him be the captain.
Humbling, yes. But, oh, what a relief!!
And how perfectly it is expressed in the words of this hymn:
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Hide me now, my refuge be;
Let the water and the blood
From your wounded side which flowed,
Be for sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power.
Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfill your law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone:
You must save and you alone.
Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to your cross I cling;
Naked, come to you for dress,
Helpless, look to you for grace;
Stained by sin, to you I cry:
‘Wash me, Savior, or I die!’
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyelids close in death,
When I soar through realms unknown,
Bow before the judgment throne:
Hide me then, my refuge be,
Rock of ages, cleft for me.
AM Toplady (1740-1778)
[1] Stuart Townend and Keith Getty, “See, What a Morning (Resurrection Hymn)” © 2003 Thankyou Music.
