The Anglican Church in Malaysia: Evolving Concepts, Challenging Contexts, Emerging Subtexts 3031115961, 9783031115967

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The Anglican Church in Malaysia Evolving Concepts, Challenging Contexts, Emerging Subtexts Edward Jarvis

The Anglican Church in Malaysia

Edward Jarvis

The Anglican Church in Malaysia Evolving Concepts, Challenging Contexts, Emerging Subtexts

Edward Jarvis Hull, UK

ISBN 978-3-031-11596-7    ISBN 978-3-031-11597-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Marina Lohrbach_shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Foreword

We were told that in the study of history there are two things to learn: firstly, learn all the bad and terrible things of the past and not to do them again; secondly, learn all the good things of the past and try to repeat them if possible. However, I wish to alert all students of history to one more step; that is, to notice and learn about the trends of past events that led to those outcomes, and try to identify root causes, loopholes, what was missing or poorly executed, that we may hope to overcome and avoid the bad, and chart a course for better future outcomes. Edward Jarvis, the author of this book, is trying to identify the root causes and loopholes that led to the present state of the Malaysian Church. He has identified one of the major events, the Pangkor Treaty of 1874, as a turning point for the British to advance their economic mission into the Malay states and for the missionaries to advance their agenda of evangelization and church planting, minus the privilege of reaching one of the largest local ethnic groups, the Malays, resulting in the shape of the present Malaysian Church. Of course, no one could anticipate what would happen then and after. Though Christianity landed on the shores of Malaysia many centuries ago, the Portuguese and Dutch colonists brought about little change or effect to the religiosity of the land. The Christianity of the present state is accountable largely to the era of the British colonists. The British did not bring Christianity as such; rather, it should be correctly attributed to the British missionaries, taking bold steps—and advantages—most of the time to the anger of the colonial masters, to reach the locals through educational, social, and medical missions. As early as 1805, the then-Rev. Atwill v

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Lake, the first chaplain, was instrumental in beginning the British Church in this land, in Penang. Anglican Church services were then restricted only to the British people. On many occasions, in fact, Anglican chaplains were discouraged and not given assistance to reach out to the locals. Subsequently, the Roman Catholics and the Methodists took advantage of the ease of bringing Christianity to this “newfound” frontier. The Roman Catholics and the Methodists did not face many restrictions, because their mission boards did not rely on funds from the British East India Company. The situation in Borneo was slightly different, where Rajah Brooke realized that Christianity was a useful added factor in his economic expansion. In fact, he gave the church much assistance to evangelize, in order to achieve his purpose. So, after two hundred years of Anglicanism, it is noted that very little progress was made by the Anglicans at first. For the first one hundred and fifty years, the Anglican Church was supposedly set up for the “whites” and only in passing were the locals given some “crumbs.” The Malaysian Anglican Church, and this is also true for many other denominations, only really began in the 1960s, when the foreign missionaries were ordered to leave within ten years. Almost all the denominations after that had Asian leadership, including bishops and presidents. It was in the 1960s, when Malaysia was formed, that the expatriates, including the soldiers, merchants, administrators, planters, church members, public servants, and businesspeople, were departing, batches by batches, for their home countries. At that time, many of the churches were drastically reduced in membership, offerings, leadership, and support. This affected the mission schools, clinics and hospitals, and social care centers, because no monetary support was forthcoming from the new Malaysian government. The mission schools had no choice but to “choose” to become government-aided schools, whereby the control was also handed over. Many clinics and social care centers had to close, except for those in which foreign mission boards had taken special interest. The watershed was 1970, after the terrible May Thirteenth incident in the Peninsula, and the Mustapha episode in Sabah, where foreign missionaries were banned overnight; this was when the true Malaysian Church was born. In this way, the Malaysian Church, in her weak, fragile, and struggling state, was forced to train her own local leaders, to find her own funds, to build up the left-behind churches, and to chart ahead with a new vision in the new nation. The struggle of the Malaysian Church did not stop at all in the following few decades. This has inevitably strengthened

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the church with her renewed leadership, transformational mission, and social agenda, both locally and globally. The battle is not over. It is similar to the transformation or metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly, and then further developing more larvae for future butterflies. The author has brilliantly traced and covered so many aspects, including the challenges, struggles, pains, and joys, of the Malaysian Anglican Church in both East and West Malaysia. Moon Hing Ng Retired Archbishop of South East Asia and Bishop of West Malaysia

Acknowledgments

I am delighted to have the opportunity to thank all those who have generously assisted me with this project in various ways, whether sharing their experiences, views, and advice; offering moral support and encouragement; or providing priceless practical support, such as access to documents, data, and an assortment of published and unpublished material. The first thank-you must inevitably appear somewhat vague, as I express my gratitude to all the people of the Anglican Church in Malaysia, and the Province of South East Asia, rather than attempting to compose a long list of individual names. By way of compensation, this book is not only about the people of the church but also respectfully dedicated to them. I am especially grateful to Rt. Rev. Datuk Ng Moon Hing, former Archbishop of South East Asia and former Bishop of West Malaysia, for his invaluable encouragement and support. It is a particular pleasure to be able to thank Palgrave Macmillan/ Springer Nature, senior editor Philip Getz, project coordinator Tikoji Rao Mega Rao, Susan Westendorf, and all of the coordinating, reviewing, editing, production, and marketing teams. I greatly appreciate their kindness, patience, clarity, and care. Thanks go to my friends and colleagues at the Royal Historical Society and the Royal Asiatic Society, London, and also (in alphabetical order) to the Bodleian Libraries, Oxford; the Borthwick Institute, York; the National Archives, Kew; the National Library Board, Singapore; and the School of Oriental and African Studies, London. To all of these great institutions, and for the availability of their many resources, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. ix

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For many and varied types of advice and assistance, I am eager to thank (in alphabetical order) the late Rev. Dr. Kevin Alban, Prof. Sharon A. Bong, Dr. Simon Bryden-Brook, Rev. Christopher Clayton, Br. Steven Haws, CR, Khoo Chong Lim, the late Prof. Tan Sri Datuk Khoo Kay Kim, Ong Lee Choo, Durai Raman, the late Rev. John Self, Rev. Dr. Peter Varney, and Thomas Yeutter. Last but not least, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude and love to all my friends and family, especially Rachanee Surintharat, who have supported me and encouraged me in countless ways.

Contents

1 Introduction  1 References   9 2 “To  Carry the Church with Us Wherever We Go”: The Arrival of Church and Empire in Southeast Asia and Malaysia 11 Denominational Contrasts and Conflicts  14 The Frustrations, Innovations, and Politics of Missionary Work  17 Impressions and Realities of the Church in the Straits Settlements  20 The Missionary Turnaround  23 The Extraordinary Challenge of Borneo  26 Chapter Conclusion  28 References  31 3 “In  the Lands of Heathenism”: Conquests and Contradictions in Colonial Malaysian Mission 35 Pains, Perils, and Personalities of Missionary Work  38 Regional Reorganization, Missionary Reorientation, and More Linguistic Challenges  41 The Treaty of Pangkor  44 Adapting to the New Reality After Pangkor  47 Borneo Under Bishop Hose  49

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Women and the Missions  52 Chapter Conclusion  53 References  55 4 “Give  Me Eight More Young and Devoted Priests”: Setbacks and Successes in the Early Twentieth Century 59 Reorganizing and Revitalizing the Church in Borneo  62 Nurturing a Local Clergy  65 Diversification in Singapore Under a New Bishop  68 Theological Orientations, Anglo-Catholicism, and Relations with Roman Catholicism  69 Hard-Won Progress in the Ethnic Missions of Singapore  73 Developing Medical Missions  75 The Vision and Reality of Education as Missionary Work  76 Chapter Conclusion  78 References  80 5 “Rejoicing  in Tribulation, Full of Hope”: The Church and the Second World War 83 Snapshots of the Prewar Church  84 Prelude to Disaster  86 The Harsh Reality of War  88 The Church Under Japanese Occupation  92 The Turning Tides of War  96 Peacetime  99 Chapter Conclusion 101 References 103 6 “A  Fertile Field for Evangelism”: The Postwar Church, The Malayan Emergency, and Missionary Evolution105 Envisaging a Postwar Church 108 Anticolonial Struggles and a State of Emergency 109 The Kampong Baru Missionaries 111 The Anglican Contribution 114 The Legacy of the Kampong Baru Missions 117 The Evolution of Anglican Mission Practice 118

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Debates and Developments; the State of the Church Facing the Birth of Malaysia 121 Chapter Conclusion 125 References 127 7 “The  Christian Voice in a Muslim Majority Context”: The Challenges and Dilemmas of Today’s Church in Malaysia129 The Dawn of Modern Malaysia 130 The Reality of Pluralism 132 Christians Amidst Contradictions and Discontent 134 Anglican Experience: Optimism and Wariness 136 Anglican Adaptations; Ecumenism, Localization, Contextualization 138 Anglican Mission: Methods, Models, and Regional Perspectives 141 The Church in Malaysia and the Crisis in Anglicanism 144 Chapter Conclusion 148 References 150 8 “From  the Shores of the Peninsula Or from the Deck of the Ship”: Theological and Missiological Perspectives and Viewpoints155 Contrasting Philosophies, Conflicting Mindsets, Gaps in Understanding 157 Ethnic Groups, Identity, and the Church: from Prejudice to Politicization 159 Theology Meets Sociopolitics: Pathways of Colonial and Postcolonial Christianity 162 Church Thinking Today: Orthodoxy, Discipleship, Ecumenism, and the Global Church 165 Conversion or Coercion: Evolving Concepts and Strategies of Mission 168 A Missionary Model for Malaysia: Anglican Village Ministries 171 Chapter Conclusion 174 References 176

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9 Afterword179 Looking to the Past 180 Looking to the Present 182 Looking to the Future 186 References 188 Appendix I: Timeline of the Anglican Church in Malaysia189  Appendix II: Bishops Overseeing the Anglican Church in Malaysia193 Index

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Abbreviations

ACC AMiA AVM BCMI BEIC BM BMA BNB BNBC CARE CCM CFM CIPBC CJGS CMS CO CPM CR FCA GAFCON MCC OBE SACM SDA SPCK

Anglican Consultative Council Anglican Mission in the Americas Anglican Village Ministries Borneo Church Mission Institution British East India Company Bahasa Malaysia Borneo Mission Association British North Borneo British North Borneo Company Christian Association for Relief Council of Churches of Malaysia Christian Federation of Malaysia Church of India, Pakistan, Burma and Ceylon Community of the Companions of Jesus the Good Shepherd Church Missionary Society (renamed Church Mission Society, 1995) Colonial Office (London) Communist Party of Malaya Community of the Resurrection Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans Global Anglican Future Conference Malayan Christian Council Officer of the Order of the British Empire St Andrew’s Church Mission Singapore Diocesan Association Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge

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ABBREVIATIONS

SPG

STM TTC USPG

Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, renamed United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (USPG) in 1965, renamed United Society Partners in the Gospel (USPG) in 2016 Seminari Teoloji Malaysia Trinity Theological College See SPG

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda. The Protestant motto popularized by Karl Barth is not difficult to apply to the case of the Anglican Church in Malaysia. Reformed, but always in need of reform, the church has found itself continually adapting to contexts and concepts that have been utterly transformed over two hundred tumultuous years, while some aspects of the church have remained the same. This makes the church a very interesting lens through which to view the progress of a fast-­ developing society and an evolving region; it also offers fascinating and unique insights into the global phenomenon of organized Christianity, and the processes of localization, transmission, and regeneration within it. For these reasons, the subtitle of this book presents this as a story of evolving concepts, challenging contexts, and emerging subtexts, and these are multifaceted categories within themselves. Evolving concepts include broad ideas like nationality and nationhood, ethnic and religious identity, and specific church concepts like mission, conversion, and the idea of church itself. Challenging contexts include, predictably, experiences of colonialism and conflict, membership of a global communion, as well as the sensitive questions of multiculturalism, religious pluralism, and being a minority religion in a majority-Muslim society; “challenging” can also be understood in the sense that contexts have been challenged or defied, such as domination by an imperial power or a majority religion, and a culture of segregation and discrimination. Emerging subtexts embrace multiple intertwining and still-developing aspects in the areas of geopolitics, social © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_1

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sciences, and theology; the reader will surely identify these individually and subjectively, operating from their own context. This is, in fact, a story of many different intersecting and interacting themes, and any understanding of the Anglican Church in Malaysia would be incomplete without engaging them all. The bulk of this story takes place before the foundation of what is today known as Malaysia, and most of it takes place in the time of foreign—especially British—control. For convenience and consistency, the current territory will be referred to in all historical periods as Malaysia, though the name and the nation are of course quite new. Malaysia is a federation of thirteen states and three small federal territories, comprising the territories of the Malay Peninsula to the west and those of the northern part of the island of Borneo to the east. During the long period of British control, these territories went under a number of different administrative designations, configurations, and frameworks, but there was always a certain degree of interaction and affinity between the eastern and western territories, including being subject to the proselytist ambitions of both Christians and Muslims. For most of its colonial history, the island of Borneo was divided between the Dutch East Indies and the British protectorates of North Borneo (now Sabah), Sarawak, Brunei, and the British Crown Colony of the island of Labuan, until a unified Crown Colony of North Borneo was formed. Today, these former British territories—apart from independent Brunei—form East Malaysia. The island of Singapore, the island of Penang, Melaka (Malacca), and Province Wellesby (now Seberang Perai), the latter two located on the mainland Malay Peninsula, were known as the Straits Settlements colonies. During the middle colonial period, the states of the rest of the Peninsula, under Muslim Malay rulers, were organized into a federation—the Federated Malay States—thanks to a cunning, creeping British control agreement, leaving the remaining states with the somewhat clumsy title of “Unfederated” Malay States. These unfederated states, nevertheless, were subject to an official working arrangement with the British. With a few minor changes, this structure would remain in place until the atmosphere after the Second World War began to crystalize the common goals of the country’s constituent communities, fostering greater determination to break away from Britain, which led to national independence and the creation of Malaysia. Modern Malaysia is a multiethnic, multilingual, multicultural, and plurireligious society. The estimated population today is nearly thirty-three million; a significant leap from the twenty-eight million recorded in 2010.

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Well over ninety percent of the population live in Peninsular Malaysia. “Malay” refers to the main ethnic group, who, with some other smaller ethnic groups, are designated, controversially, Bumiputera—indigenous— who, combined, constitute nearly seventy percent of the population. They are followed by the ethnic Chinese at nearly twenty-three percent, ethnic Indians (mostly Tamils, but also Malayalis, Punjabis, and Telugus) at six point six percent, and others at less than one percent. There is a significant, newish population of immigrant workers from Bangladesh, Burma (Myanmar), Indonesia, Nepal, the Philippines, and Vietnam. These, and the few refugee groups, such as those from Burma, are a similarly multiethnic, multilingual, multicultural, and plurireligious population, and they include pockets of Christians. It should be noted that the demonym for all nationals of Malaysia is “Malaysian,” not to be confused with “Malay,” which refers to the majority ethnic group. Southeast Asia is rightly seen as a crossroads of religions, and each nation in the region presents a unique and complex religious landscape (Walters 2021: 159). Malaysia’s religious pluralism is somewhat different to that of its regional neighbors; however, in that no one religion is overwhelmingly dominant, as is the case with Islam in Indonesia, Buddhism in Thailand, and Christianity in the Philippines. Around sixty-one percent of Malaysia’s population are Muslim and nearly twenty percent are Buddhist. Malaysian Christians are almost exclusively non-Malays, and their number hovers around nine point two percent of the population, which compares fairly favorably with neighboring countries. Hindus amount to six point three percent and followers of Chinese folk religions, or a syncretic mix of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism, number three point four percent. Islam is both the official and majority religion of Malaysia, though freedom of religion is guaranteed under Article 11(1) of the Malaysian Federal Constitution; this is, however, subject to the constitutional prerogative of federal and state governments to pass laws against the propagation of other religions amongst Muslims. Most of Christianity’s followers, including most members of the Anglican Church, hail from the Chinese and Indian ethnic communities, and from the indigenous communities of East Malaysia. How this particular combination came to form the church makes up a significant part of this story. It is a complex story of diverse and disparate influences, economic and political interventions, and deliberate moves, by those in power, to transform the country’s ethnic and religious composition (Kee-­ Fook Chia 2021: 122). Anglicans, as mentioned above, make up a small

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portion of Malaysian Christians, with estimates hovering around one hundred thousand adherents, though varying modes of affiliation and incidences of dual, triple, and casual affiliation make membership difficult to calculate. Membership is weighted away from the Malay Peninsula (West Malaysia) towards East Malaysia, where indigenous communities and indigenous churches are strong. Malaysia’s indigenous communities are concentrated in Sarawak and Sabah (East Malaysia), where they form a majority, but in all of Malaysia the indigenous communities make up just eleven percent of the population (Hedlund 2010: 74–75). Compared to Borneo, missionary work in West Malaysia faced a different range of obstacles, including greater internal resistance, conflicting visions of mission and church, and unfavorable political conditions, such as policies of segregating the ethnic groups, which were, sadly, expected to be enforced in places of worship (Burleigh 2013: 167). Many missionary ambitions, including missions to the remote indigenous communities of the Peninsula, would only become realizable in later decades (Ng 2009: 22). As diverse as Malaysia’s constituent territories were, early missionaries chose to view them as analogous and related challenges, partly because of proximity and logistics, and also because they formed a single diocese of the Church of England until 1909. The idea of one unified Anglican Church in Malaysia was initially criticized as impractical, though it was generally agreed that neither continued separation nor potential unification was ideal or easy (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 6). Great diversity, from the earliest days of the church’s presence, was seen as one of the prime attractions as well as the main challenge of Malaysia (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 10). While this is, as stated above, a story of many intersecting and interacting themes, it is fair to expect the interface between Christianity and Islam to be a significant element of it. This interface has grown more intense in recent decades, but it has always been an important factor. Early colonial approaches prescribed “discretion and judgment, so to [prevent] uncharitable feeling” between Christians and Muslims; “No hatred is like the hatred theological—Sir James Brooke, the so-called White Rajah, warned in 1847—[and] if the odium theological be once roused, farewell our hopes of improvement and farewell to the peace we have hitherto enjoyed” (Taylor 1983: 5–6). Tensions between Christians and Muslims, however, have not usually sprung from theological differences; the “odium” has more often emerged from political and economic questions of influence, representation, and demographics. In Malaysia, these questions are

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intimately tied to religion and ethnicity, whose emotive and manipulative potential has, sometimes overtly, been politicized and exploited (Drakeley 2008: 327). Neither Christianity nor Islam, however, was the first religion to arrive in Malaysia, and neither the Muslim majority nor the Christian minority represents, exclusively, the original inhabitants of the country, which makes interreligious discussion not a simple two-sided enterprise. Malaysia was the location of the first Christian settlement in Southeast Asia, and today it is both a revivalist Muslim-majority society and home to a fascinatingly diverse demographic make-up. Islam is officially recognized by the constitution, with strict religious laws binding on the Muslim sixty-­ one percent, and parallel (but separate) legal systems for Muslims and non-Muslims. Ethnic Malays, the largest ethnic group, are automatically deemed by law to all be Muslims from birth, with all the responsibilities and duties that this carries. Despite these facts, it is often stressed that Malaysia is not a “Muslim country” as such. Non-Muslims may be considered to have more basic religious freedom than Muslims, given that “born” Muslims are not given a choice, and they are not permitted to convert away from Islam. Many Christians would warn against overstating this reading, however, pointing out that both overt and covert policies and campaigns seek to discredit, alienate, or intimidate Christians and impede or hinder their worship. It all seems a far cry from colonial times, when Christianity was the religion linked to power, though there were limits on missionary activity then as well. The Anglican Church was the church of empire, but if its representatives expected unequivocal support from the colonial authorities, they were going to be disappointed. Across the region, Anglican ministry of two hundred years ago was usually confined to small pockets of British and European expatriates (Goh 2005: 7–8). When fuller freedom to operate was finally achieved, missionaries reached out to Chinese and Indian immigrants—laborers, servants, and subsistence traders—and some of the indigenous communities, while struggling to attract any interest from the majority Malays (Evers 2014: 70). British colonialism in Southeast Asia effectively engineered a new society, in which the Malay Peninsula would have the largest Chinese population outside of China and, apart from Ceylon (Sri Lanka), the largest Indian population outside of India (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 124–25). The Anglican Church was the religious entity tasked with providing spiritual accompaniment to this mercenary social construct, in all its incongruity and haphazardness.

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Early encounters with the locals, with their myriad customs and bewildering traditions, often came as a shock, but hopes for large-scale evangelization were high; variants of the “it’s only a matter of time” attitude were common. As to the question of how to evangelize, the introduction of Christianity was marketed as a “civilized”—and civilizing—package, offering education, medicine, social care, and employment opportunities. Missionaries aspired to realize a vision that was holistic, as indeed colonialism and capitalism were holistic visions, and it would be frustrating to see this generous offer refused. Faced with varying degrees of hostility or resistance, missionaries were heavily dependent on the colonial administration for support and protection, though the relationship was haphazard, and administrators were by no means always cooperative (Cox 2008: 11). This exposed the fact that the “holistic” colonial religious vision, from the colonial powers’ point of view, consisted not of a wedding of mutually important ideals, but rather a hierarchy of priorities, with commercial success sitting at the top, not Christ. It will become clear that the story of the Anglicans in Malaysia tends to defy simplistic readings, and for all its associations with power, the church achieved most of its success amongst the disenfranchised and powerless. Missionaries found the Malays to be in a social position of a certain security, though not a security that necessarily translated into wealth, well-­ being, or social mobility; many Malays, in fact, longed for the significant benefits that could be accessed just by engaging with the church’s “holistic package.” These works in education, health, and social care would become, long after the departure—or death—of the original missionaries, the foundations of essential institutions in modern Malaysian society. For the church, there was little to be had in return for this investment and effort; the chances of “winning” converts from among the Muslim majority or elsewhere were always slim. Successful missions tended to cost decades of hard work, considerable personal sacrifices, and huge risks to health. If any missionary cynically exploited the disingenuousness of the disadvantaged, hoping it would lead to glory, recognition, or an easy tropical lifestyle, they were mistaken; it never did. The stories of the churches of the British Empire have struggled to find their place within colonial history. Secular historians have tended to consider mission history an essentially denominational pursuit, reserved for advocates of the churches and apologists for the missionaries. For a long time, conventional interpretations held that church and empire colluded and that there was not much more to be said; all else must be a partisan

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attempt to exonerate or rehabilitate the missionaries. “Neutral” historians of British religion often mistook overseas mission for simple philanthropy, while colonialism scholars generally failed to see mission as an organic part of the colonial machine. The central importance of religion in understanding colonial and postcolonial societies is now more widely appreciated, and scholarship has moved far beyond both the “collusion paradigm” and the “irrelevancy paradigm.” The painstaking work of Jeffrey Cox, Elizabeth Koepping, Steven S. Maughan, and Brian Stanley, to name a few, gradually revolutionized this field. Even as previous lacunae have been addressed, however, some specific and unique cases, such as Malaysia, have still been overlooked in favor of the vaster subjects of India and Africa (Porter 2004: 2–3, 6). The study of the Anglican Church in Malaysia is facilitated by a range of excellent sources and impeded by a variety of significant difficulties. In terms of sources, of particularly salient interest are the SPG (Society for the Propagation of the Gospel) papers held at Oxford (the Bodleian Libraries), including the correspondence of Bishop Francis Thomas McDougall, Malaysia’s first Anglican bishop, and others, the Colonial Office Archives at the National Archives (UK), and the Singapore Church Record Books, held at the National Library in Singapore. These latter consist of correspondence, notes, minutes, pamphlets, accounts, and assorted ephemera, which have been bound “ad hoc” rather than published, in nine volumes, without systematic page numbering. In terms of difficulties, the question of sources presents a multi-layered challenge. The most glaring problem is simply the loss of many archive materials, whether due to age, damage, human error, or environmental factors; already, one hundred years ago, humidity and white ants were found to have devoured significant diocesan paper archives (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 7, 1902–15: 251). The twentieth century also brought inestimable wartime destruction of church property. Qualitatively speaking, nineteenth-­ century sources—missionary society records, for example—can be rich in minutiae, poor in insights, obsessively partisan, and thoroughly preoccupied with the inner workings of the organizations (Cox 2002: 3). There is much propaganda, paternalism, and prejudice to wade through (Maughan 2014: 16). Prejudice, while not necessarily malicious or mean-spirited, always clouds judgment and twists perceptions. The question of sources presents serious obstacles, therefore, but the situation is not hopeless. Constantly cross-referencing sources, which in themselves may offer only a useful fragment, can help a clearer picture to emerge.

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Many old, interesting, and previously difficult to access sources, including published sources, are now accessible thanks to free online collections. These collections include the Internet Archive—www.archive.org—containing, to name a few particularly useful examples, Charles Burton Buckley’s Anecdotal History of Old Times in Singapore (1902), Rev. Edwin H. Gomes’ Seventeen Years Among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo (1911), and Dr. Charlotte Elizabeth Ferguson-Davie’s In Rubber Lands (1921). Project Canterbury, an online collection of old and out-of-print Anglican documents—www.anglicanhistory.org—provides free access to elusive items such as Bishop George John Trevor Spencer’s “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca” of 1847, the St Andrew’s Church (Singapore) Mission (SACM) reports between 1856 and 1887, and later documents such as Rev. John Hayter and Rev. Jack Bennitt’s The War and After: Singapore, written circa 1947. To all of these authors, curators, and institutions, past and present, a debt of gratitude is owed. Christianity may be well-rooted in Malaysia today, but so is its status as a minority religion, as well as some perceptions of Christianity as imported, alien, and un-Malaysian. These negative perceptions, with connotations of invasive Western influence, the infiltration of foreign values, or even subversion by the Chinese or another ethnic group, seem to be a spell that cannot be completely broken. These perceptions are not totally without foundation, of course; Christianity’s associations with major foreign influences, principally the West and Chinese diasporic culture, are real enough, as are the local church’s very strong ethnic associations. The church’s vocal support for conservative and orthodox Anglican positions may potentially be seen as an echo of its colonial heritage, proof that it is still rooted in Victorian values and English attitudes. The church’s continued integration and acceptance in society, nevertheless, may be effectively assured, thanks to its highly valued contributions to society. Its place, now and in the past, has always been on the periphery, in sharp contrast with Christians’ experience in other parts of the world, where the church has been pushed from the center of society to the margins (Roxborogh 2014: xii). Christianity has often benefitted from this experience—the periphery tends to be a hothouse for future growth—but there is good reason to be wary of “center-and-margins” analyses. The study of colonial history is riddled with unhelpful binary definitions—British and native, civilized and savage, colonizers and colonized—that are often so deeply engraved in people’s minds as to seem unavoidable. These schemas of analysis risk oversimplification of the complex colonial experience; they are challenged

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by the need to consider themes that cut across binary categorizations, such as ethnicity, gender, patriarchy, and prejudice, which have not always been valued as key influences (Cox 2008: 5, 6). Clichéd as it may sound, Malaysia is truly a land of contrasts and contradictions, and long has it been so. Colonial rule, from beginning to end, was also riddled with contradictions, and the church was at the heart of this. Following independence, Malaysians opted for a modern economy, parliamentary democracy, constitutional monarchy, and healthy international relations, but the contradictions continue; Malaysia is a Muslim-­ majority nation with all that it entails, though that majority is far from overwhelming, and even the wedding of Islam and majority Malay culture is far from a straightforward marriage. Being Malay, Bumiputera, and “truly” belonging to Malaysia are as debatable and controversial as they are emotive and contentious, even before broaching the concept of “automatic” religious affiliation by birth. Interwoven with all of these contradictions and the history behind them, overlapping with evolving concepts and challenging contexts, is the experience of the Malaysian Anglicans. Theirs is a unique vantage point, straddling vastly different historical periods and circumstances, crossing ethnic and social barriers, and providing an unlikely element of continuity in Malaysian life. The church’s role in the development of Malaysia, with its contribution to the society, education, aspirations, and values of the modern state, and its impact on worldwide Anglicanism, have not only been in striking disproportion to the church’s small size, but they have also dramatically defied its own narrow colonial origins.

References Burleigh, Michael. Small Wars, Far Away Places: The Genesis of the Modern World 1945–65. London: Macmillan, 2013. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. ———. Imperial Fault Lines: Christianity and Colonial Power in India, 1818–1940. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002. Drakeley, Steven. “Drowning or Waving? Citizenship, Multiculturalism and Islam in Malaysia.” Al-Jāmi‘ah: Journal of Islamic Studies 46, no. 2 (2008) M/1429 H [325–351].

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Evers, Georg. “‘On the Trail of Spices’: Christianity in Southeast Asia.” In The Oxford Handbook of Christianity in Asia. Edited by Felix Wilfred, 65–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Goh, Robbie B. H. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publications, 2005. Hayter, John and Jack Bennitt. n.d. The War and After: Singapore. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, no date [c. 1947]. Hedlund, Roger E. “Understanding Southeast Asian Christianity.” In Christian Movements in Southeast Asia: A Theological Exploration. Edited by Michael Nai-­ Chiu Poon, 59–100. Singapore: Genesis Books and Trinity Theological College, 2010. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. Maughan, Steven S. Mighty England Do Good: Culture, Faith, Empire, and World in the Foreign Missions of the Church of England, 1850–1915. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2014. Ng Moon Hing. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. Porter, Andrew. Religion Versus Empire? British Protestant Missionaries and Overseas Expansion, 1700–1914. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Singapore Church Record Book Archive, National Library Board, Singapore, volume seven, 1902–1915. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Walters, Albert Sundararaj. “Christian-Muslim Relations in New Malaysia: Overcoming Barriers, Building Bridges.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al., 159–194. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021.

CHAPTER 2

“To Carry the Church with Us Wherever We Go”: The Arrival of Church and Empire in Southeast Asia and Malaysia

Christianity in Southeast Asia can be considered a relatively recent phenomenon, especially in terms of having a significant impact, but, as with many features of the region, the matter is more complex than first impressions suggest. Southeast Asia consists of eleven nations lying to the east and southeast of the Indian subcontinent and to the south and southwest of mainland China. It is made up of the modern-day states (in alphabetical order) of Brunei, Burma (or Myanmar), Cambodia, East Timor, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. These nations have a number of things in common, not least that they have all been profoundly influenced and shaped by their interactions with the old Western colonial powers. Nearly all of Southeast Asia was once under colonial control. The Western powers’ interest in Southeast Asia stemmed from the prospect of acquiring valuable and highly-prized natural products; initially spices, and then rubber, teak, metals and gems. All of the colonizing powers brought Christianity with them, beginning in the early sixteenth century with the Portuguese in modern-day peninsular Malaysia, and the Spanish in the Philippines. Another common inheritance of the Southeast Asian nations is that prior to their encounters with the colonial powers and Christianity, they were exposed to Asia’s own powerful cultural, philosophical, and religious influences; from India in the west came Hinduism and Buddhism, and from China in the north came Daoism and Confucianism. In addition, © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_2

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each nation of the region developed its own customs and beliefs so successfully that incoming religions and philosophies never entirely superseded local traditions but fused with them instead. This fusion tended to be most effective when concepts of leadership and governance found affirmation and validation in the partner belief system, a tendency that was exemplified with the arrival of Islam in Malaysia in the thirteenth century. The combination of well-established understandings of leadership and governance, complementary religious principles, and endorsement by a stable ruler—a monarch—proved to be highly effective, conducive to trade, and apparently impossible to dislodge. The European colonial powers, bringing Christianity to Southeast Asia, entered an already well-­ established and quite complex religious arena. Religion, in its various tangible manifestations, provides some of the most memorable experiences for visitors to Southeast Asia. As impressive as Southeast Asian spirituality may be, none of the major religions in the region—including Islam—is a monolith (Ponniah 2000: 32); each one is mixed up with preexisting local customs, superstitions, spirit beliefs, and other influences (Gomes 1911: 175–77). The “pawing” or shaman— crudely dubbed “witch-doctor”—wielded enormous power in Malay kampongs (village communities) for example, supplying charms, amulets, and performing exorcisms. Deep-rooted beliefs “in spirits of earth or air or water” would defy Christianity’s teachings, even after ostensible conversion, and these beliefs were also seen to persist among the religious Malays, “beneath a veneer” of Islam (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 16). Islam proved surprisingly flexible in accommodating spirit beliefs and even elements of Hinduism. Muslim Malays preserved preexisting rituals about birth, life, love, death, and agriculture cycles. Many continued to believe in the semangat (spirit) or life force, present in living beings and objects such as leaves and stones (Wei-Fun Goh et al. 2021: 7). Malaysia has long presented an array of major and minor religions, belief systems, spiritualties, and hybrids of two or more of these, but this complexity does not make the religions easy to supplant; on the contrary, it has generally increased the challenge for those seeking to win conversions to Christianity. Colonization, however, was not primarily about converting people to Christianity. The main motivations for colonizing remained economic and commercial, not religious, nor even ideological (Roxborogh 2014: 98). The Western powers’ pursuit of wealth, and the economic importance of Southeast Asia, meant that control over it was contested from outside and

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resisted from within. Achieving and retaining control, it was believed, required comprehensive cultural dominion and the normalization of Western values, for which the church’s works could be very useful. However, neither economic nor spiritual representatives of the Western powers would find, in the local populations, a tabula rasa upon which to inscribe their values and precepts. Even the best-intentioned missionaries tended to presume a divine authority to enlighten unbelievers, rather than seeing the introduction of new ideas as a tactful negotiation (Koepping 2006: 59). Faced with preexisting beliefs and customs, early missionaries were often dismissive at best and openly hostile at worst, deriding them as “superstition,” “idolatry,” and “polytheism,” appalled by what they saw as local religion’s “multitude of gods and spirits” (Stonton 1947: 16). Harmonious coexistence between the different belief systems and Christianity, however, was far from impossible, and Christian missionaries would eventually learn to accept it. Meetings of two religions do not always trigger a fight for hegemony, especially when a religion’s primary, socially cohesive task of regulating “food, fiancées and funerals” is acknowledged and respected (Koepping 2006: 60). Missionaries began to realize that Christianity could only gain any ground if it was presented as being not in conflict with, and potentially harmonious with, previously established local beliefs. This may have sounded like syncretism to some Christian minds, but it was already a well-established phenomenon; Christianity itself, since its beginnings, mutated and melded as it crossed cultural and physical borders. In the Western, Christianized world, non-Christian religions are commonly assessed according to Christian terminology such as “congregation,” “worship,” and “ministry,” even when these terms are not strictly accurate or appropriate. Non-Christian theologies are often evaluated according to Christian concepts such as revelation, discipleship, and salvation, and other religions’ holy books are presumed to have the same kind of role and centrality as the Bible has for Christians (Hoskins 2014: S302). In Southeast Asia, similarly, the major world religions are perceived through a local lens and relayed according to locally relevant concepts, to arrive at an acceptable popular form of each religion. How this happens, and how adherents set boundaries and agree on which ones can be breached, varies from place to place. Ultimately, however, Christianity in a supposed pure form, whatever that might mean, is not to be found, and the result is surely a no less authentic Christianity. Successful missionaries

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were arguably those who adapted to the idea that Christianity does not compete with other religions in Southeast Asia but complements them (Pieris 2004: 258, 262).

Denominational Contrasts and Conflicts With the primary goals of colonial expansion being achieved, the need to develop a lasting and influential presence in Southeast Asia could be addressed, utilizing religion in a number of ways. Colonial administrators, whether personally devout, religiously indifferent, or even anticlerical, could not deny religion’s usefulness for promoting their cultural and moral values, while also providing justification for their economic and military presence. The persecution of Roman Catholic converts in Vietnam, for example, served as a pretext for the creeping colonization of what would become French Indochina, as the French deployed troops ostensibly in order to protect their coreligionists (Owen 2005: 115–16). The rigid hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, the authority of its prelates, and its symbols of wealth and power were all useful models to export to new lands and dominate them. This partnership of moral authoritarianism and empire-building reflected the ideal of Catholic Europe— Christendom—with society seen as one organic whole, governed by parallel and all-embracing spiritual and secular powers (Bell 2004: 425). From the political point of view, toleration of or fusion with local belief systems was not considered an impediment to the dissemination of Christian and Western values, but rather as something that could be used to facilitate the spread of Christianity in  locally acceptable forms. The result has also been called a symbiosis of religions, rather than one religion supplanting the other or two religions merging (Pieris 2004: 261–63). For Roman Catholic missionaries, tolerating preexisting beliefs was more of an institutional challenge than it was for Protestants. Colonial expansion, from the sixteenth century onward, was mirrored by increasing centralization and consolidation of papal control; Roman Catholic converts were expected to relate and defer to institutions and powers based in the faraway lands of Italy, Spain, and France. Missionaries on the ground may have appreciated the need to make concessions to local customs and operate flexible boundaries, but they could not expect this to be endorsed by far-off centralized ecclesiastical powers. This was one of several ways in which denominational characteristics impinged upon missionary work

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(Keith 2012: 24–26, 82, 190). Protestant and Anglican approaches vacillated between accommodating local beliefs and insisting on the exclusive acceptance of Christianity. In the long term, the churches learned that demanding exclusivity was no particular guarantee of lasting allegiance, and usually only succeeded in dividing communities (Koepping 2006: 60). From the religious point of view, the colonial experience in Malaysia, Burma, and the Dutch East Indies, though not a uniform experience, was markedly different to the colonial experience in regions under Roman Catholic colonizers. The confessional differences between Protestant Holland and Britain, and the Roman Catholic powers of Spain, Portugal, and France, were reflected in political rivalry, commercial competition, and in their different overall approaches to colonization. The Protestant Dutch, and especially the British, prioritized trade and subjugated all other objectives to it; good trading relations meant keeping the peace, and consequently they aimed to avoid clashes with local religions. The presence of missionaries in the colonies was allowed, but with quite strict conditions, such as those established in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries by the powerful British East India Company (BEIC). The BEIC was a private company to which administration of Britain’s eastern colonies had been granted. Successive generations of missionaries would assess these conditions—amounting to a preemptive ban on real missionary work—as being overly restrictive. Some blamed the BEIC’s rules for smothering the early development of the local church, while others blamed this on insufficient oversight, because Singapore and Malaya did not have their own bishops for a long time; the two causes are not unrelated (Loh Keng Aun 1963: 3–4). Bans on strictly missionary work aside, Anglicans were acutely aware of being late starters on the Christian scene in Southeast Asia, compared to the Roman Catholics. Some senior Anglicans were critical of what they saw as their church’s lackluster approach to evangelization; they complained that its leaders, lulled into indifference by comfortable lives back home, fundamentally lacked passion for the divine mission (Buckley 1902: 660–661). Anglicans were equally critical of the coercive tactics rumored to have been used by their Roman Catholic predecessors, though they did admit that some of them had been motivated by unparalleled zeal and devotion. In general, Anglican missionaries saw themselves as wholly different and better-motivated than their Roman Catholic counterparts (Strong 2007: 11). Anglicanism was, after all, greatly influenced by the

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Protestant belief in freedom of conscience; it was considered anathema to enforce Christianity with threatening methods or coercive legislation, and it was surely hard to see how this could ultimately benefit the empire anyway. Missionaries were also aware, however, that it was not up to any of them to set the priorities. All church endeavors were heavily dependent on the colonial administration, as dysfunctional as the relationship was, and their attempts to adapt church principles to the tropical setting were often frustrated and inconclusive (Cox 2008: 10–11). The BEIC’s prohibition of aggressive missionary work could be seen as justifiable caution, prompted by fears of Roman Catholic-style coercive tactics, which also corresponded to the Protestant ethic and made commercial sense as well. The Anglican Church would bear the brunt of the BEIC’s prohibition, as the two organizations were effectively both official representatives of the same empire, and they were under each other’s watch. Later, when the ban began to be relaxed, the prohibitive ethos remained in the form of indifference, wariness, and sometimes hostility in official circles with regard to spreading the word of God, and received wisdom that robust missionary work was simply bad for business. This reality contrasts with the perception of Christian missionaries as mere accomplices of the colonizers, forming an “unholy alliance” between Christianity and colonialism (Pieris 2004: 256). There certainly were instances of missionaries cooperating too closely with the colonial masters; some of them enjoyed excessive material comfort, some were too quick to call for the military when faced with local resistance, and others were overly keen on adventurism and swashbuckling, but it is erroneous to conclude that all Christian missionary activity was just part and parcel of Western colonialism (Evers 2014: 68). British missionaries did come from a position of considerable confidence, but this confidence did not stem from privileges conferred by the empire. The nineteenth century witnessed a religious revival in Britain, which encouraged the belief that a propitious historical moment for spreading Christianity had arrived. The relationship between empire and religion, however, was ill-defined and unstable. Imperial authorities tended to see individual missionaries, at best, as inconsequential figures, and at worst they denigrated them as cranks and misfits. This is a further challenge to the idea of the unholy alliance. In reality, the time of colonial expansion and the time of Christian revival overlapped historically, allowing coincidence to be mistaken for correlation (Cox 2008: 3–4).

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The Frustrations, Innovations, and Politics of Missionary Work The introduction of Christianity into Southeast Asia, and specifically into the territories now known as Malaysia, began in an earnest way in the early sixteenth century. The Portuguese established a presence in Melaka (Malacca) in 1511, though it is likely that small trading settlements in the area had already included pockets of Christians for around two hundred years (Gillman and Klimkeit 1999: 311–12). There are, in fact, archeological indications of Christian settlements in the northwest of the Malay Peninsula as early as the seventh century, but very little is known about them (Goh 2005: 1–2). Melaka passed from the Portuguese to the Dutch in 1641, while British influence began in 1786 with the arrival of an expedition to seize Pulau Pinang (the island of Penang), which the British called Prince of Wales Island. Portuguese influence lives on in the Bahasa Malaysia (Malaysian language) word for church—gereja—and Malaysia’s oldest known gerejas are predictably to be found in Melaka. These include the oldest Anglican (and indeed the oldest non-Roman Catholic) church in Malaysia, Christ Church. Dating from 1753, Christ Church began life in the Dutch-reformed tradition and was not consecrated for Anglican use until 1838. Anglicans were probably present among traders based in Penang from 1786, and in Melaka from around 1795. Penang had its first ordained Anglican minister in 1805, and its first church, St George’s, was completed in 1818 (Roxborogh 2014: 1, 2, 10, 16, 18). Modeled on St Mary’s, Madras (Chennai), St George’s was the first Anglican church, built by the British, east of India. The chapel at Fort Cornwallis, now a museum, had previously been used for Anglican services. In 1816, Penang’s first church school opened on the grounds of St George’s. Control of the much-coveted Malay Peninsula, containing modern-day West Malaysia, passed through several hands before it was finally secured for Britain. The important trading centers of Melaka and Penang would become two of the four Straits Settlements, one of several administrative frameworks employed by the British to manage Malaya and Singapore. The increasing economic importance of all parts of Southeast Asia continued to affirm the need for effective and comprehensive control, which generated greater formal support for religious intervention. The principle of formal support was already quite well established by the time of the British colonization of the Malay Peninsula. Early Protestant Anglicans drew positive links between Protestantism and colonialism, and the British

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government concurred; they demonstrated this by backing the foundation of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG) in 1701 (Strong 2007: 2, 4, 10). Parliament in London framed this support as a moral imperative rather than an economic one, calling it their “supreme duty” to provide professedly Christian government to administer the non-­ Christian peoples who came under its influence (Marks 1917: 12). In 1813, this supreme duty was concretized as a formal ecclesiastical establishment in Asia and the Pacific, with the appointment of a Bishop of Calcutta, belonging to the English Church. The initial Anglican presence in Malaysia (as well as Burma and other territories yet to be defined, such as the island of Borneo, and even Australia) came under the authority of the Bishop of faraway Calcutta, of the church of even farther away England. As colonial takings increased, formalization of the British government’s moral convictions did not alter its imperial economic strategy, and official endorsement of the missions did not translate into a lifting of restrictions placed on missionaries. New waves of missionaries were inculcated with the idea that, while spiritual intervention was indeed of supreme importance, good trading relations demanded the keeping of the peace, and the avoidance of conflict with local religions (Goh 2005: 5–6). The average Anglican priest was “bound by circumstances beyond his control,” in the words of one bishop; there would be little point in complaining to his superiors, though the priest had “every right to look [to them] for brotherly support” (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 89, 95–96; no. 4, 1847b: 131, 132). The restrictions would remain, and the frustrations of church leaders continued to contradict the idea of church complicity in colonial expansion, or privileged positions for the missionaries (Pieris 2004: 256; Evers 2014: 68). The clergy actually had to tread carefully, because the church in the colonies was still the institutional home church—a formal extension of it—and the church’s relations with the colonial authorities were in effect relations with the state. Being the Church of England, a state entity by law, meant that this church-state relationship impinged upon its ecclesiology, its operations, and its very existence (Strong 2007: 8–9). These factors did not escape the leading Anglican missionary society of the day, the SPG. The solution, as some began to see it, was to enable the locally autonomous transmission of Christianity as soon as possible. This viewpoint gained traction, especially under the influence of Bishop William Grant Broughton (1788–1853) of Sydney, Australia, during the period of his work with the SPG. Broughton’s thinking, in the first half of the nineteenth century, was far ahead of its time; he argued for involving the laity

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in the establishment and governance of missionary dioceses, because the laity would be the real long-term font of resources for future growth, not the English Church. Dioceses in the Pacific and Southeast Asia must adapt Anglican traditions to local ways, Broughton believed. He saw the future unity of worldwide Anglicans as a dialogue between local churches and Canterbury, rather than establishing local churches as satellites or replicas of Canterbury. The resulting church across Asia should be a collection of “patriarchates” rather than branches, he felt (O’Connor 2000: 297). Such theorizing was of little interest to the colonial authorities, of course; bringing Christianity with them was seen as an essential part of colonization, though it was very far from their main priority. States like Great Britain entrusted colonial management to private companies such as the BEIC, imbuing them with enormous and far-­ reaching powers. These included the power to raise their own private armies, leaving little doubt as to the company’s determination to achieve its goals, and what methods it was prepared to employ. The exception to the private company system was the state’s endorsement of a few individual pioneers who were blessed with vision, ambition, and adventurous hearts set on making a name for themselves. The commissioning of these individuals would further demonstrate what the colonial priorities were; it also suggested a desire to frame colonial endeavor in heroic, masculine, crusading terms, while claiming continuity with the great Christian commission to spread the Gospel. The dividing lines between economic expansion, increasing Britain’s influence, and spreading the Gospel were arguably already blurred, and even the church’s future progress would now depend on the initiative of entrepreneurs with multiple motives. One such entrepreneur, unquestionably a talented and extraordinary individual, was James Brooke (1803–1868), later Sir James Brooke, known as the “White Rajah” or Rajah Brooke. Brooke used his wealth and influence to take control—in a broadly peaceful and humane way—of a large northern stretch of the island of Borneo. He was almost immediately lauded as “a Christian, a philosopher, and a patriot” for doing so, and hailed as “the apostle of civilization to the Malayan Archipelago” no less (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 26). Such lavish praise was perhaps not solely on account of this civilizing “Rajah” being “White,” but no doubt also on account of him being rich, powerful, aristocratic, and British. Missionary work in Borneo, like its cousin, commerce, would be regarded as having started as a private initiative, a God-willed extension of white capitalist civilization. Management of the actual missions would pass from the “apostle” to the SPG (O’Connor 2000: 63).

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Impressions and Realities of the Church in the Straits Settlements Establishing dominion of the Malay Peninsula did not mean attempting to seize the whole territory militarily; it meant effecting stealthy administrative control of the four key settlements, which were the strategic power bases whence to exert influence over the region. Control was taken gradually and relatively peacefully, with effective dominion acknowledged by treaty in 1824. This was at precisely the same time as Britain’s conquest of nearby Burma, which by contrast was rapid, violent, and extremely costly, but colonial war was far from people’s minds in the Straits Settlements. In 1826, the BEIC consolidated the trading settlements on the island of Penang (or Prince of Wales Island) in the northwest, which served as the seat of the colonial government, at Province Wellesley, a strip of busy coastline facing Penang, and at Melaka in the southwest, which gives its name to the Melaka Strait. Penang was initially the most prominent settlement and the first to receive an Anglican chaplain—provided by the BEIC—and a church. To these three settlements, another particularly talented individual, Sir Thomas Stamford Bingley Raffles (1781–1826) had added, in 1819, an almost uninhabited but strategically important island called Singapore. Stamford Raffles was then an obscure colonial governor, but by opening the island to free trade and free residence, he launched Singapore on a trajectory to become the greatest port in the East, and home to one of the world’s greatest cities. Raffles himself, it is believed, allocated a piece of land for the first Anglican church in Singapore (Swindell 1929: 6). The Anglican presence there officially began in 1826 with the appointment, by the BEIC, of Rev. Robert Burns as chaplain. Prior to this date, the few Church of England members on the island were ministered to by chaplains of the BEIC’s fleet of ships, whenever a ship happened to call and if it was carrying a chaplain (Loh Keng Aun 1963: 1). A chapel was established, and within a few years, discussions began for the construction of a major church, which would become the first incarnation of St Andrew’s, the foundation stone being laid in 1835 (Buckley 1902: 286–90). By the mid-1830s, Singapore was transformed, and in 1836 it would supersede Penang as the center of colonial government. This was to the detriment and disappointment of Penang, and the island’s missionary endeavors would suffer from this loss of prestige (Roxborogh 2014: 18). Increased trade not only brought more Europeans to the Straits

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Settlements, but also many laborers from India, especially Tamils from the southern Indian states, with significant numbers of Christians among them. Large numbers of Chinese immigrants also arrived, especially from the southern provinces of China, as well as Javanese immigrants and various others. The land was fertile, rich in spices and coconuts, the ground was full of minerals, and the waters teemed with fish. The local Malay inhabitants in the coastal areas were reputedly inclined to piracy, while the inland Malays were devoted to agricultural pursuits with, it was said, occasional warlike interludes, but in general cohabitation was considered successful. There was a degree of cross-community interaction between resident Malays and the various newcomer groups, and mixed relationships were not uncommon, giving rise to fringe communities of mixed ethnicity families (Thompson 1951: 403). This apparent normalcy of Muslim Malays in mixed families, from today’s perspective of Muslim revivalist Malaysia, may be surprising, but Islamic laws were not strictly enforced as they are today (Wei-Fun Goh et  al 2021: 7). The mixed-­ denomination Christian community also began to interact, which for Anglicans meant asserting their church’s special responsibility, while having to acknowledge their small number and make concessions. The naming of the cathedral, St Andrew’s, was in recognition of the considerable contribution made by the Scottish community; this contribution came with a suggestion that the building be used jointly between Protestant denominations, including the Presbyterians. The proposal was quickly scaled down; Presbyterian services could be accommodated, but on a permission-­only basis (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 1, 1838–1863: unnumbered page). Bishop George John Trevor Spencer (1799–1866), bishop of Madras (today’s Chennai) in India, made a tour of inspection of the Straits Settlements in May 1846, on behalf of the bishop of Calcutta, who was on furlough (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 1, 1838–1863: unnumbered pages) and he made a detailed record of his experiences. Spencer was part of the aristocratic Spencer dynasty, whose members included Sir Winston Spencer Churchill and Lady Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales. A cousin, also called George Spencer, born just ten days after Bishop George Spencer, was a notable convert to Roman Catholicism, currently designated “Venerable” and on course for beatification by the Vatican. Bishop George Spencer was struck by the intense commercial atmosphere in Singapore, in contrast to a relaxed and refined Penang. He observed the famously full port, in which “huge misshapen Chinese junks” were

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particularly conspicuous. “Indeed,” Spencer wrote, somewhat confusingly, “there is a Chinese look about the place, which makes you feel that you are no longer in India [sic], but on the confines of that vast Eastern world, the empires of Burmah [sic], Cochin-China [Vietnam], China and Japan, and the great islands of Sumatra and Borneo, to which Singapore is, as it were, the entrance-gate from Europe [sic]” (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 92). Spencer’s conflated geography is puzzling, but his perception of Singapore as the gateway to the East was insightful. Spencer noted a healthy number of congregants during his tour; about one hundred and forty worshippers, on average, at Singapore’s services, and nearer to two hundred each, on average, in Penang and Melaka. He was disappointed that the respective proportion of those congregants receiving Holy Communion was about a third, calling this lamentably small. Throughout the Straits Settlements, Spencer was also deeply worried by ethical questions relating to the sources of public revenue. He discovered that the colonial government held monopolies on the lucrative trades in opium, betel, and pawnbroking—“pandering to, and fattening upon, the lowest vices of the Chinese and Malays” he wrote—and he expressed surprise that the government did not also control gambling. Spencer learned that there were a hundred and ninety-one gambling dens in Singapore alone. “It is a shocking system, and such as must, sooner or later, bring down a curse from God,” he wrote, horrified that such rackets of drugs and desperation were “deliberately legalized and practiced by religious and moral England!” Part of the defense for the government running these monopolies was, predictably perhaps, that they could not otherwise find funds to cover their expenditure; Spencer questioned whether such a defense would cut much ice when it came to the Day of Judgment (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 95; no. 4, 1847b: 131, 135). This same government, in the form of the BEIC, approved and facilitated the appointment of official chaplains to the four Straits Settlements, but the chaplains tended not to remain for very long. Their activity was still very restricted, so any missionary ambitions that they may have nurtured could not be satisfied. Several observers, meanwhile, noticed that the work of the Roman Catholic missionaries, who already had their own bishop and various colleges and schools in Penang and Melaka, seemed to flourish. Despite having a famous Roman Catholic convert cousin, Bishop Spencer held Roman Catholicism in disdain, though he begrudgingly acknowledged the significant progress of “popery”—as he called it—in the Straits Settlements. He was unimpressed with St Andrew’s church in

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Singapore, noting that the Roman Catholic place of worship was “larger and handsomer [than] the shapeless, tasteless mass” built by the Anglicans. He broodingly surmised that the Roman Catholic institution itself, if it deserved to be called a church at all, was “far more like a Church than ours.” Spencer was annoyed by the lack of missionary work being done by the Anglicans, especially in contrast to the Roman Catholics, fearing that the future church would become complacent. His ideal would have been an outgoing missionary church; if anyone harbored hopes of replicating the reassuring English parish system—“the system bequeathed to us by Christ and his Apostles”—in the Straits Settlements, rather than having to go out and do evangelism, they were sure to be disappointed, he believed. In the absence, at that time, of Anglican missionary societies, it was, in Spencer’s view, “the obvious duty of every Christian congregation to labor to impart spiritual things to those who as yet know not Christ.” Spencer’s appraisal, albeit flawed, showed considerable understanding and foresight (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 93, 95; no. 4, 1847b: 131, 133, 134).

The Missionary Turnaround Singapore grew rapidly after 1836, and within two decades there were forty thousand Chinese residents and several thousand Tamils. The much-­ disliked “shapeless, tasteless mass” of St Andrew’s church was demolished in 1855, and was in the process of being replaced by the fine building visible today (Buckley 1902: 293–300). Shapeless too, in a sense, was the whole Anglican mission on the island; regarded with indifference (or worse) by the civil authorities, and prohibited from ministering to the locals, the church inhabited a vague no-man’s-land between the colonizer and the colonized (Cox 2008: 6–7). But change was on the horizon; Britain’s war against Russia (1853–1856) and, shortly afterward, the so-­ called Indian Mutiny of 1857 exposed inadequacies and systemic mismanagement in the BEIC, and Parliament in London began to mull the dissolution of the two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old company. The resident chaplain in Singapore, Rev. William Topley Humphrey, decided to unilaterally break free from the restrictive policies of the now-weakened BEIC, and on Whit-Sunday 1856, in a sermon in St Andrew’s church, he challenged the congregation to support missionary work among the Tamil and Chinese communities and the local population in general. His appeal gave rise, shortly afterward, on 25 June of the same year, to the establishment of St Andrew’s Church Mission (SACM) (Gomes 1888: 2–5). This

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mission consolidated and complemented a few already-existing initiatives, including the Chinese Female Education Society, but Humphrey’s entreaty was that it was the duty of the congregation to start a mission of their own. St Andrew’s must, in spite of its limitations and conventional parish character, become a missionary congregation, especially for sections of society not yet reached. This was precisely what Bishop Spencer had been appealing for. SACM was launched partly in response to the loosening grip of the BEIC, but it was no immediate success, and it would be plagued by debts for some time (Loh Keng Aun 1963: 2–3). Humphrey began to raise subscriptions and donations for the purpose of engaging the services of a Chinese Christian to work as a catechist for the recently-arrived Chinese, and a Christian from Madras (Chennai) for the same duties among the recently-arrived Tamils. The Church Missionary Society (CMS) in London, of which Humphrey was an associate, was approached to ascertain the possibility of sending out a missionary to supervise these operations. This was not deemed to be possible for the foreseeable future, however, meaning that the catechists, if they could be found, would be faced with managing a large workload independently. In Penang, as Bishop Spencer previously noted, the church already did some outreach among the sizeable Chinese community, and there was a Chinese school, where both boys and girls of the community were taught the rudiments of Christianity and English. It was funded by private donations, and there were about eighty pupils at the time of Spencer’s visit. Regarding missionary outreach among adults, however, Spencer got the impression that little was being achieved in Penang among any of the ethnic groups (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 89). In Singapore, Rev. Thomas C. Smyth succeeded Humphrey as resident chaplain in 1858, the year in which the British government finally took control of the colonies away from the BEIC. There were by then three people working among the Chinese community of Singapore, and a healthy non-European congregation had been established, but the most successful mission continued to be the previous one, the Chinese Female Education Society, aimed at young Chinese women. Amidst all of this work was the ongoing construction of the church itself, to be finally completed in 1863. Smyth had neither the time nor the language skills to drive the missionary work forward, so in 1859 he wrote to Bishop Cotton of Calcutta, asking him to convince the SPG to do what the CMS apparently could not do, and send a missionary to devote his whole energies to

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SACM.  The SPG agreed, but it was not until 1862 that Rev. Edward S.  Venn arrived and began his work, which included opening a boys’ school of one hundred pupils and a smaller girls’ school. SACM would be officially affiliated to the SPG in 1863. A resident Seamen’s Mission chaplain, Rev. John C. Ince, was also in place in Singapore by that time (Straits Times 1863: 1). Rev. Alexander Dunbar Nicolson replaced Smyth as resident chaplain in May 1860 and began overseeing the preparations for inaugurating the new St Andrew’s cathedral. These included, in September 1861, appointing a new organist for a three-year term, brought specially from England, Mr. Edward R.  Terry. The previous organist was handed less than a month’s notice and a gratuity. Some of Nicolson’s meticulous letters are preserved within bound volumes; a miscellany latterly called the Church Record Books, held at the National Library of Singapore. In July 1864, an official meeting was called to discuss two matters relating to the organist, Mr. Terry, and Nicolson’s letters offer an example of the church’s approach to issues of moral conduct amongst expatriates, in an already cosmopolitan and permissive Singapore. The first matter was fairly trivial, regarding an unexplained absence, but the second matter concerned reports, including from church trustees, that Terry was living “an immoral life [with] a profligate woman.” Nicolson stated that these reports were practically infallible, and that in all likelihood the trustees would elect to remove Terry in order to avoid “constant scandal.” He implored Terry to come to him for guidance and abandon his “profligate life … which, if continued in, will ruin both your temporal and eternal prospects.” In perhaps not quite the response that Nicolson expected, Terry showed no fear for his eternal prospects, replying “I do not deny [the accusation] … in fact I confirm it, but does this interfere with my duties as an organist?” The trustees voted unanimously to dismiss him at once. Terry demanded that they pay him the remainder of his salary for the three-year contract and a ship’s passage to Shanghai or England, as he chose, reminding them that he had always fulfilled his duties. He had no luck. Terry also wanted to tune and service the organ one last time and thus leave it in a respectable state for his successor. Nicolson replied: “I must refuse your request and hereby forbid your touching the organ again.” A temporary organist was found, and Edward R.  Terry’s fate is not recorded (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 2, 1859–1870: unnumbered pages). A human challenge with less capacity to cause scandal than the “Terry affair” was the ever-present language barrier. There were many different

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Chinese dialects represented in the church, though Chinese speakers in Singapore were split into just two congregations, each with its own catechist, as well as Tamil and Malay groups each under their own catechist. The commitment of the Malay group was questioned, and their reasons for attending church, when they did, were considered a mystery. Ensuring good attendance from all of the local groups was difficult, Venn reported; he speculated optimistically that, on the positive side, if they were not physically present in church, they were perhaps out spreading the word amongst their respective communities. In 1866, after only five years, this optimistic missionary sadly died. For six years no successor to Venn could be found, and SACM languished. On the whole, however, this first phase of the mission surpassed expectations. Within the three decades since Singapore had been established as the chief city of the Straits Settlements and the major port in the East, missionaries had defied the bans and cast off the old prohibitions on doing missionary work among non-Christians, and they had provoked neither censure, nor rebuke, nor loss of trade as a result (Gomes 1888: 5–7).

The Extraordinary Challenge of Borneo The church’s fortunes in the Malay Peninsula would, perhaps incongruously, considering the geography, be forever tied to developments on the island of Borneo. This remarkable island is the third-largest in the world and the largest in Asia, sitting at the center of Maritime Southeast Asia. It is divided almost exactly in half by the equator, and it is home to one of the oldest rainforests in the world. Politically, modern-day Borneo is divided between Malaysia and Brunei on the northern coast and Indonesia; it is the only island in the world to be politically administered by three states at once. More than seventy percent of the island is Indonesian territory. The East Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah (previously North Borneo or British North Borneo) make up about twenty-six percent of the island. Labuan, belonging to Malaysia, is a small island just off the coast. Sarawak, Sabah, and Labuan are of particular relevance to the story of the church. British North Borneo (BNB) was first brought into the BEIC fold in the 1760s, though control was uncertain until later colonial expansion secured its flanks. The man who managed to take real control of the area for Britain, as well as handling the delicate colonial balance of material prosperity and spiritual enlightenment, was the previously mentioned James Brooke.

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Rajah Brooke, as he came to be known, was a soldier, adventurer, trader, and grandson of a Scottish aristocrat, Lord Blantyre; Brooke’s mother was the product of one of Blantyre’s love affairs. Brooke was a gentleman of independent means, in the parlance of the time. In 1835, aged thirty-two, he inherited thirty thousand pounds—a cool four million British pounds or five point six million US dollars in today’s figures— which allowed him to buy his own ship, Royalist. He had been fascinated by Borneo since passing by on a trip to China in 1830, and he saw the island’s potential for a great adventure (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 26). The outstanding beauty and fertility of the island contrasted with the reputed savagery and brutality of its pirates and headhunters. Brooke sailed to Borneo in 1838 aboard the Royalist, with a declared agenda of “adding to knowledge, increasing trade, and spreading Christianity;” it may have only come third in this list of priorities, but Brooke would be viewed as a modern-day St Paul for bringing the Gospel to Borneo (Thompson 1951: 204). In reality, Brooke had little interest in organized Christianity, but he was aware of the social benefits that a church presence could bring (Taylor 1983: 1–2). Between 1838 and 1842 Brooke devoted most of his time to assisting the Sultan of Brunei in fighting pirates and brigands, for which the Sultan awarded him the title of Rajah and gave him control of the territory of Sarawak. From that point on, Brooke began to insist that missionaries must be sent to Sarawak, to fulfill his third priority of introducing Christianity. At first, the main missionary societies, the SPG and the CMS, were too heavily committed elsewhere to invest greatly in Borneo, but the SPG did offer some remote support. The persuasive Brooke returned to England to plead for missionaries personally, and he established the Borneo Church Mission Institution (BCMI). In December 1847, the first two missionaries set sail for Borneo, accompanied by their wives and children. They were the thirty-year-old Rev. Dr. Francis Thomas McDougall, who was a surgeon, and Rev. William Bodham Wright, both arriving in the town of Kuching, Sarawak, in June 1848. At this time the small island of Labuan officially became a British colony (Mr. Brooke and Borneo 1847: 161). As the senior missionary, McDougall decided that the Wrights should occupy themselves with starting a school (McDougall 1848a: 5). This was no simple task, and the missionaries disagreed hugely on how to go about it. Most pointedly, Wright was determined to teach boys and girls side by side, while McDougall already understood that this would be culturally problematic (McDougall 1849: 21–22). The Wrights became

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disenchanted, and they resigned after only eight months (Taylor 1983: 10). McDougall was determined to keep the school going in some form, but he gradually lost faith in Christian education as a missionary tool, rather crudely describing it as “casting pearls before swine” when he was at his most despondent (McDougall 1851b [2]: 77; 1851c [3]: 80). The McDougalls themselves were soon fully occupied with medical work and a small orphanage (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 30). McDougall was in great demand as a surgeon, and this was to remain a huge part of his missionary work. It was felt that the wonders of modern medicine made a particularly strong impression upon the Malays, and that this might provide a gateway to future conversions (McDougall 1848b: 9). McDougall was determined not to be permanently confined to the hospital, however, and he began to explore the hinterland areas. This was safer than the coastal areas, where piracy was still a danger, and it allowed McDougall to acquire a good understanding of local culture. He began to formulate what was to become an enduring truth; while few conversions to Christianity would be achieved among the Malays, evangelism among the local indigenous groups, and the Chinese immigrants, would pay off greatly (Thompson 1951: 204). Accepting McDougall’s analysis of the situation, the church began to consolidate the Anglican presence in Sarawak. Construction began on the first church, with a lot of support from Rajah Brooke, and there was general surprise and relief when none of the locals made any attempt to impede it. This led to renewed optimism and bold assertions that “the conversion of the native tribes is mainly a matter of time” (Trevor 1849: 156). In 1851, Daniel Wilson, the industrious and proactive Bishop of Calcutta, personally made the trip to Borneo to consecrate the new St Thomas’s church. He brought more missionaries with him, including Rev. Walter Chambers, to staff the half-abandoned school and do further exploratory missionary work in the area (Taylor 1983: 17, 19). The episcopal visit was a powerful endorsement of McDougall’s accomplishments and of Brooke’s administration, providing an encouraging end to the first phase of the missionary adventure (Buckley 1902: 660–61).

Chapter Conclusion “How comforting it is to carry the Church with us wherever we go,” Bishop Spencer wrote, in what could be read as an unintentionally ironic appraisal of the “unholy alliance” between colonialism and Christianity

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(Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 89). Cultural domination relied in part on the successful establishment of Western religion, or at least the dissemination and normalization of its values. Well-meaning Anglican missionaries had to deal with persistent and mysterious local beliefs, hot competition from other denominations, hostility or indifference from the authorities, and half-heartedness from fellow Anglicans, all of which they would have to accept as long-term realities. The Anglican Church had a “special” responsibility to know its place in the colonial order, with missionary initiative subjugated to almighty commerce; it was not a happy relationship. Church leaders lamented being “surrounded by heathenism, against which the Church here is not free to wage open war,” and complained that “[the missionary] is continually meeting … with opposition” (Spencer no. 4, 1847b: 132). This was in addition to the ongoing challenges of language, environment, health, and the disturbing moral conduct of the population. Unpromising circumstances did produce some remarkable, arguably heroic and crusading characters, both within and outside of the clergy. The Roman Catholics were more confident and well-established in the region, but the Anglicans, even in the 1840s, struck people as more relaxed and approachable—“[of] simple dress and simple manners”—by comparison (Spencer no. 5, 1847c: 170). Francis Thomas McDougall in Borneo was an example of this. There can be little doubt that McDougall was an extraordinary character for a number of reasons; versatile (a priest and a surgeon), physically strong, a keen sailor, from a military family, and said to be of part-Armenian descent. He was confident, decisive, colorful in his choice of words, apparently, and informal in his choice of clothes; clearly no stereotypical nineteenth-century clergyman (Roxborogh 2014: 21–22). Considering the achievements of clergy like McDougall and Humphrey, and of administrators like Brooke and Raffles, it is clear that Christian progress in Southeast Asia favored those who were willing to break with conventions. It also suited people with a certain vision, who saw evangelizing and “civilizing” people, in the paternalistic wording of the time, as complementary. Medical missions and mission schools were intended to showcase the great benefits of European civilization and generate interest in the religion that had inspired that civilization. The actual introduction of Christianity was envisaged as being the culmination of the civilizing process, which began with socially useful projects (McDougall 1848a [1]: 4; 1848b [2]: 9). Despondency seemed to alternate with optimism, however, and many missionaries blamed the commercial and governing authorities’

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restrictions for smothering the early development of the local church. Others blamed the fact that Singapore and Malaya did not have a bishop of their own, while others regretted that the church could only develop in “political” stages, keeping strictly in step with stealthy British colonization. The BEIC’s restrictions were successfully defied, eventually, and missionary work began in earnest, but it was not a complete overturning of the rules. The official priorities still consisted of catering mainly for the British, followed by the locals, while respecting the Muslims (Loh Keng Aun 1963: 3–4, 5). Missionaries also had to accept the facts, still relevant two hundred years later, that evangelism among Muslims would be fruitless and unwelcome, and evangelism among other ethnic groups must accommodate the coexistence of previously held beliefs. Beyond strictly religious beliefs, every community had a range of customs affecting many aspects of life, from medicine to marriage, from infancy to interment, which Christianity was not about to supplant. Missionaries relied on their toolkit of education and medicine, but these were far from guaranteed to produce conversions, which led to further disillusionment. There were exceptions, of course; the first Chinese converts in Sarawak were patients at McDougall’s hospital (McDougall 1851a [1]: 83). The inclusion of religion on a political agenda, even when it is put in second or third place, tends to mean that the religion will be politicized (Roxborogh 2014: 98). In colonial settings, the reverse was also true; pioneers like Brooke and Raffles encouraged the perception that their ventures were imbued with evangelical qualities, so their political aims arguably became “religionized” as well. These men were not mere adventurers or fortune-hunters, according to the more generous interpretations, but apostles; their goal was to bring not subjugation but salvation. James Brooke—the “White Rajah”—was labeled “the apostle of civilization” (in contrast, it could be inferred, to the original, uncivilized apostles) and was eulogized as “humble … [a] pioneer [and] a Christian.” His hierarchy of priorities was unapologetically listed as empire-building, commerce, and religion, emphatically in that order, as if they were primordially joined. This “humble apostle” soon enjoyed “influence and power [and] undisputed authority,” though admittedly only by concession of the Sultan, initially. It is well known in fact that Brooke took a utilitarian view of the church’s presence, and he had no real interest in religion. Even his admirers admitted some ambiguity, describing Brooke as being “impelled by motives which to ordinary men would be unintelligible” (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 26). He was evidently no tyrant, however, and if

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his unbridled power did diminish his humility, and his Christian credentials were less than impeccable, he may still stand out as more humane than the average colonial governor. We are left with the question, then, of who actually takes the credit for bringing Anglican Christianity to what is today Malaysia; are Brooke and Raffles, McDougall and Humphrey, or the hierarchy of the church itself to be thanked? The establishment of colonial Christianity, like its cousin, capitalist commerce, would be widely regarded as having started as part of a private initiative, and not primarily the work of a missionary society, such as the SPG, or the institutional church, at all. And what kind of a Christian society resulted from all this initiative: liaisons between colonial staff, traders, immigrant laborers—who were all overwhelmingly male—and local women soon produced marginalized mixed ethnicity communities; the government, meanwhile, was busy seizing control of the rackets in pawn, opium, and other drugs, while officially tolerating outrageous gambling. This was all within a context of disparaging “uncivilized” local cultures, for the sake of replacing them with something supposedly better. Such was the apostolic civilization brought by colonialism.

References Bell, Daniel M., Jr. “State and Civil Society.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, 423–38. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Buckley, Charles Burton. An Anecdotal History of Old Times in Singapore [two volumes]. Singapore: Fraser and Neave Ltd. 1902. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. Evers, Georg. “‘On the Trail of Spices’: Christianity in Southeast Asia.” In The Oxford Handbook of Christianity in Asia. Edited by Felix Wilfred, 65–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Gillman, Ian and Hans-Joachim Klimkeit. Christians in Asia before 1500. Surrey: Curzon, 1999. Goh, Robbie B. H. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publications, 2005. Gomes, Edwin H. Seventeen Years Among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo. London: Seeley and Co. Ltd. 1911.

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Gomes, William H. An Account of Saint Andrew’s Church Mission from A. D. 1856 to A. D. 1887: Chiefly Compiled from the Records of its Proceedings kept in Saint Andrew’s Cathedral. Singapore: Singapore and Straits Printing Office, 1888. Hoskins, Janet Alison. “An Unjealous God? Christian Elements in a Vietnamese Syncretistic Religion.” Current Anthropology 55, no. S10 (2014): S302–S311. Keith, Charles. Catholic Vietnam: A Church from Empire to Nation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012. Koepping, Elizabeth. “Hunting with the Head: Borneo Villagers Negotiating Exclusivist Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 12, no. 1 (2006); Edinburgh University Press [59–78]. Loh Keng Aun. Fifty Years of the Anglican Church in Singapore Island, 1909–1959 (Singapore Studies on Borneo and Malaya Number Four). Singapore: The Department of History, University of Singapore, 1963. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to C. D. Brereton, 31 July 1848a [1], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 5. Oxford, Bodleian Libraries, SPG Papers Archive. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 1 August, 1848b [2], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 9. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 24 February, 1849, CLR 72, 21–22. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 24 February, 1851a [1], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 83. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 29 March 1851b [2], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 77. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 15 April 1851c [3], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 80. SPG Archives. Marks, John Ebenezer. Forty Years in Burma. Edited by W. C. B. Purser. London: Hutchinson, 1917. “Mission to the Island of Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 1. (July 1847) [26–34]. “Mr. Brooke and Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 5. (November 1847) [161–168]. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Owen, Norman G. (editor). The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia: A New History. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005. Pieris, Aloysius. “Political Theologies in Asia.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, 256–70. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Ponniah, Moses. “The Situation in Malaysia.” Transformation 17, no. 1: Suffering and Power in Christian-Muslim Relations: The Political Challenge of Islam Today and its Implications for the Church in Education and Mission (January 2000) Sage Publications, Inc. [31–34].

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Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. “St Andrew’s Church Mission.” The Straits Times. Singapore. 4 July 1863. [1] Singapore Church Record Book, volume one, 1838–1863. National Library Board, Singapore. Singapore Church Record Book. volume two, 1859–1870. Spencer, George John Trevor. n.d. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1. ———. no. 3 (September, 1847a) [88–96]. ———. no. 4 (October, 1847b) [131–139]. ———. no. 5 (November, 1847c) [168–172]. Stonton, Arthur W. The War and After: Borneo. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1947. Strong, Rowan. Anglicanism and the British Empire, c.1700–1850. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Swindell, Frank G. A Short History of St Andrew’s Church, Singapore. Singapore: Malaya Tribune Press Ltd. 1929. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Thompson, Henry Paget. Into All Lands: The History of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1701–1950. London: SPCK, 1951. Trevor, George (editor). The Parochial Missionary Magazine: Part One. London: G. Bell / J. Hatchard and Son, 1849. Wei-Fun Goh, Elaine, Kah-Jin Jeffrey Kuan, Jonathan Yun-Ka Tan, and Amos Wai-Ming Yong (editors). From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021.

CHAPTER 3

“In the Lands of Heathenism”: Conquests and Contradictions in Colonial Malaysian Mission

Francis Thomas McDougall distinguished himself as one of the mavericks who were ready to push back the boundaries of missionary work. His explorations into the hinterlands of Borneo brought him into contact with the Dayaks. Dayak, alternatively spelled Dyak, Dajak (archaic), or Dayuh, indicates the main indigenous ethnic groups of Borneo. Dayak is actually an umbrella-like term for more than two hundred river- and hill-dwelling ethnic subgroups, each with its own dialect, customs, laws, and territory, though there are some common traits. The origin of the term is uncertain; it may be traced either to a dialect word meaning “inland” or to another word meaning “man” (Gomes 1911: 33). The Dayak lifestyle was instantly intriguing to European missionaries; Dayak communities lived in one very large shared dwelling space made of bamboo and rattan, with partitioned-­ off sections for family units and a common area for widowers and unmarried males. The dwelling was raised high above ground level, and was accessible via an ingenious tree-notch ladder; there was a second floor for storing tools, equipment, and weapons. The main living space was decorated—to the missionaries’ understandable horror—with the skulls of long-deceased enemies and intruders. The missionaries found much to admire about the Dayaks’ value system, however; monogamy was standard, they observed a rigorous moral code, and there were no caste distinctions. Their religious beliefs were apparently hard to identify at first and did not seem to be very zealously held, though altars and sacred relics were considered important features of the village. Their religion was © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_3

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broadly categorized as spirit worship, though conversions to Islam were increasing, alongside growing exposure to Christianity (Mr. Brooke and Borneo 1847: 161–68). Islam had arrived in peninsular Malaysia first, during the thirteenth century, brought by traders from the Muslim port kingdom of Pasai (Aceh in modern-day Indonesia) and then by Indian Gujarati missionaries, who introduced the Sufi form. Islam became firmly established in Melaka after the sultanate’s first ruler, Parameswara, embraced the religion in 1414, adopting the name Megat Iskandar Shah. In 1445, Muzaffar Shah became sultan and declared Islam to be the official religion. Under the patronage of successive sultans, Islam spread throughout the Peninsula and then Borneo (Winstedt 1962: 18, 24, 28). Early European missionaries generally concluded that religion was going to be an insurmountable barrier in relations with the Malays. Islam shaped their disposition and temper, the missionaries felt, compelling them to seek to persuade others of their religion’s truth. Malays in Borneo were said to display effortless confidence, in keeping with their higher social status and commercial success; these were presented as being proof of the superiority and divine nature of Islam, the missionaries perceived, rather than deriving from the power and influence of the sultan, and enjoyed by proxy. Despite all this, McDougall felt that there was enough common ground with the Malays to justify subtle, stealthy evangelization, consisting of tactfully catechizing the children under their care and cautiously challenging the adults’ beliefs (McDougall 1849a: 31–32). He managed to produce not only a service book in Malay but also a Malay translation of the children’s catechism, but ultimately their usefulness was limited to school settings (Trevor 1849: 158). Significant Malay evangelization began to seem unlikely. The mere presence of Christians, with their modest achievements, appeared to provoke a Muslim revival, stoking fears of renewed Muslim missionary expeditions among the Dayaks (McDougall 1850: 58). This was a particular concern because the Dayaks were emerging as the main focus of Anglican missionary attention. This was in keeping with the original Christianizing vision of Rajah Brooke, who had sworn to respect the culture and religion of Sarawak’s people, which meant the Malays, not the Dayaks (BaringGould and Bampfylde 1909: 85). To the missionaries, therefore, Rajah Brooke was bound to advise caution, discretion, and sensitivity in dealing with the Malays. Missionaries may have perceived an insurmountable wall separating themselves and the Muslims, but the peoples of Borneo went

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on living side by side with their various religions. Giving each other space and mutual respect generally prevented discord, while their respective rituals and customs governing marriage, life, and death became mutually well-known and unintrusive (Koepping 2006: 60). The courtesy and generosity of the Malays often surprised outsiders who had been warned to expect brigandry and beheadings. Greater social and commercial interaction with Europeans was thought to have softened many Malays’ outward religious zeal, though their core convictions remained unshakeable (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 26–34). On his tour of inspection in the Straits Settlements in 1846, Bishop Spencer of Madras (Chennai) viewed the “louring, sulky, dangerous” Malays with profound disdain, though he considered them “less actively vicious” than the Chinese. He noted the presence, even among Anglican converts, of a few mixed Chinese-Malay families; Chinese men outnumbered Chinese women by about forty to one, and unions with Malay women became quite common (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 92; no. 4, 1847b: 132). Despite being frequently filtered through a variety of prejudices, frontline missionaries’ knowledge of local populations at least continued to grow. The Dayaks were soon identified as two separate groups—Land Dayaks and Sea Dayaks (also called Ibans)—and while their reputations for headhunting (on land) and piracy (at sea) inspired fear and caution, missionary intervention appeared welcome. A custom was adopted of identifying a community’s ethnicity by their association with a particular tributary, river, or river-mouth—Krian, Saribas, Skrang, etc.—according to where they had settled. The perceived threat of violence may have diminished, but challenges remained, including language; the two main Dayak groups were divided by different languages, and each group was further subdivided by many dialects. Missionaries also faced the linguistic challenge of the Chinese immigrants—some transient, some settlers, many employed in the gold and diamond mines—who also spoke many different dialects (Thompson 1951: 394). Bishop Spencer dismissed the Chinese as “a very profligate race” with predilections for opium, gambling, and vice (Spencer no. 4, 1847b: 131). McDougall also expressed a low regard, initially, for the Chinese—he fenced off his mission compound “to protect it from wild pigs and chinamen [sic]” (McDougall 1849b [2]: 46)—but he soon changed his mind, seeing the Chinese as having similar potential to the Dayaks. McDougall’s main problem was lack of time, being in high demand amidst myriad public health crises, including frequent outbreaks of cholera. He believed wholeheartedly in the value of medical missionary

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work, and although he was not strictly the only healthcare practitioner in town, he was the only Western doctor (McDougall 1848: 9). The McDougalls personally suffered serious bouts of malaria, and the humidity brought on the doctor’s rheumatism. Health issues caused many missionaries to quit, but the reason was not always as obvious as malaria. One new arrival quit, without explanation, before their ship had even docked, and another hurriedly resigned, sadly, after a suicide attempt (Taylor 1998: 463).

Pains, Perils, and Personalities of Missionary Work Anglicans were the first among the denominations to establish a lasting, organized missionary presence in Borneo, and it continued to be regarded as ripe mission territory, for those who could accept a complex challenge. Besides health hazards, traveling to and around the region by sea was fraught with danger; the threat of piracy had been largely neutralized, but there was still every chance of being shipwrecked (Trevor 1849: 156, 157). New missionaries did arrive, mainly thanks to the McDougalls’ efforts, including a Chinese-speaking priest who was transferred from Hong Kong. The endorsement of Bishop Wilson of Calcutta and Rajah Brooke counted for a lot, and the SPG steadily increased its financial support, soon to be matched by the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge (SPCK). Brooke was instrumental in pushing for McDougall to be made bishop, but the McDougalls were desperately in need of a break by 1852; they had been repeatedly ill with malaria, and Francis’s incurable rheumatism left him limping. Immeasurably more distressing was the fact that they had lost five children during their first six years in Borneo; four died shortly after birth in Borneo, and the fifth died of diphtheria in Singapore, when the McDougalls were finally heading home to England on furlough (Taylor 1998: 463). The evidently selfless McDougalls spent their time in England speaking and writing, to raise awareness, funds, and support for Borneo (Thompson 1951: 395). Appointing a bishop for the church in Borneo raised manifold legal questions, but eventually the British crown approved the creation of the episcopal see of the island of Labuan, which was the only officially British territory there. The Archbishop of Canterbury was authorized to empower Bishop Wilson and his suffragans to consecrate McDougall in India, while he was en route back to Borneo; it was the first Church of England consecration to take place outside of the British Isles. 1855 saw the McDougalls

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arrive back in Kuching, Sarawak, with further reinforcements, and crucially with Francis now bishop of Labuan (Brooke added the appointment of “and Sarawak” to the new bishop’s title). As before, some of the reinforcements soon quit or were medically unable to stay, while others would remain for decades. Labuan, the diocesan see (in name at least) saw construction begin on its new church. The number of European settlers increased, as did opportunities to minister amongst the Chinese goldfield workers, which all helped to create a more promising outlook (Thompson 1951: 396). In 1857, Chinese workers unexpectedly broke out in a violent insurrection, in protest against their conditions and treatment. Their targets were Rajah Brooke and the civil authorities in general, but not the bishop and missionaries; while houses and offices burned, church buildings initially remained intact. The Chinese workers asked McDougall for help tending to their wounded, which he agreed to do, while he also attempted to mediate, initially successfully, in the dispute. Events took a downward turn when the Chinese decided that McDougall had in reality been trying to stall and distract them, and he lost their trust. The insurrectionists turned against the church. McDougall managed to get his family and other civilians to relative safety, while their houses and buildings were looted and destroyed. A number of Christians among the Chinese were killed, and others were forced to flee for their lives. A well-armed commercial steamship was called upon to use its guns to scatter the mob, which ended the riot and allowed the McDougalls to make their way back to shattered Kuching. These events left McDougall deeply pessimistic. Combined with uprisings in other parts of Asia, not least the so-called Indian Mutiny, McDougall perceived a generalized surge in anti-Christian violence, inspired, he believed, by the devil himself (McDougall 1857: 137). Fortunately, the insurrection did not reverse the trend of positive Chinese contributions in the life of the church. One of the first orphans cared for by Harriette McDougall was a boy called Chung Ah Luk, who was later employed as Bishop McDougall’s boat boy. In 1858, Chung sailed the bishop to Quop, to establish a mission there. Chung remained at Quop as a catechist for twenty years, no less, then for twenty-six further years as a deacon, and, incredibly, for twenty more years as a priest. Quop was Land Dayak territory, with pockets of Malay speakers; Chung mastered both languages to such a degree that he actually forgot his own native Chinese dialect. He was instrumental in developing written forms for the Land

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Dayak language and translating St Matthew’s Gospel into it (Thompson 1951: 396–97, 400). Following the traumatic Chinese insurrection, there was unrest among the Dayaks the following year, and widespread suspicions of an impending Malay revolt (McDougall 1858: 168). The number of missionaries increased, apparently defying this climate of uncertainty, only to drop yet again due to safety concerns and health issues. The early 1860s saw steady growth in the number of indigenous and Chinese Christians, and predictably no change at all in the Malay situation. In 1861, Rev. Walter Chambers was running a mission station in Banting, near Lingga, with Rev. William Ransome Mesney as his assistant (Varney 2010: 3). From there, they reached out to the Krian area community, who were once notorious as pirates. The first and somewhat unexpected future catechist among the Sea Dayaks (Ibans) was encountered there; a man called Buda, who was the son of the local chief. Buda appeared unannounced at a children’s catechism class one day, and felt drawn to Christianity; he returned later, bringing his wife, sister, and other relatives. After due instruction, Buda was baptized and enrolled as a probationer catechist in 1865 (Gomes 1911: 14–19). He was active and industrious, bringing the bishop to visit the Saribas river area, where Buda had prepared one hundred and eighty candidates for baptism. In 1875, Buda became ill, ceased working as a catechist, and eventually resumed his pre-baptism customs and beliefs. He died shortly afterward, while his brother, Unting, whom he had converted, was by then also a catechist in the Saribas area. Two more of Buda’s relatives, a certain Belabut and his wife, also became catechists, though Belabut, after some initial success, seems to have distanced himself from the church (Varney 2010: 5–6, 7). Overall, progress seemed to justify the decision to create the bishopric of Labuan. In 1862, however, McDougall was criticized back home in England, after he and Charles Brooke (Rajah Brooke’s nephew and heir apparent) had engaged in combat with a fleet of pirate ships. They were en route, by ship, to inspect the site of a new fort, when they were forced to confront hostiles, they explained. The bishop responded that he had not actually fought anyone, and had merely taken care of the wounded. Archbishop Archibald Campbell Tait of Canterbury later defended McDougall, but the bishop resented the fact that his motives had been questioned, as did Brooke. Their supporters celebrated the incident as an example of the “Church Militant” in action (Buckley 1902: 661). Once this controversy had passed, McDougall defiantly held the first synod of

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“The Church in Borneo”—an unmistakable gesture of autonomy—in 1864 (Roxborogh 2014: 3). This was a period of advancement for the church and decline for McDougall personally; heart trouble added to his sporadic malaria, and in 1868 he resigned. Rajah Brooke died a few months after that, and his nephew Charles duly became the second Rajah. The McDougalls had given twenty years of hard work and largely untold sacrifice, in order to plant the church in new and difficult soil. They both died in 1886, six months apart.

Regional Reorganization, Missionary Reorientation, and More Linguistic Challenges Since the late 1850s, when the Straits Settlements were taken over by the Colonial Office in London, there had been talk of assigning the old BEIC chaplaincies (Singapore, Melaka, Province Wellesley, and Penang) to the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Diocese of Labuan and Sarawak. In 1869, this proposal passed into law, and the old limitations imposed by the BEIC passed definitively into history (Thompson 1951: 398–400). St Andrew’s Church in Singapore, which had finally been completed in 1863, became Bishop Chambers’ cathedral. Walter Chambers (1824–1893) was by then an experienced missionary who had mastered several local languages in Borneo, making him an unsurprising choice for bishop (Taylor 1983: 83). On his way to formally take up his post in Labuan in 1870, the newly consecrated bishop paused in Singapore, to make arrangements for managing the now quite unwieldy jurisdiction. Borneo would claim the largest share of the bishop’s attention, but his presence was needed everywhere, as health and personal problems continued to cut missionary careers short; this would eventually be Chambers’ own fate as well. Some missionaries, by contrast, enjoyed careers of remarkable longevity, such as the Swiss-born Johann Ludwig Zehnder (Anglicized to John Louis, or John Lewis) to whom Chambers entrusted the mission at Lundu, where he worked for thirty-two years. Zehnder, originally a Lutheran, had a genius for languages—including English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Latin, Sanskrit, and Welsh, as well as being in the process of learning Chinese and Malay—that enabled him to master the local dialects and reach out to many villages (Taylor 1983: 64). Quop remained under the similarly gifted leadership of Rev. Chung. Bishop Chambers’ own former mission station, Banting, was still in the hands of Mesney. The

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catechist Buda’s Krian area community came under the separate leadership of Rev. John Perham, who remained there for twelve years. With considerable vision, Chambers wanted to improve and expand the formal training of future catechists and clergy, but the continuing plague of ill health among the clergy, and Chambers’ own full schedule, made this unrealistic. Chambers now had to spend large portions of each year in the Straits Settlements (Thompson 1951: 398, 400, 401). In 1871, Rev. William Henry Gomes arrived at St Andrew’s in Singapore, to revive the missions that the late Rev. Edward Venn had started. Gomes, a Ceylonese Eurasian of Portuguese descent and a highly skilled linguist and translator, had been working in Borneo since 1852. His most urgent task was to build up the team of catechists, which had shrunk down to one, for which he launched a training program. He then set about enlarging the school, building a chapel for it, and opening a hostel for boys of many ethnicities who attended government schools in Singapore. A rubber planter who had recently converted to Christianity built another chapel, at his own expense, and asked Gomes to take charge of it; this became St John’s Church. Gomes faced the linguistic challenges head-on, translating texts into Malay and Hokkien (Chinese), eventually leading to the publication of the Hokkien Prayer Book in 1901. The church’s non-English-language audience consisted of mixed Eurasians, Straits-born ethnic Chinese who spoke Malay, more recent immigrants from China who spoke only their own dialect, and Indians, who mostly, but not all, spoke Tamil. In response to this demographic breakdown, efforts were focused on providing three sets of services: in Malay, Tamil, and Chinese (Gomes 1888: 11). But how sound was the thinking behind these “Chinese” services? The so-called Chinese-language congregations were in fact made up of speakers of many different dialects. Many Chinese immigrants at that time hailed from Xiamen and Shantou, but the linguistic collective included Cantonese, Fuzhou, Hailam (Hylam), Hinghwa, Hockchia, Hokkien, Kheh (Kay), Shanghai, Teochiu (Tehchew) and others (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 39, 45). One attempted solution was to have the sermon in Hokkien, while a congregant simultaneously translated into Cantonese, so that at least two of the most widely understood languages were covered. Ironically, Gomes pointed out, this would not be an issue in China itself, as missionaries there always worked with one single-language community (St Andrew’s Cathedral Report 1876: 26). Another dilemma was whether to have one (very busy) Chinese catechist who could communicate in

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several Chinese dialects, or to employ several part-time catechists who could each speak one dialect perfectly; this matter was moot to a degree, as it was very difficult to find the right candidates. There was no ideal solution, and the situation was compounded by the fact that the population was in flux; congregants were constantly coming and going, moving around the country in search of work (Gomes 1888: 20–21, 22). It was often a question of compromise; in Borneo, where Gomes’ son Edwin (1862–1944) would soon be continuing his father’s work, Dayak congregations from multiple ethnic subgroups, without a shared language, generally used Malay as a lingua franca (Taylor 1983: 87). The church throughout the Straits Settlements reoriented itself toward proactive missionary work. In Melaka, the SPG supported a new multiethnic school and provided a catechist for a new Chinese mission, to be guided by the new chaplain, Rev. George Frederick Hose, later archdeacon of Singapore. In 1871, work amongst the Tamil community at St George’s in Penang was given a boost with the arrival of Tamil catechist and schoolteacher Royapen Balavendrum, who began founding Anglo-­ Tamil schools. Balavendrum was ordained in 1877, with the SPG providing his stipend, and he became instrumental in the development of Tamil ministry in the Malay states of Perak, Selangor, and Negri Sembilan (Roxborogh 2014: 38). St George’s in Penang was home to English, Chinese, and Tamil congregations, but the Tamil congregation eventually needed a chapel of its own, which was duly built close to the church (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 37). The Chinese mission there also began to expand during the 1870s (Thompson 1951: 404). In 1878, the SPG sent a new priest to Province Wellesley, an unimposing strip of coast opposite Penang, the least famous of the Straits Settlements. The bishop had plans for an ecumenical mission school there. The man sent was Rev. Harry McDougal (or McDougall) Courtney, apparently a nephew of Bishop McDougall. Based at St Mark’s Church in Bukit Tengah, Courtney was the very model of an overworked chaplain-missionary, tasked with visiting scattered British rubber planters, holding services at their houses, teaching their local staff and immigrant workers, all in addition to ministering to the urban communities and directing the bishop’s new Mission Institution. Courtney was greatly helped by Rev. Balavendrum of Penang (Orsler 1957: 1–6). Courtney’s large workload is explained by the fact that he was one of the first examples of a “hybrid” chaplain-missionary. It was the SPG’s view that when chaplains were officially appointed for the British community,

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the government should provide for their needs, supplemented with donations from the expatriate congregation. This would allow SPG resources to be devoted to strictly missionary work, now that this was expanding everywhere. However, in the Straits Settlements, and what later became the Federated Malay States, the situation was unusual; British people were relatively few, and government grants for chaplains were small, making the support of a chaplain often untenable. In response, the SPG developed a practice of appointing priests as joint chaplain and missionary. The SPG would provide one-third of the priest’s stipend, and government funds and public contributions would make up the other two-thirds. Both aspects of the hybrid chaplain-missionary’s work—the government chaplaincy, aimed at expatriates, and missionary work, aimed at everyone else— were thus provided for, even if numbers of priests were actually still too small. These adaptations, both in the government’s way of working and in the policies of the SPG, are indicative of how evolving needs demanded flexibility and creativity from institutions. It had taken several decades, but models of missionary work were finally emerging that were better suited to the geographical, political, and demographical reality of Malaysia.

The Treaty of Pangkor British involvement in the region was intensifying in all sectors, and the basis upon which Britain engaged with the states of the Malay Peninsula had been transformed since the demise of the BEIC. The British government now acted directly in Malay affairs, and this was soon to be regulated by the Treaty of Pangkor. Pangkor would go down as a major landmark agreement, to which historians would return again and again when trying to understand the genesis of modern Malaysia and the interrelationships of rulers, residents, and religions. The Pangkor Treaty was signed between Great Britain and the sultan of Perak on 20 January 1874, aboard HMS Pluto, which was anchored off the coast of Perak state. From the Anglican, Christian point of view, the treaty is mostly remembered for regulating the relationship between the church and the Muslim Malay rulers, and by extension between Christianity and Islam. Its main purpose, however, was to establish the extent of and orderly conditions for British control of the Malay states, paving the way for what would be called British Malaya. By the early 1870s, disputes and conflicts around trade—particularly the tin trade—had created a crisis of authority and order in the Malay states. With lucrative commercial activity increasing and an ever-growing

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number of stakeholders, state rulers, British authorities, businesspeople, Chinese labor leaders, traders, and speculators all vied to assert their influence. The struggle had descended into intensely violent unrest, exemplified by the four so-called Larut wars, which took their name from a district in Perak, the major tin-mining state. These were initially fought between two powerful Chinese tin-mining gangs, formed as secret societies, namely the Ghee Hin, whose members were of Cantonese Hokkien ethnicity, and the Hai San, who were Hakka. What started as a mining dispute escalated to such a degree that by the time of the third Larut war thousands of mercenaries were imported to fight, and when other forces sought to intervene, the violence just spiraled. The sultan of Perak finally resolved to halt the conflict, and he appealed to the British for intervention, clarification, and regulation. The British saw this as an opportunity to extend their influence and increase their commercial prowess, but justifying it would take some cunning; the language of negotiation and agreement would have to carefully emphasize, above all, the rights and privileges being secured for and conceded to the sultan, not those being grabbed by the British. They pulled off a coup of legalese and clever wording, and the resulting document would form the blueprint for future agreements with other sultans as well. Scholars and commentators would be encouraged to stress the state of anarchy that existed in Perak before Pangkor, in contrast to the restoration of law and order that came afterward, with the credit going to the British (Khoo Kay Kim 1974: 1, 4). Pangkor was the godsend that the British had been praying for, and it did also benefit the Malay states, by restoring order, regulating industries, and safeguarding the economy. Interreligious relations, however, so critical in Malaysian society, were treated less as a priority and more like a bargaining chip. In the time-honored way, nothing—religion included— took precedence over doing business. The British did seek to underline the moral righteousness of Pangkor, however; echoing the great debates of the nineteenth century, they framed the agreement in terms of banishing the specter of slavery and liberating the masses from the oppression of economic uncertainty (Khoo Kay Kim 1974: 4). From the Anglican, Christian perspective, the treaty was another sad demonstration of the British sacrificing spiritual progress on the altar of trade, in the truest spirit of the old BEIC. In substance, it was seen as a pledge of non-interference in local religious affairs, though it did at least ensure that unobtrusive and inconspicuous Christian worship would be tolerated, particularly among expatriates. The status of Muslim Malay state rulers, though their powers

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were somewhat reined-in as far as commerce and administration were concerned, was affirmed in spiritual and temporal matters. This status would be reaffirmed again and again over time, and the well-established Pangkor principle has informed religious affairs ever since. The fundamental “poles” of religious influence in today’s Malaysia, therefore, were already in place a long time ago (Ponniah 2000: 31). Christian authors continue to characterize Pangkor as a trade-off that prompted other sultans to concede entrepreneurial license—plundering power—to the British; in return, the sultans received cast-iron official recognition of their spiritual, moral, and cultural primacy (Roxborogh 2014: 2, 30). The Pangkor principle sat well with post-Enlightenment European tendencies to isolate religion from the “real” business at hand. The British failed to see the treaty from an Asian philosophical perspective, which recognizes that religious matters pervade all other matters, and spiritual powers pervade all other powers. For the British, the main objective—formalizing their takeover of the Malay states—had been achieved, while the treaty’s cursory handling of religion was exposed as a fudge. Religious matters were certainly addressed, but with so many ambiguities that all sides were left longing for greater clarity. It was pointed out, for example, that although Malay rulers were given control of all matters relating to Islam, there was nothing in the treaty’s provisions that expressly restricted the work of Christian missionaries (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 11–12). “Matters relating to Islam” is obviously wide open to interpretation, as is the absence of restrictions on Christian activity; the line separating Christian mission from encroachment upon Islam was not defined. Such definitions would be left to future generations to wrestle with. Following the successful precedent of Pangkor, the British were eager to formalize their involvement in the other Malay states of Negri Sembilan, Selangor, and Pahang. These, along with Perak, were given the designation Federated Malay States in 1896. Pangkor was the prelude to all of these moves, which vastly expanded British territory. It was viewed as the first significant step toward unification, providing a rough preview, for the first time, of a modern, federal, united states of Malaysia. For this reason, the Pangkor Treaty would be revisited, scrutinized, and debated with vigor during the upheavals of the 1960s and the consolidation phase of modern Malaysia (Khoo Kay Kim 1974: 1, 4, 8). It is thought that the churches did not immediately realize that the Pangkor model of relations was to become the norm throughout British Malaya, far beyond the specified state (Roxborogh 2014: 30); they surely could not have imagined that it would shape and impact Christian-Muslim relations right up to the present day.

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Adapting to the New Reality After Pangkor Bishop Chambers, though not universally loved, led an intense and committed missionary life in Borneo and Malaya for thirty years, including ten years as bishop, and it took a heavy toll on his health. His resignation, in 1879, due to illness and exhaustion, came unexpectedly, and there was no obvious successor (Taylor 1983: 102–103; Thompson 1951: 401). Chambers was finally succeeded, in 1881, by the until-then archdeacon of Singapore and head of SACM, George Frederick Hose (1838–1922) (St Andrew’s Church Mission 1881: 3). The name of the diocese was altered— at long last—to include Singapore, though Singapore was not yet an official see, and would be referred to as the Diocese of Singapore, Labuan, and Sarawak. Hose was very experienced with both the Chinese and Tamil missions, as well as being a respected botanist and an accomplished linguist. Language was therefore less of a struggle for Hose than for some; he was one of the foremost Malay scholars of his time, and he translated the prayer book into Malay. Circumstances did not allow him to devote much energy toward improving relations with the Malays, but the Malay language was a useful lingua franca. Hose resolved to divide his time between Borneo and the Straits Settlements, much as Chambers had attempted to do, but it was still too much. Neither part of the vast diocese, it was felt, made as much progress as would have been possible under two separate bishops. Much of the strain was borne by the ordinary—or rather extraordinary—clergy, whose careers often spanned several decades, such as Balavendrum in Penang, who served for thirty-three years before retiring. The missions based at St Andrew’s in Singapore continued to grow under Gomes, who was assisted by a Tamil priest. Gomes died in 1902, and his successor, Rev. Richard Richards, would remain in his post for an impressive thirty-two years. In the state of Perak, part of the Federated Malay States, Rev. Arthur Markham had begun working at Taiping in 1884. He built a church, which was consecrated as All Saints in 1887, and started a Tamil mission, with Abraham Gnanamani as a catechist. Gnanamani was ordained deacon in 1896 and priest in 1900, serving until 1907 (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 6, 1884–1901: 139–41, 277, 340–42). In the Federated Malay State of Selangor, in the city of Kuala Lumpur, the original St Mary’s Church was built for the British community in 1887, one-third of the cost being met by the colonial government, and the rest coming from the SPCK and voluntary contributions (Singapore Church Record Book

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Vol. 6, 1884–1901: 115). 1890 saw the arrival of Rev. Francis W. Haines as the SPG’s chaplain-missionary in Kuala Lumpur. The present church was built in 1895, and over the subsequent two decades, churches would be built in the Klang, Kuala Kubu Lama, and Kajang urban districts of Kuala Lumpur. Haines expanded the missionary work amongst the Chinese and Tamil communities, for the latter of which Rev. Robert V.  Vethavanam, initially a catechist, was ordained in 1900, alongside Gnanamani of Taiping, mentioned above. Work amongst the Tamil community particularly increased, including developments in the area of Tamil liturgy and music. The other Federated Malay State, Negri Sembilan, was opening up gradually, thanks to improvements in infrastructure, especially the railway. The growing urban center of Seremban gained its first temporary church—St Mark’s—in 1893, which was then replaced by a new, permanent building, consecrated in 1903. St Mark’s combined work among the growing expatriate community and missions to the Tamil workers. Later on, St Christopher’s Church in Johor Bahru would become the first Anglican Church in an “Unfederated” Malay State, Johor, in 1918 (Roxborogh 2014: 43, 45–46). Though it was not strictly part of the diocese, Bangkok became a new missionary outpost of Singapore, named St Mary’s mission. By 1893, the British community there had grown big enough to ask for a chaplain, who arrived in the form of veteran chaplain-missionary Canon William Greenstock, who had already retired from long service in South Africa. Bangkok and all of Siam (now Thailand) are still overseen from Singapore by the modern Church of the Province of South East Asia. Uniquely among the countries of Southeast Asia, Thailand was never a colony, and predictably it has historically had the lowest proportion of Christians in the region (Goh 2005: 13). Even so, certain Western practices were adopted, such as Sunday being the day of rest, in order to remain in commercial and social harmony with the bordering Christian-ruled colonies. It became a welcoming destination for European expatriates, and was already very diverse by the 1890s. There were Protestants of all kinds, including Anglicans, with American, Indian, Eurasian, as well as British worshippers among them. Greenstock ministered to them all and trekked to wherever he could find them, whether they were managers employed in the teak forests of the remote north, or engineers working at the farthest southwestern reaches of the railway. In 1902, the SPG earmarked money from its bicentenary fund, in the hope that missionary work could be expanded in Siam, but it came to nothing. It was not for want of trying; in 1903,

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Greenstock resigned from the chaplaincy component of his work in order to devote all of his time to missionary work. Even when he was knocked down by a tram, aged seventy-seven, he would not give up; “I have no desire to return to England,” he declared. He died in 1912, still “in the saddle” as he had wished, at the age of eighty-two. Such examples of the diocese’s growing reach, in terms of distance as well as complexity of the workload, reinforced the idea that the church in the Malay Peninsula needed its own full-time bishop (Thompson 1951: 405–406).

Borneo Under Bishop Hose The first really big development under Bishop Hose was the expansion into North Borneo, the modern-day state of Sabah. It was ceded by charter to the British North Borneo Company (BNBC) in 1881, and the following year the long process of establishing a lasting church presence in the town of Sandakan began. There was a significant influx of Hakka Chinese Christian immigrants at that time; many of them hoped for jobs with the BNBC, and large numbers ended up working on plantations made available by the new administration (Mat Zin Bin Mat Kib 2004: 61). The SPG assigned a Chinese catechist to work with the new arrivals, but it would be several years before a priest could be provided, in the person of Rev. William Henry Elton. Fundraising began for the construction of a church, helped by a prominent member of the SPG, Rev. Brymer Belcher, who also happened to be a shareholder in the BNBC. It was not until St Michael’s Day of 1893, however, that the governor was finally able to lay the foundation stone, upon which, under Elton’s personal supervision, the only stone church in Borneo was erected. On Easter Day, 1898, St Michael’s Church would be dedicated, though the chancel, parsonage, and schools for boys and girls were yet to be completed (Thompson 1951: 401–402). The town of Kudat, where a number of the Chinese Christians lived, also acquired a mission, church, and pastor. With a lot of staffing changes, work in Sarawak also progressed. Rev. William Howell, who was a local, half-Welsh and half-Malay, began what was to become almost an entire life’s work in Sabu, and Rev. Charles W. Fowler took charge of Quop, alongside Rev. Chung. Hose organized a Sea Dayak (Iban) conference in 1893. A tribe with an old reputation for being notorious headhunters, the Skrang-area tribe, approached to ask for Christian instruction, and Rev. Frederick William Leggatt opened a new mission station amongst them. Prior to this, while Leggatt was working in

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the Krian area, the estranged catechist Belabut reappeared after some twenty years, asking for medicine. In the interim, he had been embroiled in an adultery scandal; his chapel had literally collapsed, and he had not worked as a catechist for several years, he explained. The first Sea Dayak (Iban) who would eventually be ordained, Thomas Buda, also emerged at this time. Buda was a Sebuyau Dayak from Merdang, near Kuching (he was not related to the previously mentioned catechist, also named Buda). Thomas Buda was educated at St Thomas’s school in Kuching, and upon leaving school in 1898, Bishop Hose sent him to work as a teacher in his native village. He also took services in the chapel, and just two years later he was made chief catechist in charge of the district (Varney 2010: 6–7, 9–10). Bishop Hose also turned his attention to the Murut ethnic group. They were regarded as a primitive tribe, living shyly in the jungles inland from Sandakan; their customs and language were completely different from the Dayaks (Gomes 1911: 34). Hose urged the SPG to support a mission amongst them, offering to go lead the work personally, as long as someone could take his place in Sandakan. For such a remote mission, however, the SPG insisted that two missionaries must go together, and in 1896, Rev. Frederick Perry and Rev. Henry John “Harry” Edney went out to Keningau. They opened a school and began learning the local language, but Edney became ill and had to be pulled out. Perry carried on alone for a while, but it was too much, and this promising mission came to a sudden end. Meanwhile, Rev. Elton and his wife persevered in Sandakan, taking no vacation, establishing a firm, lasting presence for the church. Hose’s later years, unhappily, saw the work in Borneo lose ground again, while the church in the Straits Settlements, Malay States (Federated and Unfederated) and Siam, (Thailand) was also overworked and thinly staffed. Borneo’s older missionaries were starting to retire, and new ones were hard to find; Borneo was no longer seen as a land of romance, swashbuckling, and adventure. Mesney, now archdeacon, became ill, and the work around Kuching suffered accordingly. He retired in 1897, and Rev. Arthur Frederick Sharp took over; he managed to keep the flagging missions afloat. Rev. John Perham, also of the Krian-area mission, left Borneo to become Archdeacon of Singapore. Most projects had been designed to depend upon European clergy supervision, and as the staff slowly depleted, missions tended to collapse. By 1900, the bishop bewailed the shortage of missionaries, and the SPG agreed that never in its history had there been “such a dearth of

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clergymen offering themselves for missionary work” (Thompson 1951: 402). It did not help, possibly, that Hose was quite demanding in his selection criteria for the ideal missionary. He listed, as a minimum, the following qualifications, in this order: ardent faith, physical fitness, theological learning, and useful practical skills of some kind; the candidate should preferably be an abstainer, he added, and he should have “[the] character and manners of a gentleman.” It is necessary to point out that the term “gentleman” conveyed a much narrower meaning, in 1900 British parlance, compared to today; it meant, unequivocally, high social class by birth and upbringing, rather than simply having nice habits or being refined and courteous. Hose stipulated that the potential missionary should have “the character and manners” of a gentleman, rather than actually “being” a gentleman by breeding, but he was clearly not about to accept working-­class or lower-middle-class fakers just because Borneo was desperate; “People in England think that a man taken from the lower ranks, and not much raised by his education above his original level, may be useful in a place like Borneo though he would not be [useful] elsewhere. This is a mistake. … It is only a very exceptional man whom distinct social inferiority will not deprive of influence.” The expatriates would quickly see through a missionary from the “wrong” social class, according to Hose, and the locals would not be fooled either; “the Dayaks have had much to do with English gentlemen and they instantly observe and resent any lack of good manners” he warned (Hose quoted in Taylor 1983: unnumbered pages). Hose’s closing years as bishop were devoted to preparations for finally dividing the diocese into two. It was by then abundantly clear that the Malay Peninsula and Borneo each needed their own bishop. Hose resigned in 1908, before this goal was reached, after forty years to Malaysia, an impressive twenty-seven of them as bishop. Only three European and two Chinese clergies remained in Borneo: Archdeacon Sharp at Kuching, Rev. Elton and his wife at Sandakan, Rev. Howell at Sabu, Rev. Chung at Quop, and Fong Hau Kong, a deacon, at Kudat. Banting and Lundu were untended. Elton and his wife worked tirelessly in Sandakan for a decade, but by 1913, they were worn out and forced to retire, only to die soon after returning to England (Thompson 1951: 402–403, 406).

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Women and the Missions The story of the Eltons, and other husband and wife missionary partnerships, shines light on a topic deserving of further attention; the roles of women in overseas missions, during the golden age of colonial expansion of one to two hundred years ago. In the commentary of the time, and in most subsequent mission history, women have been largely invisible. In most accounts, the missionary, almost by definition, was a heroic, masculine, and rather solitary figure; the missionary’s wife was usually a dutiful, unremarkable, and silent appendage. Contrary to the “masculine hero” myth, most missionaries by far were women, and most of them died in obscurity; they are certainly not buried with full honors in Westminster Abbey (Cox 2008: 4, 14–17). Local women of the missions, on the other hand, were not just excluded from the church’s vision but were frequently seen in terms of an obstacle. Received wisdom taught that male converts would lapse if they were unable to find a female Christian to partner up with, the shortage of which was blamed in part on the notoriously independent female spirit (Taylor 1983: 221). Evidence of considerable gender equality in indigenous communities, and even female leadership roles, came as a great shock to the male Victorian mind (Koepping 2006: 62). Among the Dayaks, especially, women were regarded as being more circumspect than the men, and much harder to convert. Their resistance to Christianity, Harriette McDougall concluded, was due to the woman’s leading role in their own traditional religious rites, which they were reluctant to abandon (Taylor 1998: 467, 468). The presence of women—especially European, Christian women— in male-dominated urban areas, was either seen as a positive influence on men’s behavior or as an incitement to immorality; either way, accountability rested with the women. Some progressive attitudes did also manifest themselves; mixed relationships, entered into by foreign men with local women, did not provoke scandal. Some Anglican clergy, notably—Howell and Zehnder for example—married local women and had large mixed families, and Howell himself already came from a mixed family. The second Rajah Brooke also married a local woman, and the ruling dynasty became a mixed one. Nevertheless, praise for prominent male missionaries did not extend to the women who worked alongside them, often but not always as their wives—considered useful but peripheral—and non-­ European women were doubly excluded from the history books (Cox 2008: 16–17).

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The contribution of women like Mrs. Elton—true missionaries themselves, to all effects except strictly official ones—went by largely unacknowledged, though their efforts and sacrifices were often enormous (Taylor 1998: 461–62). This was starkly illustrated in the case of Harriette McDougall, who mourned her five small children in Borneo. McDougall’s sacrifice was at least as huge as her husband’s. Her cousin, Lizzie Wooley, who married the future Bishop Chambers, also spent thirty years effectively doing unpaid missionary work. Harriette McDougall’s sister also married a missionary who became a bishop. Later on, the work of many women, especially in medicine and education, became highly specialized, and their profile was, at last, appropriately raised. The physician Charlotte Elizabeth Ferguson-Davie, OBE, MD, BS, married to Bishop Ferguson-­ Davie, received belated recognition when she was included in the Singapore Women’s Hall of Fame in recent years. Her colleague, Dr. Ruth Patricia Elliot, has a street named after her in Singapore, and the educator Josephine Foss has one named after her in Kuala Lumpur. For longevity, few missionary careers—if any—could rival that of Edith Andrews, head of St Mary’s school in Kuching from 1916 to 1951, but in the vast majority of cases, the true contribution of women is largely lost to history (Taylor 1998: 465). As the wives of missionaries did not usually appear on any official lists of missionary societies or church bodies, they tended not to receive so much as an obituary notice in the sponsoring organization’s newsletter. The writings and letters, where available, of the women of the missions, and their remarkable contributions, clearly merit closer scrutiny (O’Connor et al. 2000: 315–16, 323, 327–28).

Chapter Conclusion The Treaty of Pangkor consolidated the status of the British and set out the principles of future civil, commercial, and religious relations. The watchword, as far as religion was concerned, was non-interference, with Christianity being tolerated for colonial masters and their staffs. The status of Muslim Malay state rulers, precedent in spiritual and cultural matters, was affirmed, and has been reaffirmed ever since (Ponniah 2000: 31). As the nineteenth century and the Victorian age drew to a close, the church took stock. Anglicans’ links to government, business, and the military remained strong, and these links came with responsibilities and expectations. British people arriving in Malaya expected to find a parish church at the end of the road, with the vicar ably assisted by his doting wife, just like

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at home. It was not a realistic expectation of the pioneering missionary church in the tropics, which would never be able to please everyone, but the British cohort was actually only a small part of the church’s audience. Singapore, though te chief of the Straits Settlements, was not the most populous, with 185,000 inhabitants, compared to Penang’s population of 231,000, and the once-great Melaka with a smaller population of just 91,000. The ethnic breakdown of Singapore’s population is revealing: there were 122,000 Chinese, 36,000 Malays, and only 5000 Europeans, with Indians, Eurasians, Javanese, and others making up the remaining 22,000. Of the new Federated Malay States, prosperous Perak was by far the most populous, with 214,000 registered inhabitants, followed by Selangor, home to Kuala Lumpur, with just 81,000 (Church of England 1894: 302, 303). In today’s world, so overdependent on gas, oil, and air transport, it can be difficult to comprehend the economic importance of British Malaya, with its rubber, tin, coal, and strategic maritime location. Pangkor, in underlining this importance, seemed to casually enforce an unhappy continuation of the BEIC’s restrictions on missionary work in its territories. Pangkor was intended, like previous arrangements, to prioritize and facilitate good trade relations, but, in the process, the position of the Anglican Church was permanently damaged. There was still no love lost between the administrative and religious branches of the British Empire. Even when the BEIC’s rules were relaxed and then consigned to history, the impression remained that real missionary work was simply bad for business. Converting people to Christianity did not figure highly on the list of priorities for colonial administrators, who did not always subscribe to the idea that the church was necessary for advancing colonization. This attitude seemed to be justified by the smooth transition to the values of Pangkor, and the trade-first philosophy appeared to be the default official position on religion. The belief that these accumulated restrictions permanently hampered Anglican progress has probably been borne out, as the supposedly privileged church in several former British colonies, including Malaysia, has always enjoyed less popularity and had a smaller membership than other Christian denominations (Jarvis 2021: 2, 176). Since the beginning of the British presence in Borneo, the expansionist priorities of the British had been exemplified there; empire, business, and Christianity in third place. Borneo presented serious challenges, not least the pirates and brigands of yesteryear, which gave credibility to the case for firm, just, and orderly intervention. A truism would become established in

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the early Borneo period, that while the indigenous peoples and Chinese immigrants were receptive to Christian teaching, the Muslim Malays were absolutely not, and in fact, they became more entrenched and militant because of the missionaries’ presence. Upon arrival in almost all of the territories of the future Malaysia, the British found functioning and well-­ established systems of local community leadership, and they would not usually be inclined to try to uproot them. There was already an extensive sociocultural framework, embracing all aspects of daily life, including, and informed by, religion. Wherever the local religion was interwoven with governance, order, security, and survival, Christianity would not find an easy inroad. Ironically, this combination of pervasive religion, cultural hegemony, and political dominance is something that British colonialists and their missionaries would simultaneously—and forevermore—be accused of attempting to install.

References Baring Gould, Sabine and Charles Agar Bampfylde. A History of Sarawak under its Two White Rajahs, 1839–1908. London: Henry Sotheran and Co. 1909. Buckley, Charles Burton. An Anecdotal History of Old Times in Singapore [two volumes]. Singapore: Fraser and Neave Ltd. 1902. Church of England. Reports of the Boards of Missions of the Provinces of Canterbury and York on the Mission Field. London, Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1894. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Goh, Robbie B. H. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publications, 2005. Gomes, Edwin H. Seventeen Years Among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo. London: Seeley and Co. Ltd. 1911. Gomes, William H. An Account of Saint Andrew’s Church Mission from A. D. 1856 to A. D. 1887: Chiefly Compiled from the Records of its Proceedings kept in Saint Andrew’s Cathedral. Singapore: Singapore and Straits Printing Office, 1888. Jarvis, Edward. The Anglican Church in Burma: From Colonial Past to Global Future. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2021.

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Khoo Kay Kim. “The Pangkor Engagement of 1874.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 47, no. 1 (225). Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1974. [1–12]. Koepping, Elizabeth. “Hunting with the Head: Borneo Villagers Negotiating Exclusivist Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 12, no. 1 (2006); Edinburgh University Press [59–78]. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to W. T. Bullock, 15 August 1857, MSS. Pac.s. 104 (3): 137. Oxford, Bodleian Libraries, SPG Papers Archive. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to E. Hawkins, 11 October 1858, MSS. Pac.s. 104 (3): 168. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 1 August 1848, MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 9. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T.  Letter to T.  F. Stooks, 6 January, 1849a [1], CLR 72, 31–32. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 2 November 1849b [2], MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 46. SPG Archives. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 29 June 1850, MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 58. SPG Archives. Mat Zin Bin Mat Kib. “Christianization in Sabah and the Development of Indigenous Communities: a Historical Study.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 77, no. 1 (286), Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 2004. [53–65]. “Mission to the Island of Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 1. (July 1847) [26–34]. “Mr. Brooke and Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 5. (November 1847) [161–168]. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Orsler, M. History of the Province Wellesley Mission Institution. Penang: Georgetown Printers Ltd. 1957. Ponniah, Moses. “The Situation in Malaysia.” Transformation 17, no. 1: Suffering and Power in Christian-Muslim Relations: The Political Challenge of Islam Today and its Implications for the Church in Education and Mission (January 2000) Sage Publications, Inc. [31–34]. Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. St Andrew’s Cathedral. Report of Church Funds and of the St Andrew’s Church Mission in the year 1875. Singapore: Mission Press, 1876. St Andrew’s Church Mission. Report for the Year 1881. Singapore: Mission Press, 1881. Singapore Church Record Book, volume six, 1884–1901. National Library Board, Singapore.

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Spencer, George John Trevor. n.d. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1. ———. no. 3 (September, 1847a) [88–96]. ———. no. 4 (October, 1847b) [131–139]. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Taylor, Brian. “Gender in Sarawak: Mission and Reception.” Studies in Church History 34 (1998). [461–473]. Thompson, Henry Paget. Into All Lands: The History of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1701–1950. London: SPCK, 1951. Trevor, George (editor). The Parochial Missionary Magazine: Part One. London: G. Bell / J. Hatchard and Son, 1849. Varney, Peter. Iban Leaders in the Anglican Church in Sarawak, 1848 to 2010. Singapore: Centre for the Study of Christianity in Asia (CSCA), 2010. Winstedt, Richard O. Malaya and its History. London: Hutchinson University Library, 1962.

CHAPTER 4

“Give Me Eight More Young and Devoted Priests”: Setbacks and Successes in the Early Twentieth Century

At the dawn of the Edwardian era, Singapore’s rise to global importance was beginning to unfold. It was still not the most populous component of British Malaya, with only around two hundred thousand inhabitants, slightly fewer than Perak, one of the recently formed group of Federated Malay States, which had two hundred and fourteen thousand official inhabitants. Within Singapore’s growing population there were approximately four ethnic Chinese people for every Malay, and the Malays outnumbered the Europeans by about five or six to one. In Borneo, Sarawak had a population of three hundred thousand, while the island of Labuan counted five thousand seven hundred inhabitants, including a large ethnic Chinese community, and the island’s main industry was coal. North Borneo was still under BNBC control; its population was two-hundred thousand, consisting mainly of Dayaks and Malays. Borneo in general consisted of Dayak, Malay, Chinese, and Javanese inhabitants. Before the turn of the century, the vast Anglican diocese counted just seventeen European clergies, twelve of whom were from the SPG.  The Church of England reported three thousand five hundred church members in the diocese, but there are problems with this figure: firstly, it is unclear whether these are apart from the two thousand three hundred members concurrently reported in Singapore alone, though this would seem likely; secondly, it is unclear whether all individuals in a church congregation—children, the unbaptized, catechumens, casual attendees, for example—were counted. It is not clear to what extent any church membership reports are reliable. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_4

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Church growth was, we do know, encouraging enough that the bishop and Rev. Gomes were busy translating the New Testament into the lingua franca of Malay, a project supported by the British and Foreign Bible Society, as well as translating the prayer book and much of the Bible into the Sea Dayak (Iban) language (Church of England 1894: 304, 305). For all the trials and tribulations that the new century would bring, and though still plagued by staff shortages, this would come to be regarded as the beginning of the church’s halcyon days (Daniel 1992: 78). The population of the Straits Settlements would increase to nearly one million by the end of the First World War, with new immigrants swelling the existing Chinese and Indian ethnic groups. With the exceptions of the Eurasians and Malays, there was a large preponderance of males over females in each ethnic group. The Straits Settlements formed a single Crown Colony under the Colonial Office in London, administered by a Governor who simultaneously served as High Commissioner of the Federated Malay States. Since 1896, the Federated Malay States had been four in number: Negri Sembilan, Pahang, Perak, and Selangor, with Pahang being the largest but also the least developed. Government of these four states, from the British point of view, consisted of the High Commissioner, his Federal Executive and Legislative Councils, and a delegate—called the British Resident—who was attached to each state council. Each state, it is important to remember, was ruled by its own sultan, who was of course Malay and Muslim. The remainder of British Malaya consisted of the non-federated states of Johor, Kedah, Kelantan, Trengganu, and Perlis, which were referred to as the Unfederated Malay States. This term was intended to suggest parity with the Federated Malay States, but it was not just an alternative administrative model; in reality, the non-federated states were significantly less subject to British control. Johor, notably, had always been an independent kingdom, and the other states had only recently been transferred from the suzerainty of Siam (Thailand) (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 11–12). The total population of British Malaya, according to the 1911 census, was 2,659,262. The Straits Settlements were the least populous component of British Malaya, then with around seven hundred thousand inhabitants combined, while the rest were fairly evenly divided between the two groups of Federated and Unfederated states. The total number of Europeans—mostly British—in whose hands day-to-day control was concentrated, was just 10,500, with a similar number of Eurasians. The

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number of Asian Christians exceeded the combined number of Europeans and Eurasians, being around 29,000 (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 20–21). The Anglican Church was an important reference point for Christian Europeans, regardless of denomination. It would be an exaggeration to call it the center of colonial community and social life, but its role and influence certainly extended beyond the boundaries of the small, strictly Anglican cohort. The Anglican Church consistently took third place among the Christian churches, after the Roman Catholics and Methodists, in that order, in some locations, and after the Roman Catholics and Presbyterians in other locations. The Anglicans’ third place was not a very distant third place, numerically, and in some locations, the number of Christians was fairly evenly split between the three main denominations. Members of other Christian denominations benefitted from Anglicans’ connections to power; it may be crude to call them Anglicans by proxy, but they shared in the freedom to operate and umbrella of protection that were primarily provided for the official colonial church (Roxborogh 2014: 99). The Anglican diocese was vast and diverse; it included not only the territories of Sarawak, Labuan, British North Borneo, Singapore, and the Malay Peninsula, but it also had responsibility for individual British residents in independent Siam (Thailand), Java, Sumatra, and the adjacent islands, these latter of which were Dutch, not British, colonies. This created extra work, for example when marriages solemnized under British law had to be validated according to Dutch colonial law as well (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 8, 1917–1928: 10). A wide range of issues had to be taken into consideration by the clergy, whose main task was still to minister to the English-speaking community, though this was not explicitly the case in Borneo. The word “main” was pivotal, because in reality all the clergy were involved to some degree in ministering to local communities, whether English-speaking or not, locally born or not. It becomes difficult to distinguish diocesan, parish ministry, from strictly missionary work, or to discuss them in isolation, because the dividing lines were blurred in practice. The SPG had formally recognized this situation with their innovation of hybrid chaplain-missionaries, seeking to address the inadequacy of each model of ministry to sustain and manage their respective tasks. Regardless of how much flexibility and freedom could be worked into the role, however, the number of priests at the diocese’s disposal remained small (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 21).

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Reorganizing and Revitalizing the Church in Borneo Bishop Hose had masterminded the division of the large diocese into two—the Diocese of Singapore and the Diocese of Labuan and Sarawak— but he resigned before this was effectuated in 1909. Hose’s successor in Borneo was William Robert Mounsey (1867–1952), who arrived, it was said, to find a staff “so small as to be almost invisible” and who would eventually leave behind a larger staff than Borneo had ever had (Taylor 1983: 157). The bishop’s job was increasingly complex and even controversial, including politically; the colonial administration was by no means always supportive of the clergy, and Mounsey was considered an outsider. He began proactively, even before setting off for his new diocese, by launching a support organization called the Borneo Mission Association (BMA), based in England. This showed great foresight, and the BMA encouraged interest and enthusiasm for the church and facilitated the arrival of new missionaries (Collis nd: 6). Some of these newcomers would succumb to the climate, the damp, or one of a plethora of health problems, and their numbers were insufficient to offset the departure, in one sense or another, of the older missionaries (Taylor 1983: 157–60, 163). Sarawak state was where the church’s aspirations in Borneo had first taken wing. In the main city of Kuching the pro-cathedral served an ever-­ growing Chinese congregation, St Thomas’s and St Mary’s schools enjoyed an excellent reputation, and the missionary teaching staffs, all women, were large enough to allow them to start home-visiting and offering basic medical assistance. The greater challenge was staffing and maintaining the extensive network of non-urban outstations, the Land Dayak and Sea Dayak (Iban) settlements. Nearest to Kuching were the Land Dayak settlements of Quop and Lundu, and the only person sufficiently experienced and available for this work was the veteran Rev. Chung Ah Luk, based at Quop. More challenging than these settlements were the Sea Dayak (Iban) communities, far up the northwest coast and dotted along the Saribas, Skrang, Undup, and other rivers. A number of mission stations had been opened there in the past, but few were still operational by Mounsey’s day. In 1904, Rev. George Dexter-Allen and his wife, Dr. Mabel Dexter-Allen, started working in Banting. As a physician, Dr. Dexter-Allen set up and ran the village hospital, and though she was, on paper, “only” the missionary’s wife, she was widely regarded as the more capable and proactive of the couple (Taylor 1998: 464). The

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Dexter-Allens tried to branch out to the Krian-area communities, three days’ journey away, to seek out the old mission station from the days of Leggatt and Belabut, only to find that the church and missionary’s house had been devoured by white ants (Thompson 1951: 655–57). Rev. William Howell, still working in remote Sabu on the Undup River, did his best to visit the Saribas and Skrang communities regularly, but even a cursory tour of that area involved six weeks of hard traveling, and Howell had his own district, and two schools at Sabu and Merdang, to care for. Howell was based at St Luke’s mission, Sabu, near Simanggang (renamed Sri Aman in 1974) for over forty years. He was something of a vocational education pioneer, teaching practical skills more successfully than theory. He was enthusiastic about helping unreached groups, including women, to access education; “The people in the Saribas are most enthusiastic about learning” he reported, “even their women have taken to reading and writing” (Thompson 1951: 656–57). Howell rejoiced in the participation of local women with good reason; it was felt that women and girls were generally underserved in Borneo, a problem which, educationally and socially, had never been comprehensively addressed. Furthermore, the behavior of the predominantly male European community was a worry, especially with regard to alcohol and sexual conduct. The British colonial service preferred to employ unmarried men, who experienced few restraints in the colonies. The authorities welcomed the presence of women as a moderating influence, they claimed, but did nothing to prevent women from being seen as a source of entertainment instead. Bishop Mounsey’s stance on this was absolutely intolerant, and he was determined that the church should not be seen to sanction permissive behavior. Mounsey was morally strict, or even severe, including with his own staff. He divided opinion, but it was generally acknowledged that Mounsey himself lived very simply and frugally, observing the same austerity and strict discipline he sought to enforce (Taylor 1983: 166, 170–71). Overall, Mounsey was disheartened by the extent of the challenges he encountered. The northern area of the diocese, British North Borneo, was almost cut off from Sarawak, but the area was of growing importance. The intrepid Eltons had firmly established the church in the then-capital Sandakan, planting St Michael’s Church, a boys’ school, and a girls’ school. The newly arrived Rev. Thomas Cecil Alexander carried on the Eltons’ work, especially among the Chinese community, and he is also remembered for bringing the Scouting movement to North Borneo. The

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town of Kudat was a strong base for the Chinese community, and since 1902 the mission had been in the hands of the Chinese deacon Rev. Fong Hau Kong, whom Bishop Mounsey then ordained to the priesthood. The town of Jesselton (today’s Kota Kinabalu), farther south from Kudat, was quickly becoming a second important center for both Europeans and Chinese. The bishop assigned the highly experienced but elderly Rev. Leggatt to Kudat; Leggatt also paid regular visits to Labuan, but in 1913 he too was invalided home. The First World War made staffing even more difficult, though there was still a net gain in personnel during Mounsey’s leadership and shortly afterward. The Dexter-Allens decided to leave Borneo for health reasons in 1914, transferring to Singapore (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 8, 1917–1928: 14, 87–88). In the absence of Dr. Dexter-Allen, medical work in Banting came to an end. In 1915, a lamp exploded in Bishop Mounsey’s hand, severely burning him, and he was forced to leave for England. He was declared unfit to return to Borneo and officially resigned the following year. His comparatively short tenure was considered successful, but Mounsey himself was controversial; the secretary of the SPG, Bishop Henry H. Montgomery (father of the future Field Marshal) found Mounsey tactless, domineering, and austere. Montgomery suggested that a crisis of no confidence was imminent in the diocese, but the clergy and missionaries strenuously refuted this. Overall, Mounsey was praised for guiding the reformed diocese through this transitional stage, significantly increasing the number of staff, and for taking an uncompromising stance against colonial society’s moral excesses (Cornwall 1953: 37). The selection of a new bishop was a protracted affair, bound up with constitutional issues, local opinions, and personal preferences. The Second Rajah, Charles Brooke, died in 1917, during the selection process; his son and successor as Rajah, Charles Vyner Brooke (1874–1963) was no churchgoer, and he did not know any of the proposed candidates. There were several stakeholders in the decision, representing civil, legal, and ecclesiastical interests. In the end, compromise led to the selection of another relative outsider, thirty-seven-year-old Ernest Denny Logie Danson (1880–1946), fresh from six years’ service in Singapore. Between Mounsey’s actual departure and Danson’s arrival, nearly three years had passed. The youthful new bishop was full of optimism and ideas, but he too bemoaned the lack of personnel: “Give me eight more young and devoted priests,” he pleaded, “and the money to support them, and we shall soon win the Sea Dayak [Iban] area for Christ” (Thompson 1951:

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657). The flow of European priests able and willing to go to Malaya and Borneo had been greatly reduced by the war, and even the willing ones could not easily make the trip (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 21). Some intrepid priests managed to arrive—Rev. Francis Septimus Hollis in 1916, Rev. Wilfred Linton in 1919, and Rev. Arthur B. Champion, a little later, in 1922—but they were far too few. The bishop boldly turned to face the one pressing issue that actually offered a solution; training candidates from the local ethnic communities for ministry (Cornwall 1953: 38; Taylor 1983: 170–72; 1998: 470).

Nurturing a Local Clergy The urgency of developing clergy training was always more keenly felt in Borneo than in Singapore or Malaya. Since the earliest days, Bishop McDougall had expressed his hopes for locally born ministers. His vision of the future church, as he wrote to the SPG in 1852, was a network of small mission stations all over the country, served by local catechists and teachers, who after a few years could be ordained as deacons or priests. They should be trained to work among their own people, with foreign missionaries present to oversee the launch of each station. McDougall admitted that it was often difficult to secure a lasting commitment from locals, however, once this initial foreign supervision ended. Even faithful and well-trained young catechists and teachers could be lured away by better-paid jobs, as clerks for the government or the BNBC. As the years passed, the median age of catechists rose dramatically, and it was difficult to get youngsters to pay attention to them. By the time of Bishop Mounsey’s tenure, the dearth of local catechists seemed irreversible. Like his predecessors, Mounsey felt that the church should not be sending missionaries from England to do work that local people could do themselves. He called a conference to discuss the issues around local ministry, in what he referred to as the Anglican Church of Borneo, much like McDougall had done. It was decided that catechists would be formally licensed, in an attempt to give them a verifiable sense of higher status, which it was hoped would attract more candidates to the job. Now, Bishop Danson agreed with his predecessors that catechists living and working in their own community offered the best chance of lasting evangelization, but he had little faith in the indigenous people. He wrote that “the [Dayaks] are like children, and need constant supervision to prevent them lapsing into heathen superstition,” and he decided to embed reliable, well-trained catechists in

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the community, to keep watch on the newer ones. Rev. Champion, who became archdeacon under Danson, showed more confidence in the locals, suggesting that catechists should be allowed to administer the sacraments, and that more of them should be advanced to the priesthood (Varney 2010: 11–12). Efforts to expand local ministry soon began to pay off. In 1920, Si Migaat became the first Land Dayak to become a deacon; he was ordained alongside a Tamil, Edward Gunaratnum Proctor, from Ceylon (Sri Lanka). Encouraged by the growing Chinese community in Kudat, and assisted by Archdeacon Bernard Arthur Mervyn Mercer, Bishop Danson started setting up the College of the Holy Way, to address local clergy training needs, between 1921 and 1923 (Cornwall 1953: 38). He entrusted the college to Rev. Ernest Parry, who welcomed the first five ordinands. Thomas Buda, the chief catechist, was put forward for ordination around this time. He had remained at Merdang as chief district catechist and teacher until 1917, while also taking services in the neighboring Land Dayak village of Tai-i, to which he transferred the following year, building a mission house and chapel. Rev. Charles John Collis, in charge of the Dayak missions around Kuching, certified that Buda was an excellent candidate, a good leader, and a positive influence in the community. He was ordained deacon and priest between 1923 and 1928, the first Sea Dayak (Iban) to be ordained, followed by Matius Senang. By 1928, both of them were priests, as was Si Migaat and all of the first five students at the College of the Holy Way. The veteran Rev. Chung sadly died that year, and Rev. Si Migaat took over his Quop mission. Buda carried on at Merdang and Tai-i, where he translated prayers and hymns into the local language, Biatah. The bishop now had a staff of ten foreign and nine local priests, allowing new mission stations to develop (Thompson 1951: 657; Taylor 1983: 224; Varney 2010: 9–10). Rev. Wilfred Linton took charge at Betong, in the Saribas area, working amongst the Sea Dayaks (Ibans); one of them, Dorothy Nadeh, an alumnus of St Mary’s school, opened a girls’ school there. Neighboring Simanggang was then chosen as the new administrative center for the area, so Rev. Arthur William Stonton, who had just arrived in 1928, began a mission station there too (Taylor 1983: 233). Rev. Howell, by then over seventy, stayed on at Sabu in semi-retirement, and in recognition of his lifelong commitment to ministry training and skills-based education, he was invited to Betong to plant the corner post of the future St Augustine’s Church (Thompson 1951: 656–57). Bishop Danson was less

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congratulatory, however, claiming that the only catechists Howell had recruited during his forty years in Sabu tended to be former pupils who just hung around after graduating. He did admit that Howell’s practical instruction—farming and carpentry alongside reading, writing, arithmetic, and English and Dayak language—had been successful in itself, and he wanted this to continue, but he now wanted Linton to take over Howell’s former work and improve it. Linton would be assisted by English lay missionaries, including a teacher and a carpenter, but the bishop wanted the focus to be on improving catechist training, which would serve to identify suitable candidates for ordination as well. The bishop acknowledged that the Dayak people were by far the most receptive to Christian teaching; in his unfortunately condescending way, he wrote that “the Dayak is a loveable creature … unspoiled by contact with Western civilization” (Varney 2010: 15). Danson and Linton agreed that Betong was the right place to train the Dayaks, thereby avoiding Kuching, where they might be “spoiled” by the bright lights of the comparatively westernized city. Betong flourished, and Linton proved to be both efficient and strict. His trainees and recently qualified catechists had to attend refresher courses in Betong at regular intervals; this provided an opportunity to discuss problems, but also to keep check on them. They must not get distracted from their duties as catechists, Linton believed, by things like farm work. Linton also fulfilled the bishop’s wishes by identifying ordination candidates amongst the students. To combat the postwar economic slump, oil wells were being developed at Miri on the northeastern Sarawak coast. Workers, both European and Chinese, glad to have employment but lacking many other things, requested the church’s ministry. At first, only a Chinese catechist could be sent, but in 1926, Rev. Frederick W. Synnott (some sources spell Synott) was posted there, and the following year Rev. Chong En Siong joined him. In Miri, Limbang, and Labuan, new churches were built and existing ones were improved. In Kuching, Bishop Danson enlarged the pro-­ cathedral and raised it to the status of cathedral. The two schools there prospered: St Thomas’s under Rev. Francis S. Hollis, and St Mary’s under Edith Andrews. In Simanggang, the fundraising efforts of the Kings’ Messengers—the youth wing of the SPG—enabled Rev. Stonton to build a new church, and new mission centers were established at the settlements of Abok and Sebuyau. In Kudat, North Borneo, Rev. Parry built a new church, but the College of the Holy Way was forced to close in 1930 (Collis n.d.: 7). It was considered a casualty of limited resources, rather

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than a failure in itself, and the effectiveness of local clergy training had been resoundingly proven. Thus, upon his resignation in 1931, Bishop Danson left the diocese in good spirits, and his successor, Noel Baring Hudson, came eager to further energize and expand operations in Borneo.

Diversification in Singapore Under a New Bishop The first bishop of the new, separate Singapore diocese was Charles James Ferguson-Davie (1872–1963) who, like most of the clergy at this stage of the story, was an SPG missionary, fresh from service in India. He arrived with his wife, Dr. Charlotte Elizabeth Ferguson-Davie, OBE, MD, BS (1880–1943) a distinguished physician and medical missionary. Ferguson-­ Davie toured and took stock of his new diocese, which was rapidly growing in importance. Ships thronged Singapore harbor at a rate of eight hundred a month. British officials and businesspeople arrived in an ever-­ increasing torrent, and Indian, Chinese, and Javanese laborers—referred to, in those days, as “coolies”—came in droves, as the demand for labor exploded. In addition to the tin mines, the rubber plantations for which Singapore and Malaya would be famed were developing everywhere, and railways were being built to serve them. This development had a knock-on effect on the peninsular states, stimulating the growth of new urban areas; the railways, especially, would serve as a catalyst for several aspects of development, including the church. In terms of clergy, the bishop’s staff numbered only twelve European and three ethnic-Tamil priests, aided by a few ethnic-Chinese and ethnic-Tamil catechists. No serious medical missionary work was being done at that time in Singapore, but Dr. Ferguson-­ Davie would soon transform this aspect of church activity. The bishop decided to travel to England to appeal for missionaries, and he founded the Singapore Diocesan Association (SDA) to rally support both at home and in Malaya. The SDA, in coordination with the SPG, devoted its attention to Europeans, whether resident in or somehow connected to Malaya, while the SPG concerned itself with work among non-­ Europeans. The SDA would also sponsor its own chaplains, in the style of the SPG.  Thanks to these efforts, the diocese started to gain reinforcements. Rev. John Romanis Lee, assigned to St Andrew’s school in Singapore, transformed it, expanding it into a high school with six hundred boys. Teaching missionaries, mostly women, arrived in Kuala Lumpur, and in 1912 St Mary’s school for girls was opened under Agnes Eveleigh, and Pudu English school was opened in 1914 by Josephine Foss. The SPG

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gave grants for filling vacant chaplaincy posts, provided they were dedicated to work amongst the Tamils or Chinese, and these were usually entrusted to clergy or catechists from the respective ethnic community (Thompson 1951: 649). Ferguson-Davie succeeded in vastly improving clergy numbers, with five new priests for Singapore island, including one port chaplain and one chaplain to the forces, one each in Melaka, Penang, Java, Sumatra, and Siam (Thailand), six in the Federated Malay States, and one roving chaplain, making a total of seventeen (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 21). The First World War triggered an economic boom in Singapore, as the demand for rubber and tin skyrocketed, but this gave way to a postwar slump, in which basic shortages amongst the populace and demands placed upon the church multiplied. Dr. Ferguson-Davie had already started to address healthcare needs in the early 1910s; dispensaries opened in 1913, and the following year a small hospital opened in an old school on Cross Street. In 1922, St Andrew’s Hospital was built, situated in the crowded Chinese quarter, dedicated to women and children, with a special dispensary for Malays. Medical missions were established in most of the diocese’s locations during the 1920s. St David’s Hospital in Melaka had opened in 1911, with the ambitious goal of doing Christian witness among the Malays, and in 1914 it moved to new quarters. Maternity care was greatly needed, and local nurses were given training for this. For twenty-one years, St David’s would give valuable service, until a dual crisis of staffing and funding regrettably closed it in 1933. All was not lost, however, as an interesting offshoot had sprung from St David’s. There were thousands of blind children in Malaya receiving little or no assistance, and a few of them were taken in at Melaka in 1924. This venture generated interest and support, and it became St Nicholas’ Home for the Blind in 1926, with a grant from the SPG. In 1932, it relocated to more suitable premises in Penang, where it continues to flourish (Thompson 1951: 649–50).

Theological Orientations, Anglo-Catholicism, and Relations with Roman Catholicism Bishop Danson’s successor in Borneo, Noel Baring Hudson (1893–1970), had an extraordinary background: six times decorated and fifteen times wounded as an infantry officer in the First World War; acting brigadiergeneral aged twenty-four; Cambridge-educated, though more practical

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than academic; he was also a first-class rugby union player. Descriptions of his character reveal contradictions; he was a reserved and sensitive bachelor, but also an affectionate person who craved constant human interaction (Campling 2005: 185–86). One of his first acts as bishop was to bring all the clergies of the diocese together for a retreat and conference in Kuching. It was only the second time that the clergy had gathered like that, owing to distances, logistics, and poor communication, especially between Sarawak and North Borneo. This gathering was also significant for the attendance of Canon Stacy Waddy, General Secretary of the SPG, who was touring SPG-supported dioceses in the Asia-Pacific region. Also in attendance were Father Wilfrid Percy Brightwen Shelley, CR, and Father Basil Parker Thomas, CR, from the Community of the Resurrection (Thompson 1951: 658–59). The Community of the Resurrection (CR), known as the Mirfield Fathers (named after their home monastery in Mirfield, England) was founded in 1892. Bishop Mounsey, incidentally, after retiring from Borneo, had joined the CR in 1926, after mulling the idea while still in the diocese (Taylor 1983: 189–90). The Mirfield Fathers had a particular purpose for being at the Kuching conference. Hudson’s predecessor, Danson, had longed to see a religious community, in the Anglo-Catholic tradition, established in the diocese, and Hudson was sympathetically inclined to see this ambition fulfilled. Danson had envisaged this religious community as developing hand in hand with Rev. Linton’s local ordination training at Betong, and the two of them worked on launching it in 1926. It was to consist of four priests and two laymen, living in Betong according to a semi-monastic “rule” like the Benedictines or the Dominicans. Linton, along with two (then) ordinands, Maurice Wadham Bradshaw and Arthur Jack Sparrow, would direct ordination training and attend to nearby mission stations. It was named the Community of the Holy Cross (Taylor 1983: 234). But just at that moment, Linton’s health broke down; he was sent home and forbidden to return to Borneo. Now, several years later, Hudson invited the CR to send priests to run the ordination training in Betong, in order to finally achieve the goal of having a religious community in the diocese (Varney 2010: 15). As it turned out, the CR decided to set up in Kuching instead. Their objectives were three: to provide witness of religious community life, to take charge of the cathedral and surrounding area, and to pick up where the old College of the Holy Way had left off, training local students for

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ministry at their “Ordination Test School.” In 1934, with the SPG’s promise of financial support for three years, Mirfield sent out Father Edward Oswald Philipps (some sources spell Philips) CR, to join Fathers Shelley and Thomas on the original trip. They then added Father Richard Lawrence Wrathall, CR, followed by Father Andrew Hamish Blair, CR, who was sent to replace Father Thomas; all of this was for an experimental period of four years. The living conditions severely tested the monks, as they had tested many others before, and after a few years they regretfully withdrew, but not before they had given the diocese four new local deacons: two Dayaks and two ethnic Chinese (Collis n.d.: 7). Father Blair, the last to arrive, stayed on until the middle of 1937 to oversee the completion of the candidates’ theological studies (Taylor 1983: 250–51). With the church’s work also increasing in North Borneo, the town of Sandakan now benefited from the presence of a small religious community; two members of the Community of the Companions of Jesus the Good Shepherd (CJGS) were in charge of St Monica’s school there (Thompson 1951: 658). Not every development followed this High Church Anglo-­ Catholic orientation, however; Rev. Frank Davidson, working ecumenically with one Baptist and one Brethren colleague, all from the Bible Training Institute in Melbourne, Australia, established the Borneo Evangelical Mission, which would become the present-day Borneo Evangelical Church (Southwell 1999: 23, 39). Anglican and other Protestant missionaries all across Southeast Asia were conscious of not being the first ones to arrive there professing the Gospel, even in remotest Borneo, though Anglicans were certainly pioneers in terms of establishing a corporate presence on the island. There were, understandably, instances of competitiveness between denominations, especially between Anglicans and Roman Catholics, but there were also plenty of Catholic-leaning Anglicans who admired the Roman Catholics’ intrepid missionary societies and wanted to emulate them. Protestantism, in abolishing religious orders, had divested itself of missionary societies, but the missionary drive resurged in partnership with imperial ambition (Cox 2008: 9–10, 23). Missionary work in places like Borneo, therefore, tended to attract Anglicans from a wing of the church that was sympathetic to Roman Catholic ecclesiology, with its emphasis on church order, apostolic succession, sacraments, and liturgy. This “Anglo-­ Catholic” tendency made its home within the High Church tradition (which also has Evangelical expressions) and organizations such as the

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SPG and the SPCK were flagships of it (O’Connor et al. 2000: 6, 7–8). Today, Anglo-Catholic tends to refer more to worshipping style than ecclesiological vision, while the more critical current debate concerns traditionalism or, the preferred term, orthodoxy. In Southeast Asia, the influence of High Church Anglo-Catholicism is still visible in today’s Anglican churchmanship, alongside more recent influences. Anglo-Catholics were about more than churchmanship in the colonial era; they saw overseas missions as laboratories for radical Catholicizing reforms and liturgical restoration, which translated into support for greater local autonomy (Maughan 2014: 113). The British colonial boom of the nineteenth century was seen as an opportune moment for Anglo-Catholics. It coincided with a period in which Roman Catholic missions were being rolled back due to an internal crisis in their church, inadvertently creating openings for their rivals (Cox 2008: 9). Anglican perceptions of Roman Catholicism were often confused, and feelings vacillated between resentment and respect. Bishop Spencer of Chennai (Madras), in the 1840s, observed that the Roman Catholic building in Singapore was—“as always”—larger and handsomer than the Anglican one, and that the Roman Catholics already had a “so-called Bishop of the Straits” long before an Anglican bishop was appointed. The Anglican bishop of Calcutta, Spencer stressed, was the “legitimate catholic [sic] prelate” of the land, and he blamed his own church for not spreading “the real Catholic and Apostolic faith”—Anglicanism—quickly enough. He admitted that Roman Catholic missions were successful; believers of “that persuasion,” as Spencer referred to them, were numerous, he noted sourly, especially Chinese converts (Spencer no. 3, 1847a: 93; no. 4, 1847b: 134). Bishop McDougall also acknowledged that Roman Catholics seemed to have greater institutional commitment than Anglicans (Buckley 1902: 660–61). The British authorities, for their part, showed no particular interest in seeing Protestantism “triumph” over Roman Catholicism, though simple national pride occasionally led to them taking sides in the battle to win converts (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 124). Some “poaching” of converts undoubtedly went on between denominations, as an unidentified Anglican commentator attested in the Straits Times in 1863b. The background to the story was that Peter Tychicus, the Anglican Tamil catechist, announced the successful conversion of a Tamil family from Roman Catholicism to Anglicanism. “We cannot conceive what necessity there is”—the unnamed journalist wrote—“for Mr. Peter Tychicus

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to extend the sphere of his usefulness from the broad field of heathenism and positive unbelief existing in this place, to the narrow and well cared-for preserves of the Roman Catholic Church.” If the Roman Catholic Church were challenged to a battle for converts, the Straits Times feared, the Anglicans would find it hard to compete: “the Romish Religion [sic] … has many attractions in its outward worship which our own religion has not.” The writer then shamelessly attacked the sincerity of the converts, calling it “absurd” that “uneducated Tamils” might appreciate “the fine points of difference between the two religions” (Straits Times no. 1, 1863a: 1) Rev. Edward Venn responded laconically in the following week’s edition: “[We] never invite Roman Catholics to leave their communion …. We simply instruct all who come to us” (Straits Times no. 2, 1863a: 1). Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Methodists, and Presbyterians often agreed to refrain from missionary work in neighborhoods that were historically linked to one denomination, and this appears to have avoided much conflict (Taylor 1983: 165). By the early twentieth century, changing denomination, even after Confirmation, as well as mixed marriage, was quite common (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 8, 1917–1928: 35–37).

Hard-Won Progress in the Ethnic Missions of Singapore In 1927, Bishop Ferguson-Davie retired and was succeeded by Basil Coleby Roberts (1887–1957), until then a chaplain-missionary in Selangor. Clergy numbers hovered around twenty priests during this period, comprising ethnolinguistic specific Tamil, Chinese, Cantonese, and Fuzhou priests, and SPG- or SDA-sponsored missionaries and chaplains (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 8, 1917–1928: 174). The new bishop sought the SPG’s support to increase the number of mission-­ chaplaincies, but the worldwide depression hindered this. Among a few new arrivals was twenty-six-year-old Rev. Thomas Reginald Dean, as assistant chaplain at the cathedral (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: unnumbered page). More than eight decades later, Dean (1902–2013) would be celebrated as the oldest man in the United Kingdom. Meaningful engagement with the Malay community remained elusive, while the multilingual Chinese and Indian missions provided plenty to focus on. In 1933, Canon Stacy Waddy, General Secretary of the SPG, on another tour of the Pacific, visited the diocese. He was impressed,

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he told the Malaya Tribune, by Singapore’s pioneering diversity, exemplified in the multiethnic Eucharistic service at the cathedral, which was not the norm at that time. Waddy saw Singapore as a beacon of future Christian influence, shining toward the lands further east (Malaya Tribune 1933: 9). This was optimistic language, given that Japan had already invaded China. Bishop Roberts wanted to encourage regional and international connections, and he favored sending candidates to train for ministry in Rangoon (Yangon), Burma, as well as in Kuching, Sarawak, and the SPG offered financial support to make this possible. Missionary work in Singapore still emanated from St Andrew’s, with an outpost in the Jurong neighborhood. At St Andrew’s, Rev. Richard Richards, who had himself mastered several Chinese dialects, led a staff of ethnic-Chinese clergy and catechists, and one ethnic-Tamil priest. The SPG supported this and the work of ethnic-Tamil priests in Penang and other locations. Richards often pointed out how much more effective the Chinese work might have been, had there been just one or two more missionaries with knowledge of one or more Chinese dialects, and a few more Chinese staff to work under them. The right combination of people was never quite achieved, and the great variety of dialects made a single training center for such staff impractical. There was no realistic alternative except importing staff from China, and this was not always popular or feasible. Richards retired in 1934, after an astonishing forty-eight years devoted mainly to Chinese missionary work. At the time of his retirement, Richards had three churches and a mission hall in his care. A successor was not found until 1938, when Rev. Albert John “Jack” Bennitt took up the task of superintending, by then, thirteen congregations, speaking, between them, eight Chinese dialects, as well as Tamil, English, and Malay, in many and varied combinations. Japan had been at war with China since 1931, and this brought a new wave of Chinese arrivals, seeking refuge in the safety of Singapore. Wealthy merchants of Singapore generously provided assistance for the refugees, but the strain on the island community as a whole was considerable. The government requisitioned the sites occupied by St Andrew’s school and St Peter’s Church, which was home to four Chinese congregations and two Indian congregations. Rev. Jack Bennitt made hurried plans to build two new replacement churches, one of which, for the Chinese community, would open in 1940 (Thompson 1951: 651). Time would reveal, of course, that Singapore was no long-term refuge from the Japanese.

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Developing Medical Missions The medical mission in Melaka was initially intended as an inroad into missionary work among Malays. It began in 1911 with a dispensary in Bandar Hilir, on the outskirts of Melaka. An annex was built onto the existing house as the mission grew. The staff consisted of Dr. Mildred E. Staley and three assistants, one of whom was a trained nurse from Hong Kong. Mildred Ernestine Staley was a remarkable individual, born in 1868 in Honolulu, the daughter of the Church of England’s first Bishop of Hawaii, Thomas Nettleship Staley. Educated at Oxford and London, Staley served as a physician in charge of women’s hospitals in Calcutta from 1893 to 1911, before arriving in Melaka. She opened dispensaries around Melaka in Alai, Klebang, and Tangga Batu. In her first annual report, Staley recorded, in addition to in-house work, eighty-seven visits to outlying kampongs (village communities) in just six months, receiving a warm welcome everywhere. Staley and her staff won people’s trust, visiting homes to deliver care as well as instruction in health and hygiene. That the confidence of the Malays had been won is demonstrated by the fact that out of 6700 people who attended the dispensaries in that first phase, over 5000 were Malays. There were forty-five inpatients and many smaller operations were performed. In 1912, Dr. Elsie Warren and Nurse May Satchell arrived from England, and at the end of Staley’s promised two years of leadership she handed over to Warren. Warren prioritized the training of local staff as well as overseeing the move, in 1914, to more suitable premises (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 64, 65). Dr. Staley, meanwhile, volunteered at the outbreak of the First World War and worked in France from September 1914. In 1916 she went to Corfu, where she successfully tackled a typhus outbreak among Serbian troops, contracting the disease herself. She was highly decorated by both Serbia and France (Straits Times 1917: 10). Staley worked with the Red Cross in France and Syria from 1918 to 1920, then in Fiji from 1920 to 1923, before settling in New Zealand. Encouraged by the success in Melaka, Dr. Ferguson-Davie also launched St Andrew’s Medical Mission in Singapore in 1913, aimed particularly at providing care for women and children (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 68–70). Donations came from the cathedral, the SDA, the SPCK, and an anonymous Chinese donor. Dr. Ruth Patricia Elliot (some sources spell “Elliott” and some sources reverse the first names to “Patricia Ruth”) took over in 1927 and oversaw a modernizing revolution in young persons’ care.

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Diverse educational activities were arranged, including woodwork and music, and some children became Scouts and Guides while in hospital, which all contributed to positive recovery (Thompson 1951: 651–52). Further developments were made possible due to multiple acts of generosity by William Morris, Lord Nuffield (1877–1963). In 1935, on one of many visits to Singapore and Malaya, Nuffield was greatly impressed by the work of St Andrew’s Hospital, and even more by St Nicholas’ Home for the Blind in Penang. On that first occasion alone, Nuffield donated 1250 British pounds (about 95,000 pounds or 128,000 US dollars today) each to St Nicholas’ and St Andrew’s and the same amount split between three other charities (Malaya Tribune 1936: 12). St Nicholas’ was able to inaugurate a new building in 1938, and St Andrew’s planned facilities for treating tuberculosis. Further funds were raised, the government donated a suitable site in the Siglap seaside neighborhood, and an admirable orthopedic hospital was opened in 1939 (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: 198–99)

The Vision and Reality of Education as Missionary Work All of the main Christian denominations—Anglicans, Methodists, and Presbyterians, and the ever-prolific Roman Catholics—were keen to establish educational institutions. They aimed to span the whole spectrum from preschool to university, from one-room village schools to well-equipped high schools and vocational colleges. But if church leaders thought that this would lead to large numbers of conversions, they could think again; while conversions to Christianity did occur, they were no more likely to happen in a school setting than anywhere else. This realization was a disappointment for early missionaries, with some concluding that education missions were a waste of time, amounting to “casting pearls before swine” (McDougall 1851: 77). The church’s education provision was widely appreciated, however, as well as being welcomed by the authorities. Colonial governments were not prepared to invest in the education of local children for its own sake, but they realized that encouraging the church’s mission schools was in their interest. Control of Southeast Asia was regarded as nothing less than necessary for the continuance of Western civilization; this was no longer a Boys’ Own adventure by sailing ship to vanquish the pirates, this was actually a matter of economic life and death.

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Britain’s navy, Britain’s industry, and Britain’s money all depended, in some way, on Southeast Asia. Keeping control meant having influence at all levels of society, and in case Britain was not convinced of this, other empires were waiting in the wings and ready to try. Local populations had to be fully engaged with the colonial vision, with all their skills and abilities, working for the ongoing development of the territory and the economy. Some argued that by educating Malayans, schools were equipping foreign competition to take away European jobs, but they were quickly reminded that the supply of willing European workers had never been adequate to meet the needs of flourishing colonies like British Malaya (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 73, 74–75). Elite Anglican schools provided a modern English-language education that prepared the student for a career in government service, the professions, or commerce, while inculcating an unmistakably Western and European philosophical outlook. Alumni of such schools could be found working in every government department, with many reaching prominent positions in society; this further enhanced the schools’ reputations and encouraged greater official support (Goh 2005: 10). Anglican schooling was seen as a gateway to local and international opportunities and social advancement. It conferred status, transcended interethnic boundaries, instilled confidence, and facilitated interaction with the European community (Nagata 2005: 125). It gave access not just to employment, but, crucially, to positions of leadership and responsibility. Church schools across the empire thereby helped—usually inadvertently, no doubt—to prepare the ground for the end of colonialism, ironically while preaching Western values. The West had encroached upon the East in countless ways, accelerated by the phenomenon of urbanization, but few Europeans were brazen enough to pretend that the West was perfect. Notions that “West is best” or that “Western” equals Christian did not go unchallenged, with Dr. Ferguson-Davie pointing out “the evils against which [the Church] has had to struggle, and still has to struggle in the West” and “the vast distinction between what is Christian and what is Western” (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 75–76). Multiethnic integration was promoted by default in colonial-era schools, as different ethnic groups generally studied side by side, for convenience and for maintaining order. Whites were still considered superior, but hierarchy among non-whites was discouraged (Burgess 2012: 389). Many Anglican schools unapologetically privileged the less-advantaged ethnic groups, often for no more politically charged reason than that they

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were already the church’s target audiences. Kuala Lumpur’s most successful schools—St Mary’s, founded in 1912, and Pudu, founded in 1914 by Josephine Foss (1887–1983)—mainly served Chinese and Eurasian girls, and there was also a small school, mainly for Chinese boys, in Pudu. Kuala Lumpur had had a majority Tamil school since 1916, and the original Chinese school dated back to 1890 (Roxborogh 2014: 43). By the 1920s, there were no fewer than eight Anglican schools in Butterworth, Province Wellesley, all named St Mark’s (three remain today). St Andrew’s in Singapore was by then emerging as one of the best schools in the region, with over eight hundred boys enrolled. Most of these schools were able to enlarge and improve their premises, even in the context of the interwar slump, while St David’s school in Melaka was launched within the former hospital building. At St Mary’s mission in Bangkok, Rev. Cecil Ross Simmons took Rev. Greenstock’s old post in 1914, and in partnership with his wife, they expanded the girls’ school and added a small school for boys, St Peter’s. With finances tight, Simmons found a part-time teaching job to supplement their funds. In 1927 he was joined by Rev. Clarence William Norwood from Perth, Australia, who arrived at the same time as two new teachers. The schools grew, and Norwood found translation work to make ends meet. In 1932, the Simmons retired, and after three years, Rev. Cecil George Eagling arrived to take charge of the mission, while Norwood did the chaplaincy work. A bequest of real estate provided much-needed school funds (Singapore Free Press 1933: 4). When Norwood decided to return to Australia, all the work fell on Eagling’s shoulders (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: 226). Costs rose, St Peter’s had to close, and in 1940 the mission was reluctantly brought to an end, though the chaplaincy would remain. It was never quite possible to staff or equip the Bangkok mission on an adequate scale to make a real impact on the Buddhist country. Eagling stayed on as chaplain with his wife, even as war loomed (Thompson 1951: 650–51).

Chapter Conclusion As the 1930s drew to a close, the church looked back on over a hundred years of work in Singapore, Malaya, and Borneo. Some asked why the church had not achieved more, and this question caused some consternation (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 81). It was easy to lay the blame on the old BEIC and subsequent administrations, but the church had experienced

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considerable privileges under the colonial powers as well as prohibitions. Missionaries were enabled by a sociopolitical order in which they could operate with confidence and security, and this, in turn, enabled a range of social works that benefitted all sectors of society. These works, especially in education and medicine, may be considered positive by-products of colonialism, and their impact has been enduring and far-reaching (Goh 2005: 6–7). Women missionaries, previously largely ignored, began to achieve recognition in the first half of the twentieth century, and progress in education and healthcare is overwhelmingly credited to them. Inadvertently, aspects of the church’s work served to challenge or subvert colonial conventions; modern schooling nourished ambitions of self-determination, opportunity, and equality, which would converge in the pursuit of national independence. Considerable stability had been achieved in British Malaya, and as the official colonial church, the Anglican Church enjoyed status in disproportion to its modest presence in the country. Within the church, successive bishops reasserted the Anglo-Catholic tradition, despite an element of disdain for Roman Catholicism. Behind this arguable contradiction sat the knowledge that Roman Catholic missions in Southeast Asia were generally more successful. Plenty of Anglican missionaries admired the Roman Catholic religious orders, with their community living, self-sufficiency, and esprit de corps. The Anglican Church certainly had intrepid missionaries of its own, working amongst remote ethnic groups, learning and translating exotic languages, and dedicatedly training the local clergy. Anglicans repeatedly failed, however, to establish Roman Catholic-style religious communities, despite several Anglo-Catholic Church leaders’ monastic ambitions. What they lacked was the timelessly reassuring stability of the “mother house” common to the highly centralized Roman Catholic religious orders, for whom every mission outpost is a satellite of the headquarters in Rome. There was, sadly, an air of impermanence and isolation in those small Anglican monastic experiments, and, as the case of Rev. Linton demonstrated, it only took one person’s departure to make the community collapse (Taylor 1998: 472). The development of local clergy ran parallel to the dearth of incoming missionaries, partly due to the First World War, and not helped by the slump that followed it. Local clergy training faced some continued skepticism from the British side, though this would ultimately fail. This skepticism contrasted with the broader ethos of the churches in the empire, which generally encouraged local ministry from the earliest days (Cox

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2008: 15–16). There was some disparity between church leaders who proactively promoted local ministry development and those who chose a more relaxed approach, illustrated by the clash between Danson’s and Howell’s methods. Rev. Howell’s recruitment of catechists, it seemed, amounted to allowing former students to casually help out after graduating, but Bishop Danson aspired to something systematic and long term. Beyond the church, the civil authorities began to have grave reservations about an overly influential or numerous local clergy (Taylor 1983: 133). Potential reasons for this are not hard to speculate on; the time was clearly approaching when British colonialism would enter its final phase, and local leaders of all kinds would come into their own.

References Buckley, Charles Burton. An Anecdotal History of Old Times in Singapore [two volumes]. Singapore: Fraser and Neave Ltd. 1902. Burgess, Anthony. Little Wilson and Big God. London: Vintage (Random House), 2012. Campling, Christopher R. I Was Glad: The Memoirs of Christopher Campling. London: Janus, 2005. “Canon Waddy in Singapore.” Malaya Tribune. 6 September 1933. [9]. Church of England. Reports of the Boards of Missions of the Provinces of Canterbury and York on the Mission Field. London, Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1894. Collis, Charles J. Borneo. [booklet] no place of publication: Borneo Mission Association. n.d. [c. 1950]. Cornwall, Nigel Edmund. Borneo: Past, Present and Future. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1953. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. Daniel, J. Rabindra. “Diversity Among Indian Christians in Peninsular Malaysia.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 65, no. 1 (262) (1992) [71–88] (18 pages). “Dr. Mildred Staley Honoured.” The Straits Times. 12 February 1917. [10]. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Goh, Robbie B. H. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publications, 2005. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and

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Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. “Lord Nuffield’s Generosity.” Malaya Tribune. 3 February 1936. [12]. McDougall, Francis T. Letter to T. F. Stooks, 29 March 1851, MSS. Pac.s. 104 (2): 77. Oxford, Bodleian Libraries, SPG Papers Archive. Maughan, Steven S. Mighty England Do Good: Culture, Faith, Empire, and World in the Foreign Missions of the Church of England, 1850–1915. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2014. Nagata, Judith. “Christianity Among Transnational Chinese: Religious Versus (Sub)ethnic Affiliation,” International Migration 43, no. 3 (2005) [99–128]. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. “St Andrew’s Church Mission.” The Straits Times. Singapore. 4 July 1863a. [1]. ———.” The Straits Times. Singapore. 11 July 1863b. [1]. Singapore Church Record Book, volume eight, 1917–1928. National Library Board, Singapore. ———. volume nine, 1928–1941. Southwell, C.  Hudson. Uncharted Waters. Calgary, Canada: Astana Publishing, 1999. Spencer, George John Trevor. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1, n.d.. ———. no. 3 (September, 1847a) [88–96]. ———. no. 4 (October, 1847b) [131–139]. “SPG in Bangkok.” The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser. 15 August 1933. [4]. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. ———. “Gender in Sarawak: Mission and Reception.” Studies in Church History 34 (1998). [461–473]. Thompson, Henry Paget. Into All Lands: The History of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1701–1950. London: SPCK, 1951. Varney, Peter. Iban Leaders in the Anglican Church in Sarawak, 1848 to 2010. Singapore: Centre for the Study of Christianity in Asia (CSCA), 2010.

CHAPTER 5

“Rejoicing in Tribulation, Full of Hope”: The Church and the Second World War

The prevailing impression of prewar Singapore was that of a colorful Chinese town. The Malays were still largely a rural people who lived on the outskirts of the city; the Europeans, too, even the large numbers of rubber planters, generally resided in the suburbs. In the city itself the great majority of the people were Chinese, and it was, of course, amongst the Chinese that most of the missionary work was being done (Ferguson-­ Davie 1921: 35). In population and area, Singapore’s diocese was one of the largest in the world. It comprised British Malaya (consisting of the Straits Settlements, the Federated and Unfederated Malay States), the whole of independent Siam (Thailand), the islands of Java and Sumatra— part of the Dutch East Indies—as well as a number of smaller islands including the Cocos and Christmas Islands. In terms of clergy numbers, conversely, Singapore was one of the smallest dioceses in the world. The total complement at that time was normally about thirty-three, not including armed forces chaplains stationed in the diocese. Of these thirty-three, all but two or three worked in British Malaya. Malaya was, in size and shape, comparable to Britain without the southwestern tip formed by the counties of Devon and Cornwall. The journey from the Thai border in the north to Singapore in the south was about six hundred miles (nearly one thousand kilometers) by road or rail, the main trunk road and railway line running the whole length of the Peninsula, keeping fairly near the west coast. They crossed the border from Siam (Thailand) into Kedah state— flat, rice-cultivating country—passing the small state of Perlis, tucked away © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_5

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in the north-west corner. Both Kedah and Perlis were Unfederated Malay States. To their south was the Straits Settlement of Province Wellesley, sitting on the west coast beside the beautiful island of Penang, the other Straits Settlement. Astonishingly, all of these, from Kedah down to Penang, formed one parish, which also included the whole of the island of Sumatra and the west coast of Siam (Thailand). There were two European priests, one ethnic-Chinese priest and one Indian priest working in this huge parish (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 3). A little further south was the state of Perak, named for the Malay word meaning “silver,” though the state’s main product was tin, and a great deal of rubber was also grown there. The tin mining and rubber planting were by then kept securely in the hands of European—usually British—expatriates, who, to their credit, did a lot of the actual mining and planting themselves. Perak was divided into two parishes, each staffed by one European priest and one ethnic-Indian priest. South of Perak came Selangor state, the chief city of which was Kuala Lumpur, where the city chaplain had one ethnic-Indian priest and two ethnic-Chinese staff working with him. Like Perak, Selangor was well developed, as was Negri Sembilan further south, where one European priest and one ethnic-Indian priest were stationed. Pahang state, lying to the north and east and stretching right to the east coast, had hardly been developed at all, though like the rest of Malaya the earth was rich in minerals. It was mountainous jungle country, much of it devoted to a huge game reserve, and the two main hill stations were located there. There was no priest stationed in the whole of that vast area, nor in the two east-coast Unfederated Malay States further to the north, Kelantan and Trengganu. The largest of all the Malay states, Johor, in the extreme south of the Peninsula, also had no resident priest at that time. Most of Johor was included in the parish of Melaka, which occupied a segment cut from Johor at its north-west corner. There, there were one English, one ethnic-Indian, and one ethnic-Chinese priest (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 3–4). These small and diverse teams would face the challenges ahead, together.

Snapshots of the Prewar Church In the one hundred years since it had achieved regional primacy in 1836, Singapore had been transformed from a sparsely populated maritime stopover into an international cultural and commercial hub. Joined to the mainland by a half-mile-long concrete causeway, Singapore Island was

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roughly the same size as New York City, with a substantial naval base to the north and a charming and bustling downtown to the south. In terms of Anglican clergy, six European priests, four ethnic-Chinese priests, and three ethnic-Indian priests were resident on the island, as well as a Missions to Seamen (today renamed the Mission to Seafarers) chaplain, Rev. Albert V. Wardle, who arrived in 1934 (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: 128). The population of the island was just three quarters of a million, but this was a substantial proportion of only about five million for the whole of British Malaya, indicative of Singapore’s dominance. Two of the European clergy were solely employed as schoolmasters, rather than as pastors of a church, as was one of the ethnic-Indian priests. One ethnic-­ Chinese priest and one ethnic-Indian priest were listed as honorary members of the diocese, with limited duties (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 4). Despite this rather small cohort of Anglican clergy, Singapore gave the impression of being a very Christian city. St Andrew’s cathedral occupied the most prominent south-central site in the town at that time, originally set aside for it by Stamford Raffles. Today the cathedral is dwarfed by other buildings, most noticeably the Swissôtel Stamford next-door, nearly four times its height. Not far away from St Andrew’s were the American Methodist church, a Presbyterian church, the Gospel Hall of the Plymouth Brethren, and a Roman Catholic church, while the Roman Catholic cathedral was not much farther away. In total, there were about fifteen Anglican places of worship on the island, and corresponding numbers for the other denominations, the majority of these buildings being primarily for Europeans. Some English-speaking Asians attended all of these churches, but the population of the island consisted mainly of Asians who spoke little or no English. Anglicans’ strictly missionary work across Malaya was not so extensive in comparison with that of the Roman Catholics or the American Methodists, and in some areas with that of the Plymouth Brethren or the Presbyterians. At the same time it remained true that all of the Christian churches owed their freedom of movement and social standing, at least in part, to the fact that the Anglican Church’s links to power provided a layer of protection and security (Roxborogh 2014: 99). Meanwhile, in Borneo, Bishop Hudson was called home to become, reluctantly, General Secretary of the SPG in 1937, after the death of Canon Waddy (Taylor 1983: 256). Archdeacon Francis Septimus Hollis (1884–1955) of Sarawak was chosen to succeed him, coming to the job with no less than twenty-one years’ experience in the diocese. The church in Borneo had continued to grow, with jungle villages in all directions

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showing openness—sometimes out of simple curiosity, sometimes out of eagerness to join—to the church’s teaching, but the perennial shortage of staff and resources intensified with the general climate of approaching war. Japan, which had invaded and annexed Manchuria in 1931, went into all-­ out war with China on 7 July 1937, confirming what some shrewd observers had already begun to see as a disastrous future for Southeast Asia. Japanese military and economic ambitions were no secret, and these ambitions became consolidated in the policy of expansionism; by 1937, the eight-year-long Pacific War had already begun. Less than twenty years had passed since the 1918 Armistice, but for Southeast Asia, references to The War began to mean the new one already in progress, rather than the Great War. Southeast Asia had been left substantially unaffected by the 1914–1918 war, which had seemed like a storm rumbling in the distance, and colonial residents had carried on with their lives largely as normal, which was regarded as the patriotic thing to do. It was all going to be very different after 1939, and even before the outbreak of hostilities in Europe the war was less of a storm rumbling in the distance and more like a rapidly approaching tornado. Even so, the nature and extent of the disruption to come were not foreseen (Jarvis 2021: 85).

Prelude to Disaster The new conflict touched down on Southeast Asian soil on 22 September 1940, when the Japanese initiated an undeclared four-day war with the purpose of annexing Vietnam. The Japanese found a compliant local administration there in the shape of the Vichy French. As allies of the Nazis, the Vichy government had maintained French hold over Indochina, making the invasion a walk-in for the Japanese. In their plan to control Asia and the Pacific, Vietnam did not have quite the same long-term importance as other parts of Southeast Asia. It did not have the strategic location or natural resources of Singapore, Malaya and Burma, but Vietnam was full of essential rice to feed the Japanese army. Most crucially, it was considered vital to blockade China from using Vietnam’s ports, especially Haiphong in the north. This increasing pressure moving westward would psychologically demolish Siam (Thailand)’s hopes of resistance, and this country too was quickly annexed by the Japanese, giving them a wide range of options for further attacks on Malaya and Burma. The objective of the Japanese campaign was clear and uncompromising;

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complete control of Southeast Asia, from which to then attack and conquer British India, and then to command the entire Pacific region. For the moment however, day-to-day life in Singapore, Malaya, and Borneo was still largely unaffected. More worryingly, the British colonies of Southeast Asia seemed to be gripped by a kind of apathy; colonial life was cynically summarized as consisting of tennis, dinner parties, and thoughts and prayers for poor old blitzed England. It was, according to the bishop of Rangoon, “the complacency of the selfish, the mentality of ‘it can’t happen here’” (West 1945: 46). The Japanese threat was considered genuine by some and as a bluff by others, but it was not felt to be particularly imminent in either case. The vast majority of people across Malaya did not expect a serious attack, and many in positions of authority believed the Japanese to be incapable of mounting one (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 8). The defense of Malaya was thought to be well-organized, and the atmosphere in Singapore provided a comforting sense of security. There was a vastly heightened military presence there, with aircraft droning incessantly overhead. At night, the sky was streaked with the pale beams of searchlights, and both by day and by night the fifteen-inch caliber guns reassuringly carried out artillery practice. Captain (later Colonel) Freddie Spencer Chapman of the British special forces wrote: “From the press and from conversation with people who should have known, one gathered that Japan was economically incapable of declaring war, but that, if she did, the British and American Pacific fleets would prevent her reaching Malaya, and in any case the defense of the Peninsula, especially of Singapore, was impregnable” (Spencer Chapman 1977: 15). Nearly a century earlier, by contrast, Bishop Spencer of Chennai (Madras) had apparently intuited the strategic vulnerability of Malaya, calling it “quite defenseless” (Spencer no. 3, 1847: 95). The idea that there was total complacency and unpreparedness, however, was misleading, according to Spencer Chapman: “The ‘whisky-­ swilling planter’ is a myth,” he wrote; “the planters were all in the Volunteers, whose eight battalions had not been mobilized, as their officers were considered to be far more valuable where they were; on the [rubber] estates and [in the tin] mines.” The problem was not so much complacency as the myth that gave rise to it; the overwhelming sensation of British strength was not backed up with substantial military hardware. The army had neither tanks nor anti-tank guns, because the generals believed that these were unusable in Malaya; there were not enough aircraft, and most of the aircraft they did have were out of date; above all,

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there were just not enough well-trained soldiers (Spencer Chapman 1977: 15). The editor of the Straits Echo from 1931 to 1941 and managing editor of North Malayan Newspapers, was an Anglican journalist, living in Penang, called Manicasothy Saravanamuttu, who came from a distinguished Ceylonese (Sri Lankan) family. Years later, he described the prevalent attitude of war denial as “wishful thinking,” but at the time he himself wrote that the Japanese would be committing “national hara kiri” if they dared to attack Malaya. In his memoirs, Saravanamuttu observed that, in retrospect, and in the long term, the Japanese had probably done just that (Saravanamuttu 2010: 103).

The Harsh Reality of War Bishop Basil Coleby Roberts (1887–1957) resigned in 1940, and John Leonard Wilson (1897–1970), until then Dean of Hong Kong, arrived to replace him, in that fateful year of 1941. Wilson was away in Bangkok, concluding his first tour of the diocese, when the news broke, and he flew back to Singapore on the last plane. The severity and brazenness of the attack on Pearl Harbor was a rude awakening for the entire Pacific region, but there would be no time to pause and reflect before the next installment came. Early in the morning of 8 December 1941, a Japanese invasion force landed at Kota Bharu, in Malaya’s northeastern Kelantan state, and the first air raid struck Singapore. Even then, the people could not help feeling justifiably—or so they thought—confident. The sinking, a few days later, of the British Navy’s two great ships, the Prince of Wales and the Repulse, left Malaya under-defended and Borneo completely exposed. There was just one battalion of Punjabis of the Indian Army based at Kuching, alongside one battalion of the local Sarawak Force, as well as some Dutch land and air force personnel, the local police, and a detachment of British combat engineers. On 13 December, 1941, a Japanese attack force set sail from Cam Ranh Bay in Vietnam, and began landing troops on Borneo three days later. Resistance, on the whole, was fiercer than the Japanese expected, but the Allies had some severe disadvantages; it was only a matter of time before the vast Japanese force—though they suffered hundreds of losses—took control. The evacuation of Borneo’s women and children was ordered in a hurry, with several missionaries among them. They were escorted south into Dutch territory, which still offered a few very limited opportunities to escape, but the whole evacuation began too late to be really effective (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 7, 8).

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Nearly all the missionaries in Borneo remained and were interned. Those in North Borneo were initially interned for some months on a tiny island off Sandakan harbor, and those in Sarawak were held at Kuching. Both the Kuching and Sandakan prisoners were then sent to the former Indian Army barracks, two miles outside of Kuching. This became the notorious Batu Lintang Camp, where thousands of troops and civilians of various nationalities—Australian, British, Dutch, Indian, Indonesian, Malayan—were herded into different sections, separated by barbed-wire fences. They were forced to work, partly just in order to grow enough food to eat, which would become scarcer and scarcer. The legendary Red Cross parcels did arrive in Borneo without problems, but they were confiscated by the Japanese and never distributed to the prisoners. Medicine ran out fast, resulting in constant vitamin deficiency problems and disease, as well as the usual sicknesses associated with squalor, malnutrition, and poor sanitation. Death became commonplace; an astonishing two-thirds of the British prisoners of war would die in Batu Lintang. The bishop and his clergy were allowed to hold services on Sundays, sometimes visiting different sections of the camp, and they regularly celebrated Holy Communion. A number of people discreetly received Baptism and Confirmation inside the camp, and missionaries gave daily lessons to the children. Except for one secret wireless receiver, there were no sources of news (apart from Japanese propaganda) from the outside world. Two years would pass before the first brief postcards from the prisoners would reach their relatives back home; Bishop Hollis’s postcard signed off with the words “Rejoicing in tribulation, full of hope” (Thompson 1951: 659). On the Malay Peninsula, early in the morning of Sunday, 16 December 1941, British women and children were told to evacuate south toward the supposed safety of Singapore. British men were then told to abandon the vulnerable island of Penang; they were advised to escape by sea, because the land routes were thought to be under too great a threat, given the speed of the Japanese advance. Three men—Rev. Eric Scott, priest-in-­ charge of St. Mark’s, Butterworth, a Major Harvey of the Salvation Army, and a physician called Evans—refused to leave Penang, despite being ordered to do so (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 8). The Japanese, apparently not realizing that Penang had effectively given up, and that the “enemy”— British civilians—had nearly all been evacuated, proceeded to bomb the island senselessly. Looting broke out, public services collapsed, and corpses remained for days in the streets or under debris. Scott, Harvey, and Evans fed and tended to hundreds of homeless bombing victims, camped on the

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outskirts of town, while chaos reigned within it. The man who managed to halt the utter destruction was the Anglican journalist, Manicasothy Saravaramuthu. First, he organized volunteer police patrols, then he personally pulled down the Union Jack at Fort Cornwallis, raising a white flag of surrender in its place. Saravaramuthu—or “Uncle Sara” as he was known—then broadcasted a message to the Japanese, urging them to come into the town and allow order to return. These actions led to questions being asked in the British Parliament, with Saravaramuthu being labeled a collaborator, though it was obviously impossible to fully appreciate the situation from the outside. It became clear fairly quickly that Uncle Sara’s motives were purely humanitarian, and, as it turned out, very far from pro-Japanese. Immediately after their arrival, in fact, the Japanese tried to persuade him to broadcast to the people of Malaya in areas still occupied by the British, to urge them not to assist the Allied retreat and to welcome the Empire of the Sun. Uncle Sara flatly refused and spent many months in jail as a result (Saravanamuttu 2010: 110–115). The courage and diplomacy that Uncle Sara displayed in Penang would go on to serve him well; in later years he held diplomatic posts in Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, and Thailand. With the arrival of the Japanese, Rev. Eric Scott was placed under house arrest at St Nicholas’ Home for the Blind, and would later be transferred to the civilian internment camp in Singapore (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 9). The Japanese continued to advance down through Ipoh, toward Kuala Lumpur, Seremban, and Melaka. At All Saints Church, Taiping, Rev. Geoffrey Stere Clarke’s preparations to flee turned into a narrow escape; he was getting ready to drive away from the front of his vicarage when two bombs blew away the rear half of the house. All he had managed to load into the car were a few pillows and the church hymn books. Rev. Bernard Eales stayed behind in Melaka, just as Rev. Eric Scott had done in Penang, and he was immediately jailed by the arriving Japanese, before being interned in Singapore several months later. While in jail, Eales somehow managed to persuade the guards to allow the local ethnic-Tamil priest to bring Holy Communion in, and on one occasion, with lookouts posted to give warning of the approach of the guards, he baptized a Chinese prisoner who had been sentenced to death. This man was taken away a few hours later to be executed. Evacuees poured into Kuala Lumpur by all and any means, with some passing straight through on the way to Singapore. Most of the evacuated women and children had left loved ones behind in the voluntary defense

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forces, facing dangers unknown. When the evacuees began to arrive in Singapore, their sheer numbers stunned everyone, but collective efforts and lots of improvisation succeeded in applying some order to a chaotic situation. The ethnic-Chinese clergy at Holy Trinity Church, under Rev. John Lee Bang Hang, were especially appreciated for their efforts, feeding and housing a large number of evacuees in the hall below the church. As the outlook for Singapore worsened, all of the clergy were assigned jobs by Bishop Wilson; some worked in the hospitals, others had a variety of rescue duties or other frontline jobs, and some served as emergency chaplains to the local forces, such as Rev. Alfred C. Parr, senior assistant master of St Andrew’s school. Christmas and New Year passed almost unnoticed, with no break in the chaos. The bombing of Singapore became heavier and more frequent, making January and February a scenario of total war. Ships were still managing to leave, crowded with refugees, amidst the ongoing bombardment. Oil fires at the naval base caused a heavy pall of black smoke to hang over the island for weeks. Wounded soldiers and civilians soon filled all of the undamaged church premises, including the cathedral. There, on the afternoon of Sunday 15 February, a little after four o’clock, news of the British surrender was confirmed, and the bishop held an impromptu service. He said afterward that it was one of the most moving services he had ever experienced. So ended the short and utterly overwhelming battle for Malaya (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 10–11, 11–12). The onslaught of Japanese expansionism was total, rapid, and destabilizing; it signaled the beginning of the end for the old European rulers of the region. All of the nations of Southeast Asia, with the single exception of Siam (Thailand), had been under foreign colonial domination for generations, whether by the British, French, Dutch, Portuguese, or Americans. For some of Asia’s people, the Japanese pretense of pan-Asian solidarity had a disarming and potent appeal, feeding into long-standing and latent desires to oppose European colonialism by any means. The Japanese undoubtedly gave local populations a different perspective on foreign occupation; unlike the European colonizers, these invaders—or liberators—were fellow five-foot-tall tan-skinned Asians, neither gigantic in stature nor particularly foreign in appearance, and not completely alien in customs and behavior. Remarkably, furthermore, these fellow Asians had quickly driven away the mighty Europeans, challenging their myths of invincibility and superiority, and exposing before Malayans’ eyes that British imperialism was not so timeless after all (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 126).

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The Japanese conquests of 1941–1942 would therefore come to be seen in some light as part of the longer-term decolonizing struggle. Hitler, during the same period, unequivocally pursued his invasion of the Baltic States, Russia, Southeastern Europe, and the Caucasus as a fiercely ideological war of aggression. He dismissed suggestions of “marketing” these campaigns as a war of liberation from Stalinist oppression, even though he could have garnered significant local sympathy by doing so. In contrast, the Japanese invaders tended to encourage the populations of the occupied lands to view the Japanese as heralds of forthcoming independence. Within Burma and India especially, the Japanese had already fostered nationalist movements for several years before the war, agitating for independence from the British. The start of the war saw the creation of the anti-British Indian National Army (INA), and Japanese promises of liberation switched to preying on desperation, hunger, and fear. Vigorous INA recruitment campaigns were conducted among demoralized and terrified Indian prisoners of war, beginning immediately after the fall of Singapore. In reality, both the Nazis and the Japanese regarded their respective conquered peoples as subhuman, but some defeated Southeast Asians still believed the Japanese talk of pan-Asian brotherhood and the coming “Greater East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere,” as they branded it. The opposite of prosperity was imminent, however, and the reality of pan-Asian brotherhood was revealed when senior citizens were forced to bow reverently before teenage Japanese conscripts (Roxborogh 2014: 69). Throughout 1942–1943, however, there was little reason to believe that Japanese control of Southeast Asia would not become permanent.

The Church Under Japanese Occupation While most of the local clergy, at least, remained ostensibly at liberty, the foreign clergy and missionaries of Singapore, along with all other “enemy” civilians, were interned. However, the Japanese officer who was placed in charge of relations with the local churches was a certain Lieutenant Ogawa, who, incredibly, turned out to be a regular worshipper at an Anglican Church in Japan. He arrived in Singapore soon after the occupation, in the position of Director of Religion and Education. He arranged for Bishop Wilson to be allowed to remain at the episcopal residence, Bishopsbourne, instead of staying in the internment camp at Changi. He would be assisted at Bishopsbourne by Rev. Reginald Keith Sorby Adams and Rev. John Hayter, who had only been in Singapore since the previous

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May (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: 246). For most of 1942, Wilson, Adams, and Hayter moved around without restrictions, until curfews were introduced. Hayter’s record of these days, together with the recollections of Rev. Jack Bennitt, were collated and published at the end of the war; they provide an invaluable account of wartime events. The senior cleric inside Changi camp, meanwhile, was Archdeacon Graham White, OBE, who had been in Singapore since 1931 (Singapore Church Record Book Vol. 9, 1928–1941: 66–67). Friends and congregants kept the bishop and the two priests supplied with food and money, as they received no rations or pay from other sources. Hardly a day went by when a visitor—whether ethnic-Chinese, ethnic-Indian, or Eurasian—did not bring them something—fruit, eggs, or money—Hayter recalled. The bishop was allowed to visit the internment camps and give Confirmation, but ultimately all aspects of the church’s work were disrupted in some way. The Japanese were keen to keep schools open, but devoid of religious education content, so all mission schools were taken over by the occupation government. The objective was to create good subjects of the new imperial order by indoctrination, and many parents, to their credit, responded by refusing to send their children to school. Hospitals, meanwhile, were not just neglected under the Japanese but actually starved of food, drugs, equipment, and other supplies. The local doctors and nurses did their best to keep things running, but they were fighting a losing battle. Tragically, few of the sick children at St Andrew’s would survive (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 13, 14, 15–16). In spite of everything, there was a prevailing sensation that the situation could have been much worse. The moderating presence of Lieutenant Ogawa, the Japanese Anglican, was regarded as a blessing. On one occasion, he secured Rev. Adams’ release from police custody, after he was arrested for talking to prisoners of war over the fence of their camp. A broadly tolerant atmosphere was thus created with regard to religion, and in comparison to other occupied lands, the Japanese treated the church buildings of Singapore reasonably well. Christ Church, the Indian Church, had been damaged during the bombing and then partially destroyed by fire, but it was not completely beyond repair. Throughout the occupation, churches remained open, and there was relatively little interference in the actual conduct of services. There were restrictions on preaching, however, and any lyrics in hymns that could be construed as anti-militarist or anti-­ imperialist had to be excised. Bishop Wilson and Reverends Hayter and

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Adams enjoyed ostensible freedom, but in reality, they, their friends, visitors, and all of the local clergy were being watched carefully by the “Kempie”—the Kenpeitai, also known as the Japanese Gestapo—who pushed for the internment of the Bishop and his assistants (Lewis Bryan 1946: 10). This mirrored the situation all over the country, where clergy and church workers were harassed, bullied, and arrested on the slightest pretexts (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 14, 18, 26). The bishop made good use of his freedom while it lasted; he was instrumental in forming the Federation of all the churches of Malaya. The Federation called upon the churches to cooperate in three areas: monthly united worship, regular discussions and ideas sharing, and the launch of a joint relief project, without limits of ethnicity or belief; in the face of Japanese indifference, hardly anything was being done for the poor and destitute. Each denomination would continue to have its own services, alongside Federation-specific events. In spite of the Federation’s name, however, the Roman Catholics would have nothing to do with it. The Federation of all the churches of Malaya was a bold and promising step, but in March 1943 the year of initial toleration came to an end. At the end of that month, Wilson, Hayter, and Adams were to be interned at forty-­ eight hours’ notice. The bishop acted immediately to reinforce the local clergy: John Handy, a young Eurasian ordinand, was ordained deacon and priest on the same day, and an ethnic-Chinese deacon, Gwok Koh Muo, was ordained to the priesthood; this was on 28 March, the day before the bishop’s internment. Wilson put Rev. Dr. Devasahayam David Chelliah, who had formerly been the vice-principal at St Andrew’s, in temporary charge of the diocese. Then, the bishop, Hayter, and Adams joined their comrades in Changi prison, which had been designed for six hundred local prisoners and was now crammed with three thousand Europeans (Thompson 1951: 652–653). Apart from the terrible overcrowding, life had so far been almost tolerable in Changi. The clergy, under Archdeacon White, had kept the church’s staff and members busy with ministry activities, and cooperation with the other churches had gradually increased. Services were allowed; Communion wine could occasionally be procured at first, but then various substitutes had to be experimented with. Blackcurrant jam, raisins, and even the sticky palm sugar known as Gula Malacca, were boiled and bottled for use at the altar. The dipping method—intinction—was used for Communion, not only as a method of conserving the stock of “wine” but also as a means of preventing infection; Dr. Patricia Elliot, though elderly

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and frail, maintained careful vigilance over basic health in the camp. Communion bread was made from small amounts of rice flour, maize flour, or tapioca, whenever any of these were available (Lewis Bryan 1946: 12–13). This atmosphere of tolerability would not last; on 10 October 1943, hundreds of Kenpeitai descended upon the camp, in what would become known as the “double tenth” incident, due to the date. They began a months-long reign of terror, starting by completely turning over and ransacking the camp. Dozens of internees were dragged away without explanation, sometimes in the middle of the night. The resulting atmosphere of tension and terror dispelled the last remaining vestiges of physical and emotional wellbeing. One of the first to be dragged away was Bishop Wilson, under an absurd pretext that, throughout his year of relative freedom, he had built up and financed a vast espionage network, covering all of Malaya and half of Southeast Asia. He was supposedly now trafficking money in and out of the camp, and coordinating this enormous espionage operation by means of a short-wave radio; the “Kempie” admitted that they had failed to locate this radio, though they practically destroyed the camp in their search for it. The espionage story, it became clear, was founded upon some very small grains of evidence. There probably was, somewhere in Changi camp, at least one hidden radio receiver—not a transmitter—and Wilson, like many internees, did indeed have money smuggled in and out of the camp, as there was no other way to acquire basic medicines and foodstuffs. It was against camp rules to handle money, but in reality, it was unavoidable; many funerals were being conducted, and rolls of money would often be found secreted in the clothes of the deceased. There was a broader context to the persecution, however; actual Allied intelligence operations were scoring major successes, and the Japanese were left dazed and humiliated by daring sabotage attacks on Singapore harbor. The “double tenth” provided an outlet for their frustration, with real events providing a flimsy excuse. On the basis of the trumped-up charges, the bishop was hauled away and beaten for three days, for hours at a time; he was kept tied up in crippling positions, as the Kenpeitai tried and failed to extract a confession from him (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 15, 17). Others implicated in the fabled spy ring endured the same treatment, and some were killed. They spent seven months tied up in the filthiest overcrowded cells, or in cages, irrespective of age, gender, or state of health. They could not lie down flat, they had no blankets of any kind, and bright lights burned overhead day and night. The single toilet provided

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the only drinking water, and dysentery was soon rife. They had no belongings at all, except the clothes they were wearing at the moment of being arrested. Incredibly, Wilson found the courage to hold some semblance of a church service, celebrating Holy Communion using grains of burnt rice passed through the bars, and he also managed to do a Baptism, using toilet water, while other prisoners kept watch (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 21–22, 23–24). In May 1944, the bishop’s torture and interrogation ceased, and he rejoined the other civilian internees, now transferred to the internment camp on Sime Road; he was fifty-seven pounds (twenty-six kilos) lighter than when he had been detained. Food was scarce, and the Japanese employed their usual tactic of stealing the Red Cross parcels. Prisoners were forced to dig, not only to grow vegetables but also to construct escape tunnels for the guards; the Japanese were already planning for the day they would lose the war (Thompson 1951: 652–653).

The Turning Tides of War Meanwhile, in Borneo, a small group of just eight local Anglican clergies, Dayaks, and ethnic-Chinese remained cautiously active, working without supervision, support, or salaries, while the senior—foreign—clergies were all interned. Just like in Singapore and the Malay Peninsula, the Japanese were hostile and suspicious of the clergy’s every movement, and ordinary Christians also lived in fear and trepidation. Nevertheless, church workers and other Christian leaders who remained at liberty did an impressive job. When mission schools were closed and churches were to be seized and used for storage, several of the clergy risked their lives to remove and hide items of church property. They moved discreetly amongst the people, holding services whenever possible and with whatever little cluster of Christians they could gather together, without distinctions of ethnicity or denomination. In this way, they unwittingly brought down barriers and contributed to the coming watershed in Malaysia’s Anglican Church, in which mixed-ethnicity services had been vigorously discouraged by British policy (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 125). Circumstances now made mixed-­ ethnicity services unavoidable; this was at least five decades after they had become the norm in neighboring Burma, by comparison (Ward 2006: 269). The Japanese did as they pleased in Borneo; they imposed forced labor, abducted people for their army’s use, and stole rice crops and other foods, bringing the people to the verge of starvation. Disease spread, and many vulnerable people, including infants, died. When the tide of war

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turned, and inevitable defeat finally faced the Japanese, they shot many of the English-speaking locals out of pure spite, with several leading Christians among them. At Miri, Rev. Lim Siong Teck had previously helped a stranded Dutch airman to escape, and for this, he had already been brutally punished, but he still continued to do all he could for his congregation and community. On 13 June 1945, the day before the first of the Australian liberation forces arrived, the Japanese took Lim and twenty-­ seven others, including several prominent Christians, forced them to dig their own graves, and executed them (Thompson 1951: 659–661). In Singapore, 14 August 1945 finally brought the Japanese capitulation. Amidst the celebrations, it was also time to count the losses, and there were many. Just before the fall of Singapore, a number of the women missionaries, mostly nurses and teachers, were evacuated by sea, and in the absence of any reliable communication since then, everyone assumed or hoped that they reached some kind of safety. It was now learned that at least a dozen of those evacuee ships had quickly been bombed and sunk. Nothing more had been heard, for example, of Gladys Olga Sprenger and Evelyn Simmonds. Sprenger was an SPG missionary who had been in Malaya since 1934. She had been head teacher of St Mary’s, Kuala Lumpur and then worked at the Pudu school as well. Simmonds was a medical missionary, working at St Andrew’s in Singapore. It now became clear that both of them had drowned in the sinking of the HMS Vyner Brooke, on or shortly after 14 February 1942, just hours after escaping from Singapore. In a sense, Sprenger and Simmonds were fortunate compared to others on board the Vyner Brooke who managed to swim or float to Sumatra; a hand-­ picked Japanese death squad, commanded by a notorious war criminal, was waiting on the beach to torture the survivors at their leisure before massacring them. Back in Singapore, Rev. Alfred Cecil Parr was last seen when he was taken prisoner, while serving as chaplain to the Straits Settlement Volunteer Force, First (Singapore Volunteer Corps) Battalion. He was transported with them to work on the notorious Thai-Burma railway, where he died of amoebic dysentery on 24 June 1943, aged thirty-­ seven (Lewis Bryan 1946: 18). His wife, Evelyn Mary Parr, a Red Cross nurse, had been interned at Muntok internment camp on Banka Island, Sumatra, where she too died on 11 January 1945, aged thirty-eight. Also in Muntok internment camp, Rev. Albert Victor Wardle of the Mission to Seamen had died one week previously on 4 January 1945, aged forty-seven. Those who remained to be interned in Singapore also counted their losses; Archdeacon White died at Sime Road camp on 8 May 1945, VE

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Day in Europe, and less than four months later, his wife, Georgina, had also died; both of them were sixty years old. They were remembered as a wonderfully supportive influence amongst their fellow prisoners, despite their own suffering. White’s secretary had also been killed during the initial bombing of Singapore. Outside the camps, throughout the long months of brutal occupation, local Christians and their clergy were frequently put to the test, as the Japanese used a catalog of tricks, ploys, and ruses to sow seeds of interethnic discord. Upon their arrival, the Japanese immediately detained and shot hundreds of ethnic Chinese, considered potential resisters, with many young Christians amongst them. At Yong Peng village, in Johor, the Japanese incited and armed a group of Malays to execute the two thousand inhabitants, mostly ethnic Chinese, many of them Christian families, on the fabricated pretext of their being “guerrillas” (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 11, 27). Not far away, a Japanese night patrol stole a pig from an ethnic-Chinese settlement, and slaughtered it on the steps of a mosque, provoking another murderous attack on Chinese villagers (Chin Peng 2003: 127). A few civilians managed to make a daring escape from Ulu Tiram estate, also in Johor, where the Japanese senselessly bayonetted sixty people to death, mostly Eurasian and ethnic-Chinese, and buried their corpses under a foot of earth (Malaya Tribune 1946: 2). Everywhere, the Japanese had monitored influential Christians and their leaders, in particular, with deep suspicion, but Chinese Christian leaders were considered a triple threat. In Borneo too, at long last, liberation came, but at great cost. The military campaign was controversial in Australia, where some felt that it was pointless to send Australian boys to fight against an already-defeated army, but Japanese rule was utterly brutal right to the end; the infamous Sandakan “death march” was one of several last-minute reprisals (Roxborogh 2014: 70–71, 75). The final Allied bombing raids devastated Sandakan and other towns, but, on 18 August, the planes dropped leaflets announcing that the war was over, and then began dropping sorely needed bales of food, clothing, and medical supplies. Ethnic-Chinese and Dayak Christians descended upon Kuching, bringing gifts of fruit and eggs to the liberated camp—though they themselves were near starvation—and rejoicing to see their friends and colleagues once again. In September, a division of the Australian Army moved into Sarawak, and the former internees were moved to Labuan, where they were cared for with every available comfort, and then sent home for much-needed rest and recovery. Two of the liberated priests, Archdeacon Stonton and Rev. Peter Henry Herbert

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Howes, vowed to remain, and with the help of Australian Army chaplains, they began to assess the material losses suffered by the church and started planning to rebuild. The damage to buildings was immense. Of the churches, a few located in the jungle were unharmed, but the others had all been destroyed, burnt out, or only partially damaged but completely looted. The towns of Labuan, Jesselton, Sandakan, and Miri lay in ruins, partly due to Allied bombardment, and all the mission property there was gone. Kuching had not suffered quite as severely, but the Japanese had destroyed some of the mission buildings and badly damaged St Thomas’s cathedral. Though the jungle villages had escaped similar destruction, schools, churches, and priests’ houses urgently needed repairs that had been impossible under the occupation. Christians and their leaders, though reduced to rags and half-starved, streamed back to their homes, patched up the damaged buildings or put up temporary shelters, resumed their worship, and restarted their schools, though with no books. The Australians helped to restore the cathedral, built a beautiful little church at Labuan, and liberally distributed clothing and other materials. The long process of recovery had begun (Thompson 1951: 660).

Peacetime The terrible privations of internment left their mark on all the foreign missionaries of Borneo, and few of them were ultimately able to return from convalescence, despite their initial optimism. Archdeacon Mercer went to Australia to recuperate; Agnes Olver, who had worked among the women of Kuching since 1906 and stoically endured internment, sadly died after her release; Bishop Hollis bravely returned to work in 1946, but his eyesight had been ruined during captivity, and he had to go home to England for treatment. After attending the Lambeth Conference in 1948, he resigned, bringing a lifetime of devoted service in Borneo to a close. A long interregnum followed, during which Archdeacon Stonton stepped in as caretaker, without complaint. Rev. Arthur Jack Sparrow had been on furlough in England when the war started, served in Burma as an army chaplain, and finished the war as senior chaplain of the Second Division in Malaya. He then returned to Sandakan but soon resigned, worn out after a long war (Taylor 1983: 284). Three new priests arrived, only for two of them to quickly go home sick. The staff was reduced to three European and eleven Asian priests, with three European women missionaries (Thompson 1951: 661). In Singapore too, Bishop Wilson was faced with

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a huge staffing problem. Of the fourteen European clergies, who were in the diocese at the time of his arrival in August 1941, three had already resigned before the outbreak of war and thus avoided the turmoil. One of those who was interned chose not to return to the diocese for personal reasons, another decided to retire, two died during their internment, and the possible return of three others, all of them ex-prisoners of war or ex-­ internees, was held up because of lengthy medical procedures. Eagling, who had also been interned by the Japanese, returned to work in Bangkok. The clergy of Indian and Chinese ethnicity had generally done great work during the Japanese occupation, but a well-deserved retirement was rapidly approaching for several of them, and one of their number had died shortly before the Japanese surrender, (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 33). After much-needed rest, recuperation, and medical attention, Bishop Wilson and some of his clergy—those who were both able and willing— returned to work, enthusiastically welcomed back by the Christians of Singapore. For the first month, the bishop was busy reorganizing everything, and also acting as chair of the new Malayan Welfare Council. This had recently been set up by the island’s government, in continuation of the church’s ecumenical work begun during the war. The common experience of suffering and crisis had drawn together, as never before, the many ethnic groups and the many Christian denominations, calling forth new powers of initiative. Christians felt that it was more urgent than ever to work together for the common good, and in this, the Anglican Church could take the lead. Christian reconstruction became the watchword. Society faced a range of changes and challenges; the European population, not counting the huge number of temporary service personnel, was greatly reduced, the cost of living had skyrocketed, the black market was out of control, and practically everything was in short supply. It was impossible for the church to staff all the chaplaincies, though the armed forces chaplains gave valuable help for a time, and the smaller European community contributed less, materially, to the missions. Interethnic relations were volatile, and politically there was unrest, with proposals for reform and restructuring adding to the air of uncertainty. Malayans who had resisted and helped to defeat the Japanese now aspired to social justice and independence from all foreign occupiers. Britain, impoverished by the war, was certainly open to reevaluating its involvement in the colonies, but the global picture was becoming more complex by the day, and there was not going to be an easy solution (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 126).

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There were small mercies to be acknowledged; church buildings around the Malay Peninsula had been used as warehouses and many had been looted, as in Borneo, but most of them were structurally intact. The iconic St George’s, Penang, was almost completely destroyed, as was Holy Trinity, Singapore, but these were gradually refitted and repaired. The congregations, for the most part, had held together and kept some kind of worship going. The schools, however, had been completely taken over by the Japanese; the buildings were damaged and stripped of materials; books and equipment had been stolen or destroyed, and three years’ worth of filth covered the walls, floors, and ceilings. But the skills to rebuild the schools were also at hand; Josephine Foss, whose innovation and leadership had launched Pudu English school long ago, was back in Singapore after internment, working in social welfare projects and assisting leprosy sufferers. The schools, though almost completely without materials or equipment, reopened and soon filled up with pupils again. They were more popular than ever, which did not allow the overburdened teachers to devote much time to strictly evangelistic pursuits. St Nicholas’ Home for the Blind, in Penang, continued its valuable work, though it was as hard-­ pressed for staff as everywhere else. In Singapore, St Andrew’s Hospital also reopened, still led by the apparently indestructible Dr. Patricia Elliot (Thompson 1951: 653–655).

Chapter Conclusion British Malaya, its state of preparedness for war, and the surrender at Singapore, constitute a controversial history. The church, which found itself at the very front of the front line when reality caught up with Malaya, has been absent from many historical accounts. Anglicans’ influence, networks, and wide range of expertise made them invaluable in the everyday battle for survival in Malaya and Borneo. With their local knowledge, practical skills, and resourcefulness, the clergy, missionaries, staffs, and churchgoers provided vital services to the community, in what became a vast test of their corporate and personal qualities. The war forced the local church to face new social needs, going well beyond their customary roles as educators and nurses, mostly working without the expatriate assistance or direction they had previously relied on. The church had to both accept and enact long-overdue changes, combatting the isolationism that had taken root in the church. Amidst enormous hardships, seeds of the future church were planted in the forging of ecumenical partnerships and the

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breaking down of barriers within the church itself. The Anglican Church in Malaysia had never had mixed-ethnicity services as standard until the war made them unavoidable; they were significantly behind some of their regional neighbor churches, such as Burma’s, in this respect. The prewar church, although segregated in worship, did at least tend to share church buildings between communities (Roxborogh 2014: 43). The Japanese, conversely, actively sought to stamp out any nascent solidarity amongst the locals, exploiting old prejudices and stoking interethnic distrust, especially to the detriment of the ethnic-Chinese community (Harper 1999: 184). There would always be a sensation of inequality, perhaps, and this was often beyond the church’s control—it was not the first time that the ethnic-Chinese community had been discriminated against, for example— and language barriers obviously remained, but multiethnic services and Asian leadership were at least set to become the norm (Daniel 1992 [1]: 78). In a spiritual sense, the war was arguably the making of the modern church, but the physical torture endured by so many of its members was echoed by the tremendous destruction of the church’s buildings and property. Some churches were all but flattened, many were stripped of valuables and furniture, and others were used as sauce factories, rice stores, or just looted and filled with garbage. Hospitals and schools were emptied—books, furniture, even pianos and window frames disappeared forever—often in acts of retaliation by the Japanese. It is difficult to know exactly what to make of the supposed espionage and currency trafficking plot that Bishop Wilson and other church members were accused of; authors and eyewitnesses have admitted varying degrees of truth to some aspects of the case. For the first full year of the occupation, the bishop and his two assistants enjoyed a surprising amount of freedom, thanks to an unexpected Anglican protector among the Japanese. This was no doubt highly controversial amongst the occupiers, and it seems that hardliners eventually got their way, and then retaliated. If they truly believed that Wilson was masterminding an international spy ring, it seems unlikely that the Kempie—the dreaded Kenpeitai—would have just given up trying to uncover it one day. They could also have simply executed the bishop, but it appears that the Japanese wanted him to live, with scars, burns, bruises, and broken ribs to show for it. It took the Second World War to instill widespread appreciation of local clergies in churches across colonial Asia, and Malaysia’s Anglican Church was no exception. The church in Burma, as mentioned above, had

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advanced faster toward multiethnic services and local leadership, and but for this localization, the Burmese Church may well have disappeared during the war or collapsed later when foreigners were expelled (Ward 2006: 242). For Malaysian Anglicans to address their chronic staffing problems once and for all, before the advent of national independence, the definitive switch to local clergy would have to be agreed upon and implemented, with all that this implied. Ecumenism and cooperation between denominations also took on new urgency after the war. The Malayan Christian Council was founded in Singapore in 1948 with a view to safeguarding the interests of all Christians and working for them in concert and cooperation. For the Anglican Church, the war had interrupted a number of initiatives, such as planned missions to the Orang Asli communities of the Malay Peninsula, and these would remain as pending tasks to be evaluated after the war. Just as there appeared to be scope for reactivating this project, however, another war would appear on the horizon (Ng 2009: 11–12, 57–64). The implications of national independence increasingly clouded all the issues faced by the church, whose bonds binding it to Britain were still fairly strong; the question of colonialism and its legacy was still unresolved. The church could not easily escape the fact that it had always been widely perceived “as a sort of society existing to further the political aims of the British” (Taylor 1983: 275). This rather acerbic appraisal, made by Archdeacon Stonton, arguably serves as a summary of the whole experience of the Anglican Church in Asia up to that point. It is a summary that is both bleak and difficult to dismiss, and it seems to affirm the colonial church’s readiness for consignment to the past.

References Chin Peng. My Side of History. Singapore: Media Masters, 2003. Daniel, J.  Rabindra [1]. “Diversity Among Indian Christians in Peninsular Malaysia.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 65, no. 1 (262) (1992) [71–88] (18 pages). Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Harper, T. N. [Timothy Norman] The End of Empire and the Making of Malaya. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Hayter, John and Jack Bennitt. The War and After: Singapore. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, n.d. [c. 1947].

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Jarvis, Edward. The Anglican Church in Burma: From Colonial Past to Global Future. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2021. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. Lewis Bryan, John Northridge. The Churches of the Captivity in Malaya. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1946. Ng Moon Hing. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Saravanamuttu, Manicasothy. The Sara Saga. Penang, Malaysia: Areca Books. 2010. Singapore Church Record Book, volume nine, 1928–1941 (National Library Board, Singapore). Spencer, George John Trevor. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 3 (September, 1847) [88–96]. Spencer Chapman, Frederick. The Jungle is Neutral. London: Triad Panther Books, 1977. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Thompson, Henry Paget. Into All Lands: The History of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1701–1950. London: SPCK, 1951. “Ulu Tiram Massacre Victims Exhumed.” Malaya Tribune. 15 June 1946. [2]. Ward, Kevin. A History of Global Anglicanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. West, George A. The World That Works. London: Blandford Press, 1945.

CHAPTER 6

“A Fertile Field for Evangelism”: The Postwar Church, The Malayan Emergency, and Missionary Evolution

The Second World War took a terrible toll on Malaysia’s Anglican Church, but it survived; the bonds binding it together were stretched to their limits and, in the process, those bonds were strengthened. Individuals from many sectors of the church community had an opportunity to put their faith to the test, especially after the internment of the non-Asian clergy. Local clergy took on new and heavy responsibilities, demonstrating the extent of the contribution that they were able to make, and had a right to make, in the life of their church. This exposed the extent of the church’s erstwhile dependency on clergy from outside, whether Europeans—mostly British—and Australasians, for their learning, leadership, and resources, or clergy from other parts of Asia, for their language knowledge, cultural acumen, and resourcefulness. No one was predicting a sudden end to this dependency, but it was clearly both possible and desirable for the local church to provide, train, and nurture its own clergy. Local clergy and lay leaders proved themselves during the occupation, not merely keeping the church going but breathing life into it; “Many [Anglicans] found, [possibly] for the first time, a real fellowship and community of interest in their Church membership. This was due in a very large measure to the work of the [local] clergy” (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 16–17, 33–34). There were still some diehard skeptics, predictably, both within the church and beyond, who feared the impending transition to a postcolonial church and wanted to slow the process down. Some, especially those who had not © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_6

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experienced the war first-hand, emphasized the “slow but steady” nature of church reform across the centuries. History obliged these skeptics to take local leaders seriously; numbers of ethnic-Chinese and ethnic-Indian (especially Tamil) clergy gradually increased, and the first senior leaders from these communities were already waiting in the wings (Ward 2006: 269–270). In 1948, Bishop Wilson resigned, and his successor Henry Wolfe Baines (1905–1972) arrived in Singapore to find the church focused on reconstruction. St Andrew’s Hospital relocated to three stories of a large building, where outpatient and inpatient work resumed in 1948 and 1949 respectively. Muriel Clark returned to direct the training of local nurses, and Dr. Gordon Keys Smith, an Australian, was placed in overall charge (Thompson 1951: 654–655). One of the major challenges facing the church, upon Baines’ arrival, was a new influx of Chinese immigrants, prompted by the communist revolution in China. As the church knew very well, events in China had dictated the flow of Chinese immigrants into Singapore, Malaya, and Borneo for well over a century, and 1949 was no exception. Apart from the practical challenge, demographic changes had the potential to seriously disrupt Malaya’s delicate ethnic balance. The Malays were the largest single ethnic group, but they constituted a little less than fifty percent of the population. Growing fears of becoming a permanently disadvantaged minority sparked a surge in Malay nationalist sentiment (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 126). Borneo’s bishopless hiatus ended just before Christmas 1949, when Nigel Edmund Cornwall (1903–1984) arrived to take charge of what would no longer be known as the Diocese of Labuan and Sarawak; it was renamed the Diocese of Borneo, and this was not the only change afoot. Cornwall, like his counterpart in Singapore, arrived in the middle of a tricky social and political situation. British Borneo—Sarawak, British North Borneo, and Labuan—which now came under the direct rule of the Colonial Office in London, was living through a troubled postwar recovery, with prices skyrocketing. The church was eager to reopen its schools, but apart from the small matter of refitting and repairing them after war damage, it would also have to massively increase the salaries of its teachers, in line with rising costs. This was impossible with the available resources, and it did not help the case for recruiting new teachers. The Colonial Office, fortunately, had decided to invest in education and opened a new teacher training college; it continues to this day, based in what was once the Japanese internment camp. The government offered a place on the

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staff to one Anglican priest and one Roman Catholic priest, in order to provide religious instruction to trainee teachers of their own denominations. This ensured that future teachers could at least be suitably trained at no extra cost to the church (Thompson 1951: 661). The church’s even more urgent priority was training local clergy, which had never been easy in Borneo. The need was made clear to Bishop Cornwall when he confronted a local community leader about Anglicans reportedly abandoning the faith; “What can you expect,” came the reply, “after leaving us all these years without a shepherd?” Cornwall was immediately converted into a committed advocate of local clergy development (Cornwall 1953: 37, 39–41). Urban centers like Sandakan, Jesselton, the de facto colonial capital of Kuching, as well as the new oilfield settlements in Brunei, urgently called for priests and teachers. The Sea Dayak (Iban) villages around Simanggang and Betong, and the Land Dayak villages around Quop and Tai-i (still pastored by Rev. Si Migaat) also called for more assistance. Of the prewar school staff, the indomitable Edith Andrews, head of St Mary’s, Kuching since 1916, was back at work, Sister Alison, CJGS, was back at St Monica’s in Sandakan, and Minnie Carlton was back at St Agnes’ in Jesselton, all after recovering from wartime internment (Taylor 1998: 465). Archdeacon Stonton and Rev. Peter H. H. Howes, also well recovered from the war, oversaw Kuching and nearby areas. By 1950, Stonton had relaunched training for full-time catechists in Simanggang, with Sea Dayak (Iban) trainees spending six months at his mission headquarters and then doing six months practical work out in the villages. Training included courses in hygiene, first aid, medical dispensing, and agricultural methods—growing vegetables and other crops—as well as Christian theology, with Stonton personally preparing the training materials in  local languages (Varney 2010: 16). In North Borneo, unreached Dusun communities, inland from Jesselton and Kudat, offered fresh opportunities for missionary work. The Dusuns, unrelated to the Dayaks, are the largest indigenous group in modern-day Sabah (formerly North Borneo). 1950 also saw a number of new arrivals, including four priests. In 1952, Rev. Howes was tasked with leading a new ordination school, the House of the Epiphany, and in the same year, the first stone was laid for a new cathedral in Kuching, as the diocese looked forward to a new series of local ordinations (Roxborogh 2014: 79–80; Thompson 1951: 661–662).

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Envisaging a Postwar Church One of the hoped-for outcomes of the wartime experience was a closer understanding between Christians of different ethnic groups. In a country of many ethnicities and languages, it was not easy to achieve a real sense of unity or fellowship that went beyond the immediate congregation and reached across the whole church. The peculiarly Anglican combination of diverse ethnic composition and uniform institutional structure did not help. Before the war, European-, Indian-, and Chinese-oriented congregations tended to be sectarian in character—sometimes deliberately, sometimes out of practicality, and often dictated by circumstances or convention—but during the Japanese occupation many of these divisions were broken down. In Penang, where both St George’s Church and the Chinese mission hall were destroyed, a dilapidated old Malay-owned house became the joint place of worship for all three congregations, English-, Chinese-, and Indian-speaking. Forward-thinkers hoped to see this become the norm, and it was not just idealism; the survival of any kind of future church was inevitably going to be an interethnic challenge. Rev. John Hayter believed that divisions, regrettable or avoidable as they may have been, had become part of the fabric of the prewar church; “We all worshipped at the same altar in the house of God—he wrote—but we were not so sure about all eating at the same table when we got outside. We … took too little interest in each other, did not take enough trouble to overcome [language] barriers … We were not active enough in social service, and were too absorbed in activities inside the Church to play our full part in the life of the community.” It is quite a damning indictment of the colonial church, but Hayter blamed a lack of passion and conviction, rather than ethnic prejudice, for the church’s failings. There were “most satisfactory and excellent excuses” for this state of affairs, Hayter wrote, with heavy irony, “but the fundamental thing was that we were too complacent and too timid” (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 5, 6–7, 28). Similar conclusions were drawn as different denominations interacted more and observed each other’s strengths and weaknesses. In evangelism, as well as in other matters, the churches moved toward greater mutual understanding and increased cooperation. It was widely felt that a sort of “united front” of Christians was needed, as had existed during the occupation, if the work and witness of the minority Christian community were to be effective. The wartime Christian Federation of the churches provided the foundations and inspiration, and it was hoped to replicate this with

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ecumenical cells at local levels; these would give expression to Christian views in each place, and also implement relief and welfare activities. This was aside from major ecumenical projects being discussed, such as the possible launch of a joint theological college. Moves toward greater unity seemed to mirror events at the national political level. 1948 saw the creation of the Federation of Malaya, which, following a bungled attempt to create a “Malayan Union” in 1946, finally united the states of the Malay Peninsula into one political unit. The Federation, alongside the analogous union of British Borneo, was to last until the creation of modern Malaysia. Christians increasingly felt that the constituent parts of their community, similarly, had more to offer the political and social life of the newly unified country, if their contribution could be made in unison rather than separately. This thinking took inspiration from the Protestant churches in newly independent India, which were merging to form a large “united” church. This corresponded to Asian religious values, which tend to prize common endeavor over denominational affiliation, seeing religion as a real-life community model rather than an aspirational theoretical construct (Roxborogh 2018: 288). Some Christians still favored strict denominational boundaries, but this approach was frequently shown to alienate people rather than evangelize them (Koepping 2006: 60). The church recognized the danger of becoming inconsequential, as religion was increasingly being excluded from mainstream social and political engagement, and the real global priorities of social justice and equality of opportunity were generally being discussed in the world’s secular forums. Enmity between religions, meanwhile, and the politicization of some religions, was growing. The church faced, therefore, both a national and international fight to remain relevant. Having already survived several tough fights, however, Anglicans in Malaysia still felt optimistic about the challenges of the age (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 32).

Anticolonial Struggles and a State of Emergency Across Southeast Asia, the immediate aftermath of the Second World War saw a mixture of bloodless and not-so-bloodless processes of separation from the colonial powers, such as Indonesia’s relatively short but traumatic war for independence from the Dutch. Burma was making a smooth break from Britain, but independence would activate a spiral of violent unrest; sectors of the majority Burman ethnic group sought to impose a

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centralized Buddhist nationalist conception of citizenship, leading to decades of interethnic and interreligious conflict. With good reason, Anglican eyes in Malaya were turned toward Burma in 1948. The two countries had much in common; both looked ahead to a future of independence from Britain, a transition that would be stewarded by each country’s majority ethnic and religious group; both countries had an active Christian minority with ties to the out-going colonial power, and the future status of Christians under the dominant group was uncertain. This quandary would become a familiar one for Christian minorities caught up in Asia’s decolonization processes, including those in the newly independent Pakistan and Ceylon (Sri Lanka) which, like Malaya and Burma, had, and still have, notable, historic Anglican communities. Christians in these former British colonies faced considerable challenges arising from the militancy of dominant non-Christian religions: Islam in Pakistan and Malaya, and Buddhism in Ceylon and Burma (Jarvis 2021: 7). There were other good reasons for Malayans to keep an eye on events in Burma; with the end of British rule on 4 January 1948, the British troops stationed there were transferred to Malaya, which was about to be plunged into a long, violent, and divisive internal conflict. This conflict— known as the Malayan Emergency (1948–1960)—would impact the future course of the country, accelerate the end of British rule, and deeply influence the choices and strategies of the church in the future Malaysian state. A key figure in the Malayan Emergency was Lieutenant General Sir Harold Rawdon Briggs (1894–1952), until recently Commander-in-Chief in Burma, who was sent to lead operations in Malaya (Chin Peng 2003: 268). Unlike Burma’s civil war, the Malayan Emergency was not a religious conflict. In the Burmese war, religion acquired political and military expressions, whereas in Malaya the opposite was true; the political and military struggle would have a religious dimension deliberately grafted onto it. The story of how this happened is key to understanding modern Anglican missionary work, and it begins in the kampongs. The English translation “village” is inadequate to convey the significance of “kampong;” it means a community as much as a physical settlement, characterized by self-sufficiency and independence, but also insularity and isolation. The early British colonial authorities did not know how to approach the kampong phenomenon. They wavered between instinctive distrust and attempts to buy the kampongs’ cooperation, and both approaches contributed further to their marginalization. Urbanization and poverty forced generations of small traders, subsistence growers, and recent immigrants,

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into newer outskirts kampongs, occupying an ill-defined hinterland between the jungle and the city. During the Second World War, numerous kampongs—whether indigenous Orang Asli, ethnic-Chinese, or ethnic-­ Indian—became foci of resistance to the Japanese and offered support to Allied secret operations. They were anti-Japanese, but they were frequently anti-British as well, temporarily united with the Allies in a common cause (Spencer Chapman 1977: 85). A clandestine force of local resistance fighters was supported and armed by the British during the Second World War. Named the Malayan People’s Anti-Japanese Army (MPAJA), its ranks were dominated by a large cohort from the Communist Party of Malaya (CPM). At the war’s end, the MPAJA received the same gratuities and medals as the British forces, their leader was offered the Order of the British Empire (OBE) and a party of them was transported to London to represent Malaya at the Victory celebrations. They did not, crucially, hand back their weapons. What the MPAJA or CPM veterans really wanted was a voice in government, which the British, at the outset of the cold war, were not about to allow. The CPM’s priority switched to ridding Malaya of the British. Strikes and demonstrations, fueled by anticolonialism, were brutally suppressed by the colonial forces, and in 1948 the insurgency began, with assassinations of British rubber planters and their “lackeys” or local foremen. Anti-British feeling that had been contained in the wartime kampongs flowed into what was soon christened the Malayan Emergency, because the British, cynically or shrewdly, wanted to avoid the use of the word “war” whenever possible (Chin Peng 2003: 10, 149–53, 191–92). Some secretive and secluded kampongs became, more or less willingly, part of the communications and supply network for the CPM. It was believed that the guerrillas were dependent on the rural communities to feed and house them, as they made their way up and down the complex terrain of the country. General Briggs resolved to cut off these supply lines and created the Briggs Plan, in which Anglican missionaries and others would be called upon to play a significant and controversial role. It would profoundly impact the future of the country and the future of Christianity in Malaysia.

The Kampong Baru Missionaries Briggs ordered the forced resettlement of an estimated half a million people from impoverished kampongs on the fringes of the jungle, in an attempt to neutralize their presumed potential for participating in, or

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actively supporting, the insurgency. These rural civilians—labeled “squatters” by the authorities—were overwhelmingly of Chinese ethnicity and poor. They were transported to hundreds of so-called new villages or kampong baru; in reality, closely guarded internment camps, where they were detained and monitored with random searches and curfews (Federal Legislative Council 1949: no. 3; 1950: no. 14). This indiscriminate scheme affected an incredible ten percent of the national population, stripping them of their civil rights overnight (Newsinger 2013: 219). Conditions, sanitation, and food supplies inside the so-called new villages (with what degree of intentionality we do not know) were deplorable (Leary 1995: 42–43). The euphemistic term “new villages” may be interpreted as heavy irony, if not downright cynicism; the Briggs Plan was nothing less than the armed detention of half a million civilians, charged with no crime. “Villages” in only a very loose sense at best, by most rational appraisals they would be described as concentration camps. Regardless of the stated objectives, the scheme clearly resembled a punitive campaign against an entire ethnic group, from which, indeed, many of the guerrillas came. The treatment of the resettled half-million, and the loss of their homes and livelihoods, fueled enormous resentment, and the Briggs Plan was set to backfire by actually justifying and encouraging support for the CPM. The High Commissioner of Malaya, Sir Henry Gurney (1898–1951), and his successor, Sir Gerald Templer (1898–1979) decided that neutralizing support for the insurgents was not going to be enough; they had to actually win sympathy for the British cause from within the resettlement camps. As Christians themselves, Gurney and Templer saw the potential to achieve this by utilizing missionaries. The squalor of the camps, the loss of basic freedoms, and the intimidation by the police and army were doing nothing to win the rural population’s support for the counterinsurgency. Some people who would not have previously considered helping the CPM, it was believed, were now actually disposed toward doing so. Gurney introduced the idea of sending in missionaries to address this problem, and there appeared to be a plentiful supply of them. More than three thousand foreign missionaries were suddenly forced to leave China, where the churches were allowed to remain, but only under local leadership. There were good reasons for bringing missionaries across to Malaya from China, including, of course, Chinese language skills, though this was far from straightforward. There are many dialects of Chinese, and the kampong baru populations were not necessarily homogeneous, so “Chinese” language knowledge was never

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universally transferable (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 1983, 1988). Despite this, Gurney and his successor, Templer, felt that the ex-China missionaries would be politically well-informed and culturally aware. Gurney believed wholeheartedly in the strategic potential of this missionary plan, likening the effectiveness of one missionary to a brigade of troops (Colonial Office [CO] 1951b: 537/7270). In October 1951, Gurney himself was assassinated in a guerrilla ambush. The missionary scheme went ahead, finding supporters at the highest levels of government in London (CO 1950a: 717/203/3). The extent of government financial support would ultimately remain secret (Harper 1999: 185). In September 1952, Templer reported that the Anglicans and Methodists were on board (CO 1952b: 1022/379). Templer’s vision was expansive; he appealed far and wide, including to the Vatican, for all and any missionary organizations to come (CO 1952a: 717/209/4). With the main backer being the Colonial Office, the scheme was unprecedented in modern times; a government conducting overt missionary intervention in foreign lands, for political and military ends. Historically, this was far from new of course; colonial authorities had always looked to missionaries for certain types of broadly political help, though usually with reservations. In Malaya, Christianity was seen to have played an integral part in building and educating the nation, stabilizing colonial society, and keeping a lid on potential strife. Even so, it was surprising to find, in the middle of the twentieth century, such a clear and anachronistic intersection of colonial self-preservation and evangelistic ambition (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 1978–1979). The missionaries would receive, from the government, a half-salary and allowances, but no airfare; their church would have to find the rest. They would have, correspondingly, a half-free rein; the focus, out of sensitivity for the wider national context, would be on “neutral” work such as education, health, and welfare, but after performing their official duties the missionaries would be free to evangelize as they wished (CO 1953a: 1022/379). The scheme, at its height, involved around four hundred missionaries from more than a dozen missionary agencies, working in three hundred and thirty-three accessible villages. They came from fifteen Protestant churches in addition to the Roman Catholics, belonging to twelve global Christian denominations altogether. They comprised American as well as European, Australasian, and Chinese missionaries, though these latter were kept under stricter supervision. In addition to the churches, a number of lay voluntary organizations were also involved, such as St John

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Ambulance, the Red Cross, and even the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides. The Malayan Christian Council (MCC), the new ecumenical body uniting all the Protestant denominations of Malaya, played a significant role in coordinating the kampong baru work. The missionaries would ultimately come into contact with one-third of the entire Chinese ethnic population over the course of the scheme. A significant by-product would be the laying of foundations for greater ethnic-Chinese church participation, especially amongst previously impenetrable rural populations (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 1977–1978, 1991, 1994, 1998–1999, 2003). Women were very well represented amongst the missionaries, and also amongst the volunteers they managed to recruit from within the new villages. Few women villagers had the time, inclination, or language ability to make much use of the activities on offer, however (Harper 1999: 187). In terms of dividing up the work amicably, the various Protestant groups agreed not to step on each other’s toes, as had historically been agreed on the outside, too. This was an accord spontaneously reached between the churches, rather than an official policy, and in some cases, there were frustrations when their work did accidentally overlap. Overlap with the work of the Roman Catholics, with whom the Protestants made no such agreement, was more frequent and more contentious. In terms of activities, many missionaries prioritized literacy, as this allowed for more effective evangelism, but the MCC pushed for even more “neutral” activities, such as micro-industries, instruction in trades and crafts, launching cooperatives, and running crèches. Regardless of the activity, logistics and conditions made every proposal very difficult (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 1993, 1996).

The Anglican Contribution The Anglican Church was the first to embrace the call for kampong baru missionaries (CO 1952b: 1022/379). Of the individual missionary agencies participating, the CMS would provide the second-biggest cohort, after the interdenominational China Inland Mission (later renamed Overseas Mission Fellowship), with the Church of England Zenana Missionary Society (later subsumed into the CMS) providing the third-­ biggest cohort. The SPG was in fourth place, ensuring that the bulk of the response was unmistakably Anglican (Hood 1991: 152). Most of the missionary societies that were contacted, in fact, responded favorably. They were attracted by the opportunities for evangelization, as the scheme made some rural areas accessible for the first time, and some societies

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began to echo the old language of “saving the heathens.” Others particularly appreciated the political dimension of the program, namely the anticommunist aspect. They saw the mission in terms of exorcizing a great evil, a chance for an unashamedly political crusade (CO 1950b: 717/209/3). Some missionaries were troubled by the apparent return to complicity with colonialism; they were uncomfortable about infusing missionary work with a political agenda, however justifiable that agenda may have appeared (Harper 1999: 184). The whole situation was, of course, politically volatile, and the kampong baru inhabitants were aware that their allegiance was being courted. Suspicions ran high, and this was seen by the scheme’s architects as counterproductive. Furthermore, London began to fear repercussions for Britain’s relations with China, as the program could be interpreted as opposing not just communism, but specifically Chinese communism. The Anglican Church had dealt with Chinese revolutionary politics before, as the political orientation of the Chinese diaspora tended to mirror developments back in the homeland. In 1913, the second Rajah Brooke declared that any Chinese Christian organizations with Kuomintang sympathies or similar socialist tendencies would be suppressed, and its leaders punished. The works of Kuomintang leader Sun Yat Sen were banned, even though he was a product of Anglican schools and a sincere convert to Christianity (Taylor 1983: 175–76). It was often suspected that ethnic-Chinese Christians’ evangelical concern for the ills of society could easily mutate into anticapitalism, but the church did not intend to resurrect all this hostility. The ethnic-Chinese membership of the Anglican Church, and other churches, continued to grow, and it was not in the church’s interest to be perceived as the enemy of China. Anglicans, furthermore, were concerned about being branded—not for the first time—as agents of Western imperialism, and their humanitarian efforts in the camps being dismissed as a Trojan horse (CO 1951a: 717/209/4). The churches had other reservations about the kampong baru scheme as well. The traditionally hierarchical churches, such as the Anglicans and Roman Catholics, were unimpressed by the High Commissioner’s tactic of approaching the missionary societies directly, rather than going through the proper ecclesiastical channels. The Vatican, for example, does not consider its missionary organizations to be free agents; they exist by, and depend upon, formal diocesan or pontifical permission. The Anglican Communion, historically, also objects to its regional or national church protocols being bypassed. The colonial authorities were also extremely

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demanding, and they had high expectations of missionaries’ qualifications; not just the language skills already mentioned, but also medical and educational qualifications and experience, which were indeed greatly needed. They seemed to want to deprive the worldwide church of its best-qualified missionaries, oblivious to the fact that staffing clinics and schools had always been tremendously difficult. All of this struck church leaders as arrogant and presumptuous interference in their business, but the government’s unrealistic expectations and excessive demands never subsided (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 1988–1989, 1994–1996). About nine percent of kampong baru residents were Malays, but predominantly Malay-occupied new villages were off-limits to the missionaries. Some new villages with a significant quota of Malay residents were declared inaccessible for security reasons. These effective bans on contact with Malays, and related tensions emerging from the missionary scheme, foreshadowed the situation in the future Malaysia. Throughout the kampong baru scheme, in fact, it was considered important to avoid offending the Muslim Malays. Ending the Malayan Emergency was the priority, certainly, but delicate relations with the Malay state rulers still had to be carefully curated. Considerable government investment was being diverted into supporting Christian missionary work, and the Malay rulers were being asked to turn a blind eye (CO 1953b: 1022/379). Malays feared that with so many additional Christian missionaries moving around the country, and obviously not just confined to the new villages, Muslims would inevitably be exposed to Christian symbols, slogans, concepts, and public displays of devotion, even casually or in passing. The missionary program was also seen, from some perspectives, as appeasement of the communists, or at least as a concession of services and welfare to some of the communists’ supporters (Lee Kam Hing 2013: 2001, 2002). Some Malay concerns were not directly related to the scheme, such as changes to the demographic balance caused by the ongoing influx of Chinese immigrants, which would push Malays further toward being a minority in their own country. Another minority group of kampong baru residents were neither ethnic-­Chinese nor Malay, but indigenous Orang Asli, and many Malays strongly objected to Christian missionary work being aimed at them. It is surely understandable that Malays were unhappy about national resources being diverted from genuinely underprivileged and underserved Malays, and also about Christian influence spreading among indigenous non-­ Malays such as the Orang Asli. The Orang Asli could be susceptible to

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proselytization, Malays realized, and each successful conversion to Christianity would mean one less conversion to Islam. Malays’ eyes were fixed on national independence; they were aware that in the final count­up, the Muslim majority may only be slim, or in some areas nonexistent, and nothing was guaranteed, so every potential Muslim convert counted. The missionary scheme was easy to perceive as a plot to engineer or “rig” the ethnic-religious balance of the country at the last hurdle, by manufacturing a surge in the number of Christians among non-Malay ethnic groups, through immigration and proselytization. These Malay objections were robust enough to ensure that official funding was strictly limited to “neutral” mission activities such as healthcare and non-religious instruction. This did ultimately weaken the program’s religious impact, which remained secondary to welfare activities (Harper 1999: 184).

The Legacy of the Kampong Baru Missions The Malayan Emergency has been called the darkest predicament ever faced by the Anglican Church in Malaysia, and, conversely, as the pinnacle of its missionary achievement. Anglicans had justifiable concerns about getting involved in the kampong baru scheme, and the outcomes remain difficult to evaluate. Politically, the missionary program was apparently quite effective, but unevenly so, much like the kampong baru scheme itself (Harper 1999: 185). Chin Peng, the leader of the communist insurgents, later acknowledged that the scheme disrupted CPM strategy, but he never mentioned any effect that the missionaries were perceived as having (Chin Peng 2003: 268–270). It is difficult to identify the scheme’s real beneficiaries; Templer, the devoutly Christian High Commissioner, did more than anyone to promote the scheme, but he is mainly remembered for authorizing the practice of beheading young suspected insurgents, male and female, which was immortalized in shocking photographs leaked to the British press (Newsinger 2013: 219). The most salient effect of the missionary aspect of the scheme was to engender universal wariness. The inhabitants of the new villages were wary of the missionaries and their motives, and the Malay state rulers were wary of the governing Christians’ machinations. The mainstream churches— Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Methodists, etc.—were wary of the newcomers, such as the Southern Baptists and Chinese Evangelicals, whose eccentric worship and fundamentalist preaching shocked the “old guard” missionaries. Within the new villages, missionaries did not exert any

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apparent moral influence; secret societies, extortion, and gambling were rife, and many activities were actually funded by a dubious lottery. The church’s very presence looked morally questionable, though the missionaries did contribute a lot in practical, humanitarian terms. This contribution included less obvious activities such as care for the elderly, adult literacy, libraries, and trade training. Ultimately, however, the church had allied itself to a regime that practiced summary decapitations, torture-­ interrogations, crop-burnings, poisoning of cattle, destruction of homes, and desecration of corpses for war trophies. It was hardly the church’s finest moment (Harper 1999: 185–188). A few church leaders pushed the idea that welfare provision had “inoculated” the people against the “disease” of communism, and that Bolshevik revolution had been forestalled, but the kampong baru internment had demoralized and humiliated the rural ethnic-Chinese population horrendously. The experience severely eroded their sense of national integration and rendered them fearful of collective endeavor, isolating them inside their immediate ethnic community (Harper 1999: 186–187). But the churches were determined to focus on their achievements; in addition to providing tangible benefits, the scheme had sowed the seeds of future missions, and most of the new villages where missionaries worked, in fact, ended up retaining a physical church presence (Lim Hin Fui and Fong Tian Yong 2005: 128–139). This somewhat unexpected outcome completed a bizarre and controversial journey that united colonialist fervor, cold war politics, missionary enterprise, and, longer-term, lasting evangelization. The churches seized the opportunity to preach to people who had an incentive to listen and no real alternative, especially for accessing things like education and healthcare. The kampong baru inhabitants were systematically bullied, insulted, disoriented, disenfranchised, traumatized, and, in the process, made ripe for conversion; the new villages certainly constituted “a fertile field for evangelism” (Harper 1999: 184). Rarely has there been, in the modern history of Christianity, a more literal and distasteful case of missionaries having a captive audience.

The Evolution of Anglican Mission Practice Circumstances combined to jolt the church into a resurgence of missionary zeal during the 1950s, which would later coincide with an international shift in the understanding of mission. Missionary opportunities on the Peninsula continued to present themselves, as was historically the case,

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as a consequence of political, economic, and social change. Malaya’s infrastructure was transformed in the early twentieth century, particularly the Malayan Railway network. The railway boom, and its impact on urban development, produced new, marginal communities, as it often occurs with rapid urbanization. In areas of urbanization, the country’s development ran parallel to the development of the railways, just as community development had run parallel to the waterways in rural contexts, and this development dictated where church missions should focus. Some communities sprang up in specific connection to the railway, such as Kampong Spooner, in the city of Ipoh. It was named after Charles Edwin Spooner (1853–1909), a prominent engineer and general manager of Malaya’s railways. Kampong Spooner became home to members of the largely ethnic-­ Indian workforce of the Malayan Railway, which constructed company-owned houses for them. Land was donated to the Anglican Church in the 1930s, and a church and vicarage were built. The fact that people’s homes were owned by the railway became a predictable problem when, from the late 1950s onward, a combination of technical advances and organizational restructuring, prompted by national independence, saw the number of people employed by the railway tumble. Developments like these created a new urban poor, without access to the housing and services once provided by the railway company. It would be many years before the church could comprehensively address problems like Kampong Spooner, however (Ng 2009: 4–5, 12–13). Missions to the indigenous Orang Asli population of the Peninsula, before being partly facilitated by the kampong baru scheme, already had a checkered history, but they had generally been prevented by poor infrastructure, daunting terrain, and limited personnel. Infrastructure improved dramatically during the 1930s, and initial groundwork for an Orang Asli mission finally began, only to be interrupted by the Second World War. Just as there appeared to be scope for reactivating this project after the war, the Malayan Emergency began. Most of the Orang Asli’s traditional habitats were in a deep and remote jungle, in or near areas of potential guerrilla conflict, designated “restricted zones.” This stalemate persisted, albeit with reduced danger, until the 1980s, when, after forty years, the CPM finally laid down its weapons. The church’s experience of ministering inside the controversial new villages had been equivocal, in terms of both ethos and results, and while there were lasting achievements in some ethnic-Chinese new villages, these risked being canceled out by subsequent events. The official end of the Malayan Emergency in 1960 coincided with

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two different developments; firstly, the new independent government had begun to provide comprehensive services to the new villages, making much of the church’s welfare work redundant; secondly, at a global level, the churches were reevaluating their missionary methods and philosophies, in the light of postcolonialism. These factors combined to convince the missionary societies that it was time to withdraw completely from the new villages. Unfortunately, the local church was not equipped to take on all of the strictly pastoral and worship activity that was underway in the new villages, and many of these footholds were lost (Ng 2009: 7–12, 57–64). The emerging postcolonial missionary vision emphasized self-­ propagating mission. New initiatives would be promoted as self-sufficient and locally driven, rather than depending long-term on outside management or leadership. Early examples included the 1956 Sabah Anglican Interior Mission (SAIM) in Sabah state (formerly British North Borneo) along the Labak River and around Tongud district, the 1957 mission to the Dusuns, and the Segama River mission from 1958 onward (Roxborogh 2014: 79). The SPG and, later, the Australian CMS were involved. Young people of inland Borneo were attracted to Christianity’s cultural connotations of modernity and freedom. Christianity was viewed as influential, global, and harmonious with modern urban living, with the potential to free them from the restrictions and expectations of ritualized village life. Older people, meanwhile, feared that the old customs, especially those relating to death, would be disrespected or lost as Christianity’s popularity grew. This worry became compelling, in Christianity’s favor, as some people converted just to avoid being buried alone in the isolated non-­Christian graveyard. Attachment to multiple belief systems and preservation of old folk rituals remained normal, including amongst converts to Christianity; it is hardly unusual, of course, in Christian practice globally. This appears to have been tolerated until the mid-1960s—perhaps due more to limited influence and personnel than open-mindedness—when the missionaries began to frame Christianity as exclusive. The extent to which the new mission ethos truly distanced itself from conventional, paternalistic attitudes is therefore debatable (Koepping 2006: 60–65). As debatable as some aspects of the new missionary initiatives may have been, they were credited with a boom of Christian conversions in Borneo. Sabah, including Labuan, went from being nine percent Christian in 1951 to seventeen percent in 1960; the Muslim population also grew a little in the same period, from thirty-four to thirty-eight percent. Within forty years, many once-remote inland villages would be almost one hundred

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percent Christian. Sarawak, similarly, went from eight percent Christian in 1947 to sixteen percent in 1960; Muslim numbers actually dropped by two percent, from twenty-five to twenty-three percent, in the same period. In denominational terms, Christians in Sarawak were fairly evenly split between Methodism, Roman Catholicism, and Anglicanism, in that order (Taylor 1983: 351). From 1961, the SPG managed the United Nations’ Freedom from Hunger agricultural development campaign in Borneo, teaming up with Christian Aid in 1964 and 1965. These projects involved a bare minimum of outside personnel and a major emphasis on local ownership and leadership (O’Connor et  al. 2000: 138, 152–53). The new missionary ethos clearly bore fruit, and it also appeared to encourage cooperation between Christians, including at the level of large international organizations (Roxborogh 2018: 288). Since the end of the Second World War, there had been several attempts to provide training for full-time local catechists in Borneo, but this was difficult to sustain, largely because the status and remuneration attached to the job had dropped again. This drop was especially stark when compared to other types of employment available to literate, articulate, and well-educated individuals who might make good catechists. By the 1960s there were only two Sea Dayak (Iban) catechists left. To meet the self-­ propagating mission commitments described above, the Anglican Church depended on volunteer subdeacons and lay readers, alongside the small number of full-time priests, and they were all pushed to their limits. Dayaks continued to show an interest in full-time ministry, however, and the total number of Anglicans continued to increase. By the end of the 1960s, there were six active Sea Dayak (Iban) clergy, including Bishop Basil Temenggong (1918–1984), two retired priests, and two full-time catechists in the service of the Diocese of Kuching (founded in 1962). An earlier proposal that catechists, in view of the priest shortage, should be allowed to administer the sacraments, occasionally resurfaced, but was never acted upon (Varney 2010: 11–12, 16).

Debates and Developments; the State of the Church Facing the Birth of Malaysia Bishop Baines showed considerable openness to change, welcoming evangelical missionaries from the interdenominational China Inland Mission (Overseas Mission Fellowship) and the CMS to Singapore. This was a significant break from Anglo-Catholic hegemony, and although orthodox

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identity would persist, the spectrum of churchmanship and worship style was broadening. Bishop Cornwall of Borneo was less flexible, and there was less theological diversity under his leadership. Evangelicals would gradually make their mark in Borneo, however; the brothers Yong Ping Chung and Yong Chen Fah, both future bishops, were first converted by CMS missionaries (Roxborogh 2014: 82–83). Ecumenism might be expected to develop more slowly in an Anglo-Catholic High-Church culture, as was still prevalent throughout postwar Malaya, Singapore, and Borneo. In terms of actual ecumenical endeavor, there was no higher aspiration than a united Malaysian or Southeast Asian Church. The decline of the British Empire and its multinational regional church—the Church of India, Burma, Pakistan, and Ceylon (CIPBC)—highlighted ecumenical success stories of church union taking place in the complex Indian context. The breaking-up of the CIPBC was a fraught and controversial process, but it would lead to the creation of two exemplar “united” Indian churches, the Church of North India and the Church of South India, each drawing together multiple preexisting Protestant bodies. The development of lasting ecumenical machinery for Asia and the possibility of an India-style united church for Malaya and Singapore were hotly debated during the 1950s and 1960s. Preparing for a future “Church of the Province of South East Asia” as an independent part of the Anglican Communion was the goal of the new South East Asia Church Council. This goal would eventually become a reality, though much later, and as a purely Anglican venture rather than a united church. The Council’s role, however, was consultative rather than executive, and with most of Southeast Asia in the 1950s and 1960s embroiled in unrest or violence of some kind, it was difficult for some local leaders to see why church union mattered; there were so many more pressing things to deal with. Malaysian advocates for ecclesiastical union could not really sell it on the basis of being harmonious with national union, as most Malaysian Christians at the time seemed to identify little, if at all, with the independence struggle. Whatever feelings of nationhood and solidarity they did have were also partly soured by the kampong baru fiasco. Anglicans, historically, had never rushed to conform to political realignments, though this was sometimes unavoidable (Ward 2006: 22–24). The broader issues of unity risked becoming a sore point; peninsular Malaysia and Singapore were both developing, but at different paces and with increasingly disparate aspirations, which hinted at future political separation. The Anglican Church perceived signs of the two communities’

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growing disparity in worship and theology, but also in influence and demographics; Christians were much better represented in Singapore, which had already largely resolved its internal intercommunity tensions. Aspects of Malaysia and Singapore’s shared Anglican history were still important, including their joint ecumenical efforts, but the points of divergence, which were not all new, would increase in the run-up to Singapore’s 1965 independence and beyond. Enthusiasts nevertheless continued to regard the united church idea as the height of ecumenical achievement and as an objective for Southeast Asia to strive for. Council discussions revealed, however, that the type of unity hitherto enforced by the old colonial church networks lacked real substance, and the various regional churches found that they actually had little in common with each other (Jarvis 2021: 119, 122). There were some specific theological barriers to a proposed united church, as expatriate Presbyterian clergy asserted the sacramental validity of their ordinations in the face of its rejection by Anglicans, and they were strongly opposed to the idea of being re-ordained. To others, including local Presbyterian clergy, this seemed like nitpicking over minutiae and clinging to the past. Most of the united church discussion took place in peninsular Malaysia, where church leaderships included a growing proportion of forward-thinking Indians and Chinese, who tended to appreciate the need for give-and-take in ecumenical work. They were comfortable with English, the lingua franca of ecumenism, and some of them even had direct experience of church union in India. Despite their theological differences, there was at least a general appreciation that religious belonging is complex, and more likely to mature, grow, and express itself in diverse ways rather than exclusive ones. This was accompanied by a growing consensus in favor of moving toward full Asian ownership of the churches (Roxborogh 2018: 288, 308, 310). Malaysian Anglicans had essentially inherited a colonial church, with features and attitudes that were no longer fit for purpose. Missionary work in peninsular Malaysia, where Christianity was primarily an urban reality, had historically been held back not only by the logistical factors mentioned above, but also by the prevailing mindset. British influence was stronger in the Peninsula’s urban centers, and radical, mission-oriented outlooks were slower to gain popularity. The convention that eschewed mixed-ethnicity services, furthermore, persisted there for longer, though it had been waning since the 1940s (Ward 2006: 269).

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The first major church reorganizations, in 1960–1963, would see three dioceses formed from the old two—Singapore and Malaya, Kuching, and Jesselton—which better reflected the church’s membership distribution. These were important steps toward the future Church of the Province of South East Asia, with two of the future four dioceses already in existence. Reorganization alone, however, would not be enough to prepare the church for the sheer speed and scale of social and political transformation taking place in the new Malaysia, which left multiple groups in a society struggling for continuity. The comparatively smooth break from Britain— “Merdeka” or national independence—and the ensuing six-year gestation of a unified Malaysia, raised difficult questions about ethnicity, religion, law, identity, and how these interact (Hedlund 2010: 77). For the church, this period was a fast-paced metamorphosis. Borneo remained the flagship of church growth, while the Peninsula at least showed no losses. Borneo had avoided the direct impact of the Peninsula-focused Malayan Emergency, just as Singapore had been spared from the later stages of the unrest, but Borneo would soon be at the center of Malaysia’s first international conflict, employing another British military euphemism; the Confrontation—or Konfrontasi—with Indonesia. Meanwhile, Singapore’s impending political separation did not immediately impact the church, and it was initially unclear what the effects would be. Singapore enjoyed—and would retain—a kind of regional primacy of honor for Anglicans and other Christians, thanks to several features, such as its pioneering mission history, its outstanding Trinity Theological College (TTC), and its apparent success as a multiethnic plurireligious social experiment. Singaporean Christians seemed to have perfected their role of being a distinct but respectful neighbor to other cultures and religions, while their tendency to be vocal on conservative moral concerns would become increasingly welcome and shared across the various communities. The ecclesiastical break between Malaysia and Singapore would eventually become permanent, and the disparity between the two Anglican communities would continue to grow; relations certainly remained good, but Malaysia had an increasingly different set of challenges to face. In some ways, the Malaysian Anglican Church was still that same diverse but clearly demarcated three-language community, speaking English, Chinese, and Tamil (Ng 1989: 1) but the new official national language was conspicuously absent from that mix. The time had come, however, for the Malay national majority to assert itself.

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Chapter Conclusion “Colonialism—in the words of Chin Peng—was past its expiry date” (Chin Peng 2003: 10). The same idea, expressed in different ways, spread through the British colonial world in the years after the Second World War. Anglicans faced the question of what would become of their churches—the churches of the empire—as both the sociopolitical and ecclesiastical structures supporting them were dismantled. Anglican Churches across Southeast Asia faced interethnic challenges comparable to those faced by churches in Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and Pakistan, while big regional neighbor India made compromises to create ecumenical “united and uniting” churches. The idea of a united church for Southeast Asia failed to achieve buoyancy, but ecumenism was an unavoidable priority; in Malaysia, Anglicans nurtured new and existing international contacts, especially around the broader Asia-Pacific region. Within Malaysia, there were still opportunities for new and innovative missionary endeavors, and the self-propagating mission model had great success in Borneo, especially with the indigenous Dayaks; by 1980, thirty-seven percent of Sea Dayaks (Ibans) were Christians (Taylor 1998: 469). Malaysia’s Anglican Church, like Burma’s, benefited from a generation of local clergy whose leadership skills had been tempered in the furnace of the Second World War, and then further honed in subsequent conflicts. The fundamental problem faced by the church in Burma presaged that to be faced in Malaysia; the accession to power of a nationalist majority ethnic-­religious group, with far-reaching implications for the Christian minority. The protracted interethnic violence in Burma, to this day, has disproportionately affected the largely Christian and majority-Christian ethnic groups; while Burma’s peaceful break from Britain in 1948 marked the beginning of their internal conflict, Merdeka in 1957 signaled the end of Malaysia’s. Different ethnic dimensions of that internal conflict had led the British to victimize one of the key constituent communities, if not the key constituent community, of the Malaysian church, the ethnic Chinese. The Japanese had done the same, considering them a special threat during the wartime occupation. The kampong baru missionary intervention has sometimes been framed in terms of the church identifying a “need” to minister to the internees, but this interpretation detracts from the fact that the scheme was conceived as a political and military strategic gambit. Politicians and generals, holding fast to their colonial values, appealed to church leaders, who were

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struggling to remain relevant in a rapidly evolving multiethnic society and a rapidly secularizing postcolonial world. From any dispassionate or impartial perspective, the so-called new villages were neither historical accidents nor social experiments; they were concentration camps, and the missionaries were aware of the moral quagmire they were wading into (Roxborogh 2014: 78–79, 84). The High Commissioner, Sir Gerald Templer, mostly remembered for overseeing torture and beheadings, famously set out to “win the hearts and minds” of rural Malayans, utilizing Christian missionaries to exorcize any vestigial communist sympathies (Newsinger 2013: 219). The plan was hopelessly flawed; the sudden arrival of government-­ sent missionaries in the deplorable camps was greeted with suspicion. The missionaries themselves were often uncomfortable about being seen, yet again, as mere religious delegates—or pawns—of British colonialism. It is perhaps surprising, or a testament to people’s resilience, that most of the new village camps evolved into permanent, largely ethnic-Chinese settlements, and they are today home to well over a million people, with a significant Christian population (Ng 2009: 4). The euphemistic and strikingly Orwellian term “new villages” went hand in hand with the euphemism of the “Malayan Emergency” itself—also dubbed “Britain’s Vietnam”—and the two terms highlight the duplicity often resorted to in the waning days of the empire. For whatever reason, whether for public relations or simply, as is widely believed, for insurance purposes, the British refused to call it a war (Chin Peng 2003: 10). This same state of denial would never allow the British military, who had only recently liberated Bergen-Belsen, to accept that they were now running concentration camps of their own. It was the heyday of exposing the duplicitous use of words for political commodity; Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four was published during the first year of the Malayan Emergency, and there were clearly not a million miles, ideologically, separating the new villages (concentration camps) from Orwell’s Ministry of Love (Ministry of Hate). Overall, this period was considered a time of mixed blessings for the last incarnation of the colonial church; in many day-to-day respects it had changed very little, and it would struggle to keep up with the times. The transformation of the essentially still segregated colonial church into a wholly locally driven Malaysian entity continued unabated, and it would not be long before foreign clergy and missionaries were present solely as honored guests (Ng 1989: 1).

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References Chin Peng. My Side of History. Singapore: Media Masters, 2003. Colonial Office Archives, at National Archives, London. CO 717/209/4; “Colonial Office, London, to the Governor of Singapore, 19 March 1951a.” ———. CO 717/203/3; “Commissioner-General for Southeast Asia, Malcolm MacDonald, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 28 August 1950a.” ———. CO 717/209/4; “Recruitment of Chinese Speaking Officers for Malaya: Extract from Lord Munster’s [Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies] Brief for House of Lords Debate, 27 February 1952a.” ———. CO 717/209/3; “Secretary, Church Missionary Society to Colonial Office, 4 September 1950b.” ———. CO 1022/379; “Sir Gerald Templer, High Commissioner of Federation of Malaya, to Commissioner-General for Southeast Asia, Malcolm MacDonald, 2 April 1953a.” ———. CO 1022/379; “Sir Gerald Templer to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 27 September 1952b.” ———. CO 537/7270; “Sir Henry Gurney to Higham of the Colonial Office, 13 March 1951b.” ———. CO 1022/379; “W. L. Blythe to Commissioner-General, 20 April 1953b.” Cornwall, Nigel Edmund. Borneo: Past, Present and Future. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1953. Federal Legislative Council of Malaya. “Report of committee appointed by His Excellency the High Commissioner to investigate the squatter problem” (Council Paper no. 3 of 1949). Kuala Lumpur: Government Printer, 1949. ———. “The squatter problem in the Federation of Malaya in 1950” (Council Paper no. 14 of 1950). Kuala Lumpur: Government Printer, 1950. Harper, T.N. [Timothy Norman] The End of Empire and the Making of Malaya. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Hayter, John and Jack Bennitt. The War and After: Singapore. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, n.d. [c. 1947]. Hedlund, Roger E. “Understanding Southeast Asian Christianity.” In Christian Movements in Southeast Asia: A Theological Exploration. Edited by Michael ­Nai-­Chiu Poon, 59–100. Singapore: Genesis Books and Trinity Theological College, 2010. Hood, George. Neither Bang nor Whimper: The End of a Missionary Era in China. Singapore: Presbyterian Church of Singapore, 1991. Jarvis, Edward. The Anglican Church in Burma: From Colonial Past to Global Future. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2021. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021.

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Koepping, Elizabeth. “Hunting with the Head: Borneo Villagers Negotiating Exclusivist Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 12, no. 1 (2006); Edinburgh University Press [59–78]. Leary, John D. Violence and the Dream People: The Orang Asli in the Malayan Emergency 1948–1960. Athens OH: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1995. Lee Kam Hing, “A Neglected Story: Christian Missionaries, Chinese New Villagers, and Communists in the Battle for the ‘Hearts and Minds’ in Malaya, 1948–1960.” Modern Asian Studies 47, no. 6 (November 2013). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, [1977–2006]. Lim Hin Fui and Fong Tian Yong. The New Villages in Malaysia: The Journey Ahead. Kuala Lumpur: Institute of Strategic and Policy Research. 2005. Newsinger, John. The Blood Never Dried: A People’s History of the British Empire. London: Bookmarks, 2013. Ng Moon Hing. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. ———. History and Mission of the Anglican Chinese Church in West Malaysia [Dissertation for the degree of Master of Divinity] Seminari Theoloji Malaysia. 1989. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Roxborogh, John. “Asian Agency, Protestant Traditions, and Ecumenical Movements in Asia, 1910 to 2010, with Special Reference to Malaysia and Singapore.” Asian Ecumenical Movement; Hong Kong Journal of Catholic Studies no. 9 (2018); Centre for Catholic Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong [285–317]. ———. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Spencer Chapman, Frederick. The Jungle is Neutral. London: Triad Panther Books, 1977. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. ———. “Gender in Sarawak: Mission and Reception.” Studies in Church History 34 (1998). [461–473]. Thompson, Henry Paget. Into All Lands: The History of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1701–1950. London: SPCK, 1951. Varney, Peter. Iban Leaders in the Anglican Church in Sarawak, 1848 to 2010. Singapore: Centre for the Study of Christianity in Asia (CSCA), 2010. Ward, Kevin. A History of Global Anglicanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.

CHAPTER 7

“The Christian Voice in a Muslim Majority Context”: The Challenges and Dilemmas of Today’s Church in Malaysia

Getting a clear picture of the Anglican Church in Malaysia today calls for a number of things to be taken into consideration; Islam, and all that the church’s cohabitation alongside it implies, cannot be ignored, of course. The church’s perspective on the multicultural society, its approach to Christian-Muslim relations, and its evolving attitudes regarding its own internal ethnic composition must be investigated. Today’s church is the living heir to the colonial church described in the previous chapters, and it is useful to gauge what the modern church has learned from this, understand what it retains, if anything, and identify what it has discarded. We may ask how, if at all, the church’s current outreach resembles the missionary work of the past. While assessing the impact of this missionary inheritance, the church’s other inheritance must also be considered; it is co-heir to the worldwide Anglican patrimony, part of an arguably fragmenting global communion, and the church has its own responses to those issues. Apart from these themes, which are specific to the Anglican experience, the church strives to balance continuity, relevance, and effectiveness, much like any other old, traditional organization embedded in a dynamic, modern society. The church cannot exist in a state of political oblivion, isolated from the upheavals surrounding it, without somehow engaging. This chapter may be forgiven for not going into the nuts and bolts of the church’s daily business, such as its management, canons, or finances, which belong to other domains. This chapter will examine the background © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_7

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to the current situation in Malaysia, the reality of the status quo for Christians and their experience of it, and the particular features—national, Asian, and global—of being a Malaysian Anglican.

The Dawn of Modern Malaysia The Malayan Emergency was effectively contained to the extent that it did not derail the journey towards a successful break from Britain, leading to national independence—Merdeka—on 31 August 1957. Merdeka was not embraced uncritically or without reservation, with some calling it ethnically divisive, as the Malay Muslim majority asserted itself. Competing characterizations of the new state as nationalist, pluralist, secular, or Islamic would become matters for ongoing debate. The genesis of modern Malaysia, however, was accompanied by a very clear statement that it was not going to be an Islamic state. Non-Muslims, after all, may have been a minority, but they were—and are—a very substantial one, and the distribution of ethnic groups was not geographically even, meaning that Muslims were not guaranteed an effective majority in all places. The closing decades of colonial rule saw the non-Malay population increase considerably, mainly due to policies and circumstances that triggered new waves of Chinese and Indian immigration. Malays, at that time mostly rural and poor, foresaw a grim future as a disadvantaged minority in their own country, and a “Malay rights” movement gained traction. They appealed to the British authorities for measures to safeguard Malay interests, vis-à-vis the economically and educationally advantaged—relatively speaking—Chinese and Indians. The British did not effectively address these concerns. The churches, meanwhile, tended to look inwards, having genuine concerns of their own, and this may have been interpreted as Christian indifference to the Malays’ plight, which was nothing new; Malays had long felt subjugated to people with an unsympathetic religion and an alien way of life. Christians, including the few Malay converts, and non-Malays, now contemplated a future under Muslim majority rule with apprehension. Church leaders shared these worries, but took care not to overpublicize their fears (Roxborogh 2014: 62; 2018: 300–301). Poor intercommunity relations were frequently blamed on colonial-era political moves, such as the short-lived Malayan Union state framework of 1946, the successor to British Malaya. Following years of increased non-­ Malay immigration, the new government suddenly promised equal rights to all inhabitants. Malays were by then outnumbered, constituting a little

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under fifty percent of the population, and the Malayan Union seemed to confirm their worst fears (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 126). Forty-one Malay rights organizations united to form the United Malay National Organization (UMNO), prompting the formation of the reciprocal Malayan Chinese Association (MCA) and the Malayan Indian Congress (MIC). Far from cultivating animosity, as may have been feared, the leaders of these new organizations acknowledged a common interest in preserving the peace. This framework of ethnic-based political representation would become fixed, and the Malays, having much to gain, became experts at negotiating and leading political alliances and coalitions. Minor ethnic-­ based and non-ethnic-based political parties who eschewed this bloc system tended to be seen as extremists, and generally failed to break into mainstream politics; this has remained essentially true to this day. Malaysia’s national political experience began to be shaped by the Malays’ understandable desire to establish and maintain hegemony; the MIC and the MCA were rewarded for their cooperation with promises of having a voice in government. Interethnic harmony seemed a real prospect, and this became the winning formula for achieving a peaceful national independence. Citizenship would be granted to non-Malays without hindrance, and, crucially, freedom of religion was constitutionally guaranteed (Drakeley 2008: 330, 331, 347). In exchange for bringing peace and harmony, Islam became the official religion, Malay became the official language, and the position of head of state would rotate between the Malay monarchs of the individual states. Moreover, special reparatory privileges, for the previously disadvantaged Malay population, were enshrined as a principle. These privileges, or positive discrimination measures, ostensibly aimed to elevate the overwhelmingly rural and poor Malays to the educational and economic levels of the other ethnic groups, especially the Chinese. The less-publicized objectives of these privileges were to “sell” the new state to Malay skeptics and to blindside the more radical Muslim factions. Accordingly, these privileges increased considerably after the so-called “race riots” of 1969, which revealed latent Malay resentment towards the other ethnic groups. These increased privileges were marketed as “nation building,” a somewhat foreboding term that is accused of cementing divisions and exacerbating tensions (Drakeley 2008: 332). It has been argued that the new privileges granted to Malays—scholarships, loans, jobs, and housing—were so disproportionate as to permanently disadvantage non-Malays (Walters 2021: 166–67). The challenge for mainstream political parties remained

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unaltered, however; to attract sufficient Muslim voters and satisfy Malay nationalist sentiments, without alienating the non-Muslim minorities (Whiting 2010: 3).

The Reality of Pluralism Christians in today’s Malaysia, once the scene of the first Christian settlements in Southeast Asia, are aware of how interconnected ethnic, religious, political, and legal questions can be, and how these relate to the national situation and their place within it (Hedlund 2010: 77; Walters 2021: 163–64). Islam is the official religion, and there are both a civil law and a Sharia system in place. Malays are the largest ethnic group and they are defined by law to all be Muslims, though this principle is obviously problematic. It continues to be stressed that Malaysia is not a Muslim country as such. Around twenty percent of Malaysians are Buddhists, nine-point-two percent are Christians (half of these being Roman Catholics, with Anglicans being fewer than five percent) and six-point-­ three percent are Hindus. “Malaysian” means all nationals of Malaysia, and the term is not interchangeable with “Malay,” which indicates the Malay ethnic group. “Malay language,” meanwhile, may refer to the native languages of several countries, with several local forms; the standardized Malaysian variant is called Bahasa Malaysia (BM) or Malaysian Language. Ethnically, sixty-five percent of the population are defined as Bumiputera, literally sons of the soil; this is a controversial term applied to the Malays and the indigenous groups (who adhere to various religions). Twenty-six percent of the population are ethnic Chinese, and nearly eight percent are ethnic Indian (mostly of Tamil descent, but also some Punjabi, Malayali, Telugu, etc.). These categories are widely considered to be (possibly very) broad generalizations (Drakeley 2008: 326). Orang Asal—meaning “original people”—refers to all of Malaysia’s truly indigenous people, concentrated in the East Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah, Borneo, where they form a majority. Nationally, Orang Asal constitutes eleven percent of the population. Their members in West (peninsular) Malaysia are called Orang Asli, a small minority consisting of numerous subgroups (Hedlund 2010: 74–75). The Malays are thought to have migrated to Maritime Southeast Asia (also called the East Indies or the Malay Archipelago) in a long series of migrations between 2500 and 1500 BC. Their origins and their first settlements—possibly in Sumatra or Borneo—are the subjects of long-running debates. Malays were most probably not the first or

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aboriginal people of Malaysia, and by some interpretations, they sidelined and supplanted the true indigenous population (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 12, 26–27). Malays were certainly the dominant group by the first millennium CE, and they are argued to be the “definitive”—not indigenous— people of Malaysia, in the same way that Anglo-Saxons became the definitive peoples of North America and Australasia (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 121–122). Malaysia is generally considered to be a modern, multicultural, and moderate Muslim-majority country. After gaining independence in 1957, the Federation of Malaya and the Borneo states of Sarawak and Sabah agreed to form the unified nation of Malaysia in 1963; Singapore, originally included in Malaysia, became independent in 1965. Federal Malaysia is based on a constitutional monarchy, parliamentary democracy, and an independent judiciary. The constitutionally guaranteed freedom to practice religion produces some curious data; ninety-five percent of Malaysians say that religion is important for society, but only thirty-five percent say that they trust people of other religions. Fortunately, this distrust rarely translates into open hostility, but it is bad news for interreligious relations. The common perception is that most Malaysians practice a moderate, tolerant form of Islam, and that this defuses potential confrontation (Sivin Kit 2018: 453–454). There are also signs of genuine enthusiasm for interreligious dialogue on all sides, and people’s view of Christian-Muslim relations can be surprisingly positive (Walters 2021 175–179, 184). Intercommunity harmony, such as it is, or at least the successful containment of strife, has also been attributed to successive Malaysian governments’ ability to balance the interests of the Muslim majority and the non-Muslim minority; others give credit to the pacifying power of a strong national identity that accommodates ethnic and religious diversity. Ninety-­ five percent of Malaysians say that they are proud of their nationality, suggesting that nationality is highly effective as a shared source of identity, across different ethnic and religious groups (Sivin Kit 2018: 454). Many argue, however, that beneath this veneer of national pride, the sense of united Malaysian identity quickly dissipates. Malays still enjoy privileges granted by the constitution and the government, within which Malays also remain dominant (Walters 2007 [1]: 68). It is important to remember that not all Muslims are ethnic Malays, though they are considered as such by law, even if they are in reality recent converts of another ethnicity. This explains a demographic shift that has troubled non-Muslims, whereby the proportion of Muslims (and by legal

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definition Malays) has risen significantly since Merdeka. This shift might have been expected to alleviate Malay fears of being underrepresented, and perhaps reduce the need for positive discrimination measures. Instead, as the Muslim—and therefore Malay—proportion of the population has risen, it seems that Malay dominance has been exerted with ever greater vigor, producing policies that have escalated disquiet and discord. The image of peaceful and harmonious Malaysia is countered by growing unease about developments in Islam, which has been experiencing a regional revival (Walters 2021: 164). Even in terms of everyday relations between people of different religions, there is said to be hesitancy and uncertainty with regard to official decrees, and how these are supposed to regulate social interaction. Muslims and non-Muslims have expressed concerns about religious tolerance, religious freedom, and religion in the public arena (Sivin Kit 2018: 454–55). The main obstacles to Christian-Muslim relations, it can be argued, do not spring from theological differences at all, but from the policies and actions of governments aiming to win and hold onto popular support (Walters 2007 [1]: 74–78).

Christians Amidst Contradictions and Discontent Christians have reported a wide range of grievances in relation to demonstrations of Muslim dominance in politics and society. Indigenous Christians are believed to have been subjected to proselytization campaigns by Muslims, while anything even vaguely resembling Christian evangelism towards Muslims would expect to be severely punished (Ponniah 2000: 32). Christians have complained of restrictions on the circulation of Christian literature, such as Sea Dayak (Iban)-language Bibles, and the seizure, by the authorities, of Malay-language Bibles. Islamic literature, meanwhile, including overtly anti-Christian tracts and social media posts, is freely distributed. Christians have also cited the misuse of Christian symbols in negative ways for political purposes, the prosecution of Malays who wish to embrace Christianity, and a general culture of obstruction and harassment to the detriment of churches (Walters 2007 [1]: 72, 74–75; 2021: 168–170). The much-debated prohibition of the use of the word “Allah” by Christians—dubbed the “Allah controversy”— caused particular frustration. The logic of having a national language— BM, in which the preferred word for God is the Arabic “Allah”—is surely negated, if certain Malaysian nationals can be ideologically banned from using certain words (Walters 2021: 169–170). Another commonly aired

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grievance involves claims of disproportionate allocations of land for religious use. One response to this is that proportions are misleading, and it is simply a question of math. A minority religion like Christianity, representing less than ten percent of the population, cannot be surprised if its places of worship are outnumbered six-to-one (Sintang et al. 2012: 70). From one perspective, it is clear that Christians must be realistic about the number of churches they aim to build; from another perspective, it seems clear that the majority’s interpretations and analysis cannot be challenged (Sivin Kit 2018: 456, 458–59, 478). Possibly the greatest concern for non-Muslims arises from a 1988 amendment to the constitution. Article 121 (1A) provides that civil courts “shall have no jurisdiction in respect to any matter within the jurisdiction of the Sharia courts.” This effectively establishes a hierarchy of the two legal systems, which expressly contradicts the previous constitutional provision. Some have seen the 1988 move as marking the beginning of Malaysia’s metamorphosis into a theocratic state, albeit taking place within an ostensibly secular, pluralist, democratic framework. Appearing to support this fear are a number of high-profile cases relating to apostasy and conversion, including to Christianity, wherein the amendment leaves Malay individuals with no legal avenue to contest inflexible Sharia-court rulings (Whiting 2010: 9–12). Ethnic Malays are legally deemed Muslim and as such, they are subject to the Sharia courts, whether or not they practice Islam or identify as Muslim. Some Muslims and non-Muslims see this as contradictory to the constitution, which guarantees freedom of religion for all citizens (Article 11), but contradiction is arguably fundamental to Malaysia, ostensibly a secular state with Islam as the official religion, privileged by law (Article 3) (Walters 2007 [1]: 76–77). For most Malaysians, religion and ethnicity are closely linked, and yet the legal definition for qualifying as Malay disregards ethnicity altogether; a Malay is defined as one who (a) is Muslim, (b) speaks Malay, and (c) follows Malay customs. Being ethnic Malay or not is immaterial, and “legal Malays” may well be converts to Islam of any ethnicity, origin, or background (Drakeley 2008: 332–333). Tensions notwithstanding, Malaysia is a peaceful and prosperous nation, not torn apart by ethnic or religious conflict, and its populace has never been subjected to a ruthless tyranny, like Burma’s. The mood in Malaysian society is generally optimistic, but the interaction of ethnicity, religion, and politics is recognized as being potentially volatile. There is an underlying sensation that, sooner or later, Malaysia’s peace and prosperity might

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give way to interethnic, interreligious violence, unless a more convincing and comprehensive solution to society’s tensions can be developed and implemented (Drakeley 2008: 328). Arguing against the likelihood of this disaster scenario are the decades of mostly peaceful coexistence so far, though this has been contingent on changeable factors such as the nation’s prosperity. Comparative wellbeing has quelled discontent and made the status quo not only tolerable but desirable, giving Malaysians a clear motive for supporting the current national philosophy. Fear of losing the status quo to intercommunity conflict effectively unites the aims of state and populace. Fear of the state itself, particularly the notorious Internal Security Act and its powers of indefinite detention, may also be compelling. This state of containment is not necessarily beloved of all Muslims, nor the fact that the situation allows for multiple and competing interpretations of Islam (Ponniah 2000: 32). Growing moderate-to-conservative Islamic dissatisfaction may also be regarded as a threat to peace (Drakeley 2008: 329). Dissenting Muslim voices, meanwhile, tend to be rebuked, silenced, or sidelined by authoritarian elements, both in government and in the opposition, who claim exclusive authority and ability to interpret Islam (Whiting 2010: 5). There have, however, been signs of increasing support for the democratic process from all communities in recent years (Sivin Kit 2018: 457–458). There are still concerns among non-Muslims, who may suspect Muslims of a subterfuge, by espousing institutional modernity while vigorously resisting cultural modernity (Ng Kam Weng 2007: 209).

Anglican Experience: Optimism and Wariness The Malaysian societal experience described here has run parallel, for the most part, to a successful internal experience for the Anglican Church, marked as it was by significant changes, such as the separation of Singapore. Today, there is a high degree of interethnic harmony within the church in Malaysia, and while most services still use one of the three main church languages of Chinese, Tamil, and English, church activity is fundamentally multiethnic. Membership is weighted away from the Malay Peninsula (West Malaysia)’s one diocese, towards Borneo’s two dioceses; indigenous communities and indigenous churches remain strong. This preexisting imbalance was intensified by the breaking-off of Singapore, where Anglicans are a high-profile group among a proportionally larger one-­ million-­strong Christian community. Like in Singapore, Anglicans in West

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Malaysia are overwhelmingly ethnic Chinese, with significant ethnic Indian, especially Tamil, membership. Anglicans make up a small portion of Malaysian Christians, numbering around one hundred thousand, though membership calculations are a challenge; there is a long history of regular attendees who never formalize their membership (Daniel 1992a [1]: 78; 1992b [2] 95). The church’s steady progress has also run parallel to Malaysia’s gradual shift, from a tolerant and unassertive form of Islam to a more dogmatic and militant form (Ponniah 2000: 31–32). This is déjà vu for the church, whose early missionary successes provoked a surge of Muslim missionary zeal. Ever since then, it was anticipated that successful Anglican missionary activity might be matched by a revival of Islam; the louder the church bells ring, the more strident the call to prayer will become, many believed (Taylor 1983: 12). There is of course no organized Anglican missionary work towards the Muslim community. Some interest in Christianity continues to come from Malays, occasionally, but it is a grave dilemma; they face enormous pressures and complications if they deviate from Islam (Ponniah 2000: 32). The Treaty of Pangkor (1874) continues to be remembered as the big giveaway. Though Pangkor was not primarily about religion, it is considered emblematic of the British sacrificing everything—including religion—on the altar of trade. Pangkor decreed non-interference in religious matters pertaining to the Malay state rulers, and the toleration of Christianity amongst colonial expatriates. The primacy of Malay rulers in religious matters was affirmed and has been reaffirmed ever since; the Malaysian constitution, in fact, can be seen as a fairly natural progression from Pangkor (Ponniah 2000: 31, 32). The treaty gave little thought to the Chinese or Indians, whose ability to seriously participate in national affairs was considered doubtful; today, by contrast, the authenticity of some Muslims’ commitment to democracy is questioned (Ng Kam Weng 2007: 209). It can certainly be difficult to perceive some modern policies as anything other than demonstrations of hostility towards minorities, but it is also clear that many majority-Muslim stances have their origins in genuine fears. There is real concern over the diffusion of Western ideas and their perceived power to undermine morality; the corresponding fear among non-Muslims is that the response will be increased “Islamization.” This problem, predictably, has colonial roots; post-Merdeka, Malaysians sought to eradicate all traces of colonialism, and Christianity, still considered a Western religion, was inevitably seen as part of that package (Kee-­ Fook Chia 2021: 128). Christians can be portrayed as disloyal,

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uncooperative, and even hostile to the great national project that is Malaysia (Poon 2010: 77–78). It is ironic that Christians were in fact among the first to make regular use of the term “Malaysia” as far back as 1891 (Roxborogh 2014: 31). Both Muslims and Christians must take a dose of reality; Christians are no longer transient immigrants in the nation, nor do they harbor colonialist ambitions. Christianity is a part of the fabric of modern Malaysia (Walters 2002: 59). Church leaders hoped for a more robustly secular constitution that not only guaranteed the freedom to practice a religion, in broad terms, but also addressed matters such as an individual changing religion, and what the precise parameters for proselytization would be. These crucial issues were unfortunately left to the later deliberations—ad hoc—of decentralized religious or state authorities. Bishop Roland Koh (c.1909–1972), then assistant bishop of Singapore and suffragan in Kuala Lumpur, sought to understand the extent to which the church could be held accountable if a Muslim were to acquire a Bible or start attending church services of their own accord; could this be considered disseminating literature, preaching to Muslims? Koh’s questions went unanswered. The constitution, nevertheless, came as a relief, and Bishop Baines of Singapore advised against contesting it. He urged Christians to face reality and prepare for the future by learning about Islam and seeking more interaction with Malays. Missionaries who worked exclusively in ethnic-Chinese or ethnic-­ Indian contexts generally accepted the need to engage with Malay culture, learn Malay, and broaden their cultural outlook (Roxborogh 2014: 90–91).

Anglican Adaptations; Ecumenism, Localization, Contextualization This sense of urgency, to evolve and adapt to the new context, was a shared experience of the whole Christian community. In the face of previously shared challenges, such as the need to translate hymns and texts, ecumenical cooperation had been effective, exemplified by the work of the Malayan Christian Council (MCC) (Roxborogh 2014: 32–33). The MCC, today called the Council of Churches of Malaysia (CCM), has continued its work unbroken since 1948, representing mainstream churches and maintaining relationships with the National Evangelical Christian Fellowship and the non-member Roman Catholic Church. Together, these three bodies—CCM, the Evangelicals, and the Roman Catholics—constitute

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the Christian Federation of Malaysia (CFM). The CFM seeks “to represent the Christian voice in a Muslim majority context” (Sivin Kit 2018: 451–452). Ecumenical work successfully connects diverse Christian groups, but local identities and community characteristics have continued to assert themselves. This has often been driven by strong leaders who not only preserve but increase the diversity of the church. The rise to prominence of Bishop Koh, mentioned above, was empowering for Malaysian Anglicans. Born in Sandakan, Sabah, in 1908 or 1909, Roland Koh Peck Chiang converted to Christianity from Buddhism. He became the church’s first ethnic-Chinese and indeed first Asian bishop, initially assistant bishop of Singapore and later the first Malaysian diocesan bishop of Sabah (Church Times 1958: 7). The first Asian bishop of the short-lived joint diocese of West Malaysia and Singapore was Joshua Chiu Ban It (c.1921–2016), a native of Hong Kong. He led the joint diocese for three years from 1967, and then remained in charge of Singapore as a separate diocese until 1981. After 1970, in fact, the story of Anglicans in Singapore is a related but separate story to that of Anglicans in Malaysia, and the discontinuation of the joint diocese experiment acknowledged this. Bishop Chiu is regarded as having been the key promoter of the charismatic or Pentecostal-style worship that is now prevalent in Singapore and influential at the regional level, far beyond the small island’s shores (Stanley 2018: 310). Singapore’s long-­ established cosmopolitan character and easy international interaction generated an atmosphere of openness and receptiveness; this, combined with due deference for the morally prescriptive and socially authoritarian context, created favorable conditions for an Anglican-driven charismatic renewal, in harmony with a new and optimistic spirit of national independence (Ward 2006: 312–313). It has been said that conventional Anglican and other denominational identities are being eclipsed, as popular Pentecostal practices, methods, preaching, and worship take center stage and succeed in filling pews (Blossom 1995: 403, 407). Those who previously doubted local leadership were rapidly being silenced, but in the early 1960s, most Malaysian churches, including the Anglicans, were still essentially dependent on foreigners (Ward 2006: 269–270). In 1964, however, Malaysia capped missionary visas to ten years’ maximum validity. This was less drastic than that in some countries; in the same year, Burma gave foreign missionaries two years to leave voluntarily or be deported. The message to the churches—“nationalize” your

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clergies—was clear, and the invitation for foreign missionaries to depart would later turn into expulsion, in Sabah. Malaysia and Burma were just two decolonizing Asian countries adopting broadly similar measures around that time, with a greater or lesser degree of hostility (O’Connor et al. 2000: 154–155). The church adapted, reorganizing in 1970, with West Malaysia as a new separate diocese under Bishop Koh, who died suddenly in 1972 (Straits Times 1972: 15). John Gurubatham Savarimuthu (1926–1994), the first Tamil bishop, replaced Koh (Ward 2006: 269–270). The age of foreign leadership was over, and Christian-Muslim relations seemed to improve as a result; first Koh and then Savarimuthu were given prestigious civil honors and the senior federal title of “Tan Sri” by the monarch, beginning a tradition of awarding honors to Anglican bishops (O’Connor et al. 2000: 184). Foreign involvement did not disappear overnight, and nor did those outdated attitudes that at times denigrated local cultures. The revived missions in Borneo since the late 1950s had achieved many conversions, and this success sometimes translated into triumphalism. Initial tolerance of local customs gave way to demands for exclusive allegiance to the church and the elimination of any kind of “competing” beliefs. In some instances, local religions were once again framed as, at best, praeparatio evangelica, or, at worst, devil worship. Such throwbacks to the colonial mentality proved quite resilient. Historically, however, insisting on exclusivity was not conducive to lasting conversions; it also exposed inconsistencies in Anglicanism, which clearly contains “competing” theologies and visions within it (Koepping 2006: 60–61, 62, 65). For all its shortcomings, foreign leadership had at least acted as a sort of equalizer, being neither Chinese nor Tamil nor indigenous, and never deliberately privileging one group over another. Even when British church leaders disparaged the locals—or “natives”—they tended to disparage them more or less equally, without acknowledging any hierarchy of local ethnicities. Ethnic differences, like theological differences, were of little concern and carried quite trivial connotations; Chinese Christians were seen as more conservative and English Christians were considered more liberal (Roxborogh 2014: 82–83, 103). Local leadership, as it expanded, tended to confer an ethnic identity upon each congregation, according to who led it; they could easily be divided once again into ethnic-Chinese, ethnic-Tamil, and indigenous congregations. Life in the new Malaysia effectively required congregations to contextualize twice; firstly, by managing the interface of their own ethnic language, spirituality, and culture vis-à-vis Christianity,

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and, secondly, by managing the interface of the above vis-à-vis Malaysian national culture, evaluating what may or may not be acceptable in the Muslim context.

Anglican Mission: Methods, Models, and Regional Perspectives Anglicans have worked hard to adapt to changing social needs, and to address issues arising from urbanization, marginalization, and changes to work and education that impact families. The first initiative of Malaysian CARE (Christian Association for Relief), founded in 1979, was to provide temporary accommodation for children whose parents were receiving treatment for leprosy. Malaysian CARE appointed its first executive director, Rev. Peter John Young, the following year. Since then it has developed an impressive array of projects, including financial literacy, indigenous land rights, ecology, parent resource center, and toy library (focusing on special needs), recovery from addiction, and youth work (Roxborogh 2014: 117). Funders have included the UN Democracy Fund. With a specifically non-urban focus, Anglican Village Ministries (AVM) is another standout missionary initiative of recent decades; it sees itself as combining the best of traditional missionary methods and later self-propagating models, while integrating and responding to the contemporary Anglican mission ethos (Ng 2009: 89–91). AVM began in 1993 under then-Archdeacon, later Archbishop, Ng Moon Hing, involving a mixture of full-time workers, a large network of volunteers, and some shorter-term missioners. AVM has reached out to an assortment of Orang Asli, ethnic-Chinese, and ethnic-­ Indian villages. Some of these began life as “new villages” during the Malayan Emergency, and they are all plagued by social problems, isolation, and disenfranchisement. In terms of strategy, AVM has offered socially useful and very welcome initial activities—typically tutoring and teaching—as a “gateway” to getting involved in the community. It then identifies, and moves on to address, more specific local needs, while creating opportunities for evangelism (Ng 2009: 25). One feature of urban church life in West Malaysia in recent years has been the presence of refugees from Burma (Myanmar). Malaysia can be reached via sea (through the Straits of Melaka) or via land (through Thailand) from Burma, but neither route is easy or safe by improvised means. Fleeing to Malaysia, therefore, is a desperate act, and in recent

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years the escapes by boat of Rohingya people, Burma’s persecuted majority-­Muslim ethnic group, reached humanitarian crisis levels. A comparable and lesser-known case is the exodus of Chin Christians into Malaysia, many of whom have found support in the Anglican Church (Liaw 2019: 13–15). The Chins are a majority-Christian ethnic group, whose northwest-Burma homeland borders India and Bangladesh. When the British began their phased annexation of Burma in the nineteenth century, they met with armed resistance from several ethnic groups, including the Chins, a so-called hill tribe. The trade-focused British decided that it was more convenient to respect the hill tribes’ autonomy than to fight them, with the result that relations with the Chins became quite good. The Chins’ religion was described as a mixture of theism, Buddhism, and spirit worship. In time, the Chins welcomed missionaries, and they were successfully converted to Christianity, elements of which were quite compatible with their existing traditions and beliefs (Jarvis 2021: 25, 50–51, 130). Today, about ninety percent of the Chins are Christians. They are one of the most complex ethnic groups in Burma, consisting of many subgroups; Christianity is a common thread that provides community cohesion, and it is central to Chin identity. Since long before the 2021 military coup, the Chins have been relentlessly and violently persecuted by central Burma government forces, and this persecution specifically targets the Chins’ Christian identity. In the years leading up to the coup, however, there were some symbolic improvements in the situation, including the surprise 2016 appointment of a Chin Christian as vice president, who served until his removal by the military in 2021; non-Buddhists have customarily been barred from senior government positions. There was also some easing of restrictions on church building and the construction of large crosses in public places; this is a custom in Chin state that has frequently sparked government reprisals, with the crosses being destroyed or replaced with Buddhist symbols. It is likely that this ongoing war of attrition with the resilient Chins fed into the motivations for the 2021 coup, which has seen the persecution of minorities increase. Lasting peace remains elusive for all of Burma’s Christians (Jarvis 2021: 177–178). A large Chin refugee and asylum seeker community—at least forty thousand people—has settled in Kuala Lumpur, in search of work, housing, and support. The Chins’ legal status in Malaysia is unstable, leaving them exposed to the possibility of arrest, detention and/or deportation by the authorities, as well as, sadly, incidences of harassment, threats, and

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extortion from elements of the populace. Their already vulnerable situation took a nosedive in June 2018, when the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) ceased its support for the Chins, declaring their homeland safe. This bizarre finding was almost universally refuted, and, in April 2019, UNHCR reversed its decision. Agape Mission School, under the care of St Mary’s cathedral and run by dedicated volunteers, is a key part of the Anglican response to the situation. The school takes pride in the fact that its activity is not limited to providing education for Chin children; there are also micro-industry and craft projects for parents. The school recognizes the extraordinary hardship faced by the Chins; many students’ families cannot pay school fees, but no student is turned away, and the school endeavors to find a sponsor. As challenging as the situation is, the Chin Christian community is undeniably part of the current and future landscape of Malaysia (Liaw 2019: 14–15). The church in West Malaysia reported considerable growth over the last thirty something years and it appears to be accelerating. In 1985, the diocese had forty-five churches and fewer than thirty priests and parish assistants; today it lists one hundred and fifty-five churches, hosting more than two hundred and fifty congregations of various languages, with one hundred and twenty-five pastoral personnel (including priests and woman deacons) and around twenty evangelists. Member retention can be a problem; 2011 to 2020 was declared a Decade of Mission Challenge and Networking, during which training for lay readers and lay pastors succeeded in reengaging and revitalizing a lot of the membership (Ng 2019: 3). The Anglican Institute of Ministry (AIM) offers a range of courses aimed at helping laypeople to explore pathways into ministry (Ang Joo Tat 2019: 17, 19). Church members are involved in a range of social works, church planting, mission planning, and launching new language services. There has been a major focus on expanding BM and Sea Dayak (Iban) language services; all states of the diocese now have both, but this is not yet the case with English, Chinese, and Tamil services (Ng 2019: 3). The work of the Provincial Liturgical Committee (PLC) began immediately after the creation of the Church of the Province of South East Asia in 1996, providing daily worship and the scripture reading resources for church members. By 1999, the PLC had produced a new common prayer book and songbook, reconciling significant differences in worshipping styles across the province, including the senior partner, Singapore. Charismatic Singapore’s continued provincial influence reflects the importance of its Anglican community; the whole of Malaysia has only four

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times the number of Singaporean Anglicans, who form part of a significant twenty percent national Christian minority. A second volume of the provincial songbook came out for the twentieth anniversary of the Province in 2016, and the PLC turned to producing a practical book of pastoral services, to further empower church members’ ministry (Province of South East Asia 2019: 4).

The Church in Malaysia and the Crisis in Anglicanism The final break-up of the old Church of India, Pakistan, Burma, and Ceylon (CIPBC) in 1970 was a milestone for postcolonial Anglicanism. The church in Malaysia and Singapore had had little involvement with the big regional church, but the disintegration of the territorially vast CIPBC highlighted a range of issues—and opportunities—for all of the region’s churches. The CIPBC’s demise should not be interpreted as a defeat for Christianity in the region, in fact, because just when Christianity across Europe was declining, an evangelistic boom was taking place in many of the former colonies (Cox 2008: 9). The Anglican Church in Malaysia’s major postcolonial reorganizations, between 1960 and 1970, had national, regional, and international dimensions: nationally, they reflected the realization and stabilization of the new state of Malaysia; regionally, they constituted steps towards a new multinational Southeast Asian Church; internationally, they coincided with a polar shift in global Christianity. In India, Anglicans had taken a creative approach to the postcolonial reality; the southern dioceses formed the basis of a “united church” along with other, non-Anglican Churches, and the northern dioceses later followed suit. These united churches would remain within the Anglican Communion, though without using the word Anglican in their names. They would be both “united and uniting” churches, drawing together several small Protestant denominations into one new church. There were considerable differences in polity and theology to overcome, but compromise became key and the new united Churches of North and South India came into being. This united church idea had some enthusiastic supporters in Southeast Asia, including Bishop Nicholas Allenby (1909–1995) of Kuching, but for all its merits this solution only partly addressed the uncertainty facing Anglicanism, which stood on the brink of an identity crisis. Anglicanism,

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objectively, has quite successfully adapted to and kept up with the modern world, but whether this is to be applauded or deplored is a matter for heated debate. Beginning in an ambitious spirit of compromise and openness, the 1970s saw the first real waves of women’s ordination in the Anglican Communion (there had been isolated precedents). Women’s ordination gained momentum in the 1980s, leading to its widespread adoption by the 1990s. The early 2000s saw the initial acceptance of same-­ sex relationships, including for clergy. These developments have been met with large-scale organized opposition, as well as the formation and growth of rival Anglican bodies calling for a halt to the revolution. For the opponents, these developments do not just stem from an ill-considered desire to keep up with the times; they are radical departures from core, biblical principles and Christian values. These moves, critics say, displace the Bible from the heart of church authority and subvert Christianity’s two-­ thousand-­year tradition. A variety of contesting groups have formed; some continue to acknowledge the official structures and protocols of the Anglican Communion, such as the Global South network and the Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans (FCA), in which Malaysian bishops have participated. Global South unites more than half of the forty-one Provinces of the Anglican Communion, including Malaysia as part of Southeast Asia, in a conservative-oriented discussion. The conservative— or orthodox—opposition also includes bodies with one foot placed firmly outside of official Anglican structures, such as GAFCON (Global Anglican Future Conference). There are also numerous independent bodies who locate themselves within the spiritual and sacramental tradition of Anglicanism, but with both feet placed well outside of the official Anglican Communion, and these are referred to as Continuing Anglicans. Of all the contested issues, women’s ordination was the great watershed for many Anglicans, but, in Asia, the range of responses is more varied than might be expected; it is rarely a simple yay or nay. In India, the two united churches do ordain women, though in practice their work appears to be limited to certain ministries considered suitable for women, with restrictions on public preaching. In Burma, the church does not currently ordain women, though it accepted the idea in principle as early as 1973. The church in Malaysia has developed a wide variety of ministry roles, far beyond the ancient two-role formula of clergy and catechists, and positions of responsibility are generally open to both women and men. Formal ordination is understood as just one of many types of ministry, and both women and men are admitted as pastors, evangelists, readers, and so on.

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This approach has circumvented an issue that could be culturally vexatious, echoing the approaches of the Anglican Churches in Pakistan and Bangladesh, who refrain from ordaining women out of respect for the national Muslim majority (Koepping 2011: 31–32). Some Asian churches are relatively young and still developing responses to this and other issues, while older ones inherited elements of the colonial church, such as gender-­ specific language and traditional scriptural interpretations, which can foster skepticism about women’s roles. That being said, colonial-era Malaysia was home to leading exponents of women’s ordination, including Rev. Henry T.  Malaher and Bishop John L.  Wilson (The Times 1959: 6). Conservative—or orthodox—Anglicanism, which is largely harmonious with Southeast Asian religious values, tends to accommodate rather than mandate opposition to women’s ordination. Opposition is a common, rather than a universal or required, stance among GAFCON and Global South adherents, and it sits comfortably with the traditional Anglicanism that was established in Malaysia. GAFCON and Global South adherents do not encourage the use of loaded terms like conservative or traditionalist, preferring the designation “orthodox,” while appreciating the need to explain “orthodox Anglicanism” to the untrained ear (GAFCON 2008: 30–41). It is a term with a long history in Southeast Asia. Three hundred years ago, the word “orthodox” was already used to indicate the High Church tradition— church order, apostolic succession, liturgy, and sacraments—of which missionary organizations like the SPG and SPCK were flagships (O’Connor et al. 2000: 7–8). Considering the lasting influence of these organizations in Southeast Asia, it is no surprise that modern Anglican orthodoxy still finds an attentive audience there. Western—or Northern—Christianity may have been eroded by social and cultural revolutions, but the postcolonial churches survived and flourished, and Christianity’s center of gravity shifted southwards. Colonial-era orthodoxy outlived colonialism, and it now empowers Southern Churches to criticize the liberalized Global North, with authority rooted in the tradition they preserved. The orthodox missionaries of yesteryear, who sought to establish self-governing local churches, surely never imagined that those local entities would one day hit back at the “parent” church, in affirmation of the very orthodoxy they inherited (Cox 2008: 9, 20). There is, arguably, plenty to hit back over; since the women’s ordination debate, the Anglican Communion has appeared to challenge traditional stances on a number of emotive issues, especially relating to family, sexuality, gender, and identity, and this list is

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hardly exhaustive. Malaysian bishops, including Yong Ping Chung (1941–) and Lim Cheng Ean (1942–) were among those most vociferously opposed to the watershed appointment of openly gay American bishop Gene Robinson. They not only argued on the basis of the church’s traditional stance on the issue, but also explained that any church seen to endorse this move would become a pariah in cultural contexts like Malaysia. Any assumption that the orthodox Anglican opposition movement is a fringe group or breakaway sect must be resisted; the spectrum described above represents, combined, tens of millions of Anglicans around the globe, easily constituting the majority of the world’s Anglicans. The Anglican Church in Malaysia, for its part, relates to the Global South group and the FCA, and also to the GAFCON bishops and their churches. But the sympathies of the church in Malaysia are with all contesting conservative Anglicans, who in turn value Malaysia’s support and cite Malaysia, and the Southeast Asian province, as an example of Anglican orthodoxy and solidarity. This support has taken the most concrete of forms, such as the launch of the Anglican Mission in the Americas (AMiA) in 2000, mobilized by Archbishop Moses Tay Leng Kong (1938–) of Singapore, first primate of the Province of South East Asia. AMiA aimed to provide alternative orthodox oversight to churches in North America that opposed the perceived liberal degeneration. Archbishop Tay, joined by sympathetic bishops from Rwanda and the United States, consecrated two bishops for AMiA in 2000, going against Anglican Communion procedures. That same year, the incoming second primate of South East Asia, Yong Ping Chung of Sabah, echoed Tay’s support and went on to be a prominent voice in AMiA. All of these controversies, broadly referred to as the process of Anglican realignment, remind us that Anglicanism has always stood on loose tectonic plates, and they also illustrate how the Anglican Church in Malaysia has grown in confidence and significance in the relatively short period of time since the end of empire. One clear lesson of the colonial period was that engaging with contrasting cultures and different values is unavoidable, and the church cannot just abide, tacit, in isolation (Cox 2008: 9). Nor can the church exist in a state of brooding resentment towards decadent mainstream society; as in former times, the church must engage with social reality or disappear from the public square. The extent to which this engagement means that the church should tolerate, accommodate, or conform to mainstream society’s values—if at all—and how this regulates its relationship with the parent church are burning questions. Today’s fragile relationship with the

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Anglican Communion inevitably harks back to the days when the Southeast Asian Church was “under” foreign powers. The first Asian Church leaders walked a tightrope between slavishly mimicking their predecessors and ungratefully repudiating them, but there can be little doubt that residual resentment towards the former masters has made some lasting impression on the modern church. The relationship now suffers from a paucity of shared recent experience, in contrast to extensive shared history; the post-­ postmodern challenges facing the parent church are unrelated to Malaysian Christians’ situation. This is not helped by a lurking temptation to ascribe all disagreements to Asian theological differences, a term that is too broad and loose to be meaningful (Koepping 2006: 73).

Chapter Conclusion The destiny of today’s Malaysian Anglican Church is bound to be shaped to some degree by its cohabitation with Islam, whose presence in Malaysia is uniquely interwoven with the nation’s history, politics, and culture. The situation is emotive, eliciting strong reactions and stark comparisons, as the church navigates restrictions and inequalities that arguably have parallels in authoritarian regimes. Religious freedom is famously enshrined in the constitution, but in a way that leaves it open to interpretation, including by Islamic hardliners. This paradox unsettles Christians, but Malaysia is nevertheless famed for its stability, relative prosperity, and mostly moderate Islam. This careful combination of flexibility and tension has never deteriorated into interethnic conflict or violent persecution, as some newer church members experienced before seeking refuge in comparatively safe and free Malaysia. The status quo is recognized as a delicate balance, however—to be neither idealized nor disparaged, neither meekly accepted nor roundly rejected—and Christians avoid both alarmism and complacency. They are not alone in their concerns; it is in all citizens’ interests to keep Malaysia safe and moderate, including Muslims. Islam in Malaysia has historically been no monolith, and despite a latent hard line, extremism is unlikely to grip the Muslim majority overnight. The creation of Malaysia caught the Anglican Church unprepared and still emerging from the colonial experience. Transition brought dramatic and sudden shifts: authority passed from British hands to Malay hands; Christian sympathy in the seats of power was replaced by privileged status for Islam; and English, the medium of governance, gave way to Malay, as the undisputed national language. The churches’ protected status under

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the British had engendered complacency and insularity; they saw no pressing need to cooperate or develop constructive relationships with other social institutions (Roxborogh 2014: 63). These things, like the transition to a wholly local clergy, suddenly became urgent necessities rather than pastoral choices, and a truly independent local church was operating within just two decades of Merdeka (Ng 1989: 1–2; Varney 2010: 3, 11–12). Driving this transformation was, surely, the basic, practical desire of people to affirm belonging, preserve identity, and ground themselves, in the middle of a tornado of sociopolitical change. This was harmonious with Asian spirituality, which tends to look beyond both the material (the written, the normative) and the theoretical (the meaning, the motivation) to the lived experience, without seeing the dividing lines typical of the Western mindset. The experience of the integration of the church into Asia, and of Asians into the church, emphasizes that localization must be authentic not only in the theology and ecclesiology adopted (and adapted) but more importantly in the practice and mission of the truly local church (Phan 2000: 218). Malaysia’s Anglican Church successfully transitioned from the old colonial ecclesiastical structures to eventually become the main national church within a new Province of the Anglican Communion, uniting the three Malaysian dioceses to Singapore. In theology, worship, and vision, the church had already broken the old High Church Anglo-Catholic monopoly by the late 1950s, but while charismatic-Pentecostalism took root in Singapore and radiated throughout the region, a more varied tapestry of orthodox Anglican understandings survived in Malaysia. It would be erroneous to imagine the modern church as an Anglo-Catholic relic, however; it admits to being a “three-stream” fusion of Evangelical (scripture), Charismatic (spirit), and Catholic (sacrament) influences. The separation of Singapore, in Anglican terms, may be viewed simply as an ecclesiastical response to political independence or, more incisively, as recognition of the fact that the nature and needs of the church in Singapore were always different, and increasingly so. These perspectives are not necessarily unrelated, of course, but the more simplistic reading may mislead. Anglicanism, historically, has not tended to conform unquestioningly to new political alignments; with the creation of the United Kingdom, for example, proposals to unite the English and Scottish churches were rejected, and British colonialism had been expanding for more than a century before the English church thought to establish a proper international communion. Post-independence, the Anglican Church in Singapore continued to exert

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influence in a number of ways, and its separated Malaysian sibling regards Singapore’s evangelistic successes with respect. The church in Singapore seemed to mirror the broader Singaporean approach of integrating the “best” elements of Western culture while strictly enforcing moral red lines, and Malaysian church leaders took careful note of this balancing act. Singapore’s influence became more globally consequential when its church leaders vigorously challenged controversial developments in Anglicanism, and Malaysian church leaders, from their own morally conservative but rapidly modernizing context, declared full solidarity with them (Ward 2006: 22–24, 312–313). As a generalization, socially and theologically conservative Anglicanism sits well with Malaysians’ broader spirituality and worldview, and this remains a key point in common with separated Singapore. This delicate balance governs the church’s interaction with the Anglican Communion and generates affinity with other churches of the postcolonial global south. Like them, Anglicans in Malaysia have evaluated the colonial church inheritance on its merits; the colonial-era missionaries, with their various flaws, are not repudiated but thanked, for bringing the Gospel and for believing in the ability of local people to build their own church (Cox 2008: 21). Modern Malaysian Anglicans no longer look to colonial times for lessons on how to run their church, however. There is more interaction—and movement—between Christian denominations than before, and Anglicans, hailing from diverse Christian backgrounds, are exposed to multiple global Christian influences. Ethnicity influences religion, though no ethnic group is uniform in religious adherence, and non-Christian beliefs, customs, and rituals coexist alongside Christianity. While many— or most—Malaysians incorporate a range of different influences, national identity (debatable as the construct may be) appears to be heartfelt.

References Ang Joo Tat. “Penang AIM Seminar on Comparative Religion.” Anglican Messenger. [magazine] Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia (Anglican Church), April 2019. [17, 19]. “Anglican Bishop Roland Koh Dies in the US.” The Straits Times, 10 October 1972. 15. Blossom, Jay. “More in Common with Pentecostals than with Canterbury: June 6, 1993, at Yishun Christian Church (Anglican), Singapore.” Anglican and Episcopal History 64, no. 3, (September 1995); Historical Society of the Episcopal Church [403–407].

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“Case for Ordination of Women ‘Strong;’ Bishop of Birmingham.” The Times, 20 April 1959 [6]. “Chinese Assistant Bishop for Singapore.” Church Times, 21 March 1958. [7]. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. Daniel, J.  Rabindra [1]. “Diversity Among Indian Christians in Peninsular Malaysia.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 65, no. 1 (262) (1992a) [71–88]. ——— [2]. Indian Christians in Peninsular Malaysia. Petaling Jaya: Tamil Annual Conference, Methodist Church, Malaysia, 1992b. Drakeley, Steven. “Drowning or Waving? Citizenship, Multiculturalism and Islam in Malaysia.” Al-Jāmi‘ah: Journal of Islamic Studies 46, no. 2 (2008) M/1429 H [325–351]. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. GAFCON (Global Anglican Future Conference) Theological Resource Team. The Way, the Truth and the Life: Theological Resources for a Pilgrimage to a Global Anglican Future. London: Latimer Trust, 2008. Hedlund, Roger E. “Understanding Southeast Asian Christianity.” In Christian Movements in Southeast Asia: A Theological Exploration. Edited by Michael Nai-­ Chiu Poon, 59–100. Singapore: Genesis Books and Trinity Theological College, 2010. Jarvis, Edward. The Anglican Church in Burma: From Colonial Past to Global Future. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2021. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. Koepping, Elizabeth. “Hunting with the Head: Borneo Villagers Negotiating Exclusivist Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 12, no. 1 (2006); Edinburgh University Press [59–78]. ———. “India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Burma / Myanmar.” In Christianities in Asia, edited by Peter C. Phan, 9–44. Chichester, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011. Liaw, Marianne. “More than just a Refugee School: St Mary’s Agape Mission School.” [13–15] in Diocese of West Malaysia. Anglican Messenger. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia (Anglican Church), April 2019. Ng Kam Weng. “The Challenge of Modernity and Islamic Responses in Politics and Education, with Special Reference to Malaysia.” In News of Boundless Riches: Interrogating, Comparing, and Reconstructing Mission in a Global Era (volume one) edited by Max L. Stackhouse and Lalsalkima Pachuau, 207–226. Delhi: ISPCK, 2007.

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Ng Moon Hing. “Bringing in the Sheaves.” Anglican Messenger. [magazine] Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia (Anglican Church), April 2019. [3]. ———. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. ———. History and Mission of the Anglican Chinese Church in West Malaysia [Dissertation for the degree of Master of Divinity] Seminari Theoloji Malaysia. 1989. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Phan, Peter C. “Ecclesia in Asia: Challenges for Asian Christianity.” East Asian Pastoral Review 37 (2000) East Asian Pastoral Institute [215–32]. Ponniah, Moses. “The Situation in Malaysia.” Transformation 17, no. 1: Suffering and Power in Christian-Muslim Relations: The Political Challenge of Islam Today and its Implications for the Church in Education and Mission (January 2000) Sage Publications, Inc. [31–34]. Poon, Michael Nai-Chiu (editor). Christian Movements in Southeast Asia: A Theological Exploration. Singapore: Genesis Books and Trinity Theological College, 2010. Province of South East Asia [Church of the]. You are Truly my Disciples if you Remain Faithful to my Teachings. [booklet] 3 February 2019. Roxborogh, John. “Asian Agency, Protestant Traditions, and Ecumenical Movements in Asia, 1910 to 2010, with Special Reference to Malaysia and Singapore.” Asian Ecumenical Movement; Hong Kong Journal of Catholic Studies no. 9 (2018); Centre for Catholic Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong [285–317]. ———. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Sintang, Suraya, Azizan Baharuddin and Khadijah Mohd Khambali. “Dialogue of Life and Its Significance in Inter-Religious Relation in Malaysia.” International Journal of Islamic Thought 2 (December 2012) [69–79]. Sivin Kit. “Speaking the Truth in the Midst of Divisiveness: The Merdeka Day and Malaysia Day Statements of the Christian Federation of Malaysia (CFM).” Asian Ecumenical Movement; Hong Kong Journal of Catholic Studies no. 9 (2018); Centre for Catholic Studies, The Chinese University of Hong Kong [449–487]. Stanley, Brian. Christianity in the Twentieth Century: A World History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983.

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Varney, Peter. Iban Leaders in the Anglican Church in Sarawak, 1848 to 2010. Singapore: Centre for the Study of Christianity in Asia (CSCA), 2010. Walters, Albert Sundararaj. “Christian-Muslim Relations in New Malaysia: Overcoming Barriers, Building Bridges.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et  al, 159–194. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. ———. “Issues in Christian-Muslim Relations: A Malaysian Christian Perspective.” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 18, no. 1 (January 2007) [1] [67–83]. ———. We Believe in One God? Reflections on the Trinity in the Malaysian Context. Delhi: ISPCK, 2002. Ward, Kevin. A History of Global Anglicanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Whiting, Amanda J. “Secularism, the Islamic State and the Malaysian Legal Profession.” Asian Journal of Comparative Law 5, no. 1 (2010) art. 10 [1–34].

CHAPTER 8

“From the Shores of the Peninsula Or from the Deck of the Ship”: Theological and Missiological Perspectives and Viewpoints The two main Protestant colonizing nations in Southeast Asia, the Dutch and the British, went into the region as a commercial capitalist venture, and initial management of the colonies was entrusted either to private companies or, as in Borneo, to private individuals. These private entities were able to raise their own armies, but they could also rely on the armed forces of their respective monarchs for protection. Both Dutch and British colonists took Protestant religious representatives with them, but the private administrations, whether company or individual, were wary of the potential for missionary activity to interfere with trade relations, and they curtailed it. It was only after these private entities were replaced with a proper colonial government apparatus that Protestant missionaries began to make real progress. Even so, reservations about missionary work often fed into legislation or regulations, such as the Treaty of Pangkor, which greatly influenced the management of the colonies. When churches did acquire a degree of freedom to operate, even with limitations, they were generally very appreciative (Goh 2005: 5–6). In contrast to some perceptions, the spread of Christianity in Southeast Asia was not based on coercion; instances of coercive behavior were usually due to particularly zealous individual officials rather than church or government policy. Roman Catholic missionary work was reputed to be grossly coercive, perceived as

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part of the ideological imposition of Christendom, and while their Protestant counterparts disapproved, they would not escape similar criticism. Christianity in Britain’s Southeast Asian colonies would remain wedded to the capitalist Protestant worldview, and would forever be perceived, to a degree, as an imported, Western religion (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 128). The work of Anglican missionaries could be broadly interpreted as an endorsement of the British Empire, which replaced what many saw as barbarism, and bestowed marvelous “civilized” benefits. Anglicans’ close association with the imperial powers gave them license to work across social boundaries, allowing access to the poorest sectors of colonial society. Non-Anglican Western missionaries, largely indistinguishable from the Anglicans, enjoyed similar freedoms by proxy (O’Connor et al. 2000: 72). The church in future Malaysia was unequivocally Western-oriented for most of its history, including in its theology, worship, polity, attitudes, and its approach to missionary work, until a truly local church could be developed (Roxborogh 2018: 288). It may be easy to perceive the church as an intrusion into Southeast Asia, but evidence indicates that it was widely welcomed. Christianity in the region showed consistent growth during the later colonial era and after the end of colonialism. Conversions generally occurred in highly uneven clusters rather than systematic patterns or waves, suggesting spontaneity rather than orchestration. Church engagement and the emergence of local leaders tended to occur organically, driven by curiosity and interest. All of this implies that Christianity was usually adopted willingly, in a gradual and piecemeal fashion—there was rarely a “boom” of conversions—rather than being imposed (Goh 2005: 6). The perception of missionary work as collusion in colonial expansion has strongly influenced scholarship, however, which explains why mission has often been overlooked in histories of British religion (Cox 2008: 7). It has been taken for granted that beyond what Andrew Porter called the “complicity paradigm,” there is little to say, unless the intention is to exonerate or rehabilitate the missionaries; this in turn encourages a perception of mission history as a purely denominational pursuit (Porter 2004: 2–3, 6). These common misapprehensions, and the occasional appearance of actual colonial mission apologists, impede a fuller understanding of colonial history, and authentic scholarship can struggle to find its place. In related fields, such as postcolonial studies, mission can be ignored because the field is so avowedly secular, while church historians

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may frame overseas missions as a simple extension of the church’s philanthropic activity. Gradually, however, the boundaries between colonial history, church history, and mission studies have broken down (Cox 2008: 4–5, 5–6). Even so, some regions, such as Malaysia, have failed to attract scholarly attention in favor of the vaster British imperial topics of India and Africa (Porter 2004: 2–3).

Contrasting Philosophies, Conflicting Mindsets, Gaps in Understanding Early missionaries often dismissed local religions as polytheism, idolatry, or, worse still, devil worship, until anthropologists promoted the more diplomatic terminology of animism and nature worship. Eventually, the word “cosmic” gained currency, not just as an umbrella term for local belief systems, but also to describe local forms taken by major world religions in Southeast Asia. Once the missionaries had reeled in their expectations and prejudices a little, they succeeded in transplanting European Christianity into the cosmic soil of Southeast Asia; the result is popular, cosmic forms, rather than supposed pure forms, of what could be called the metacosmic religion of Christianity. These local forms of Christianity may be rejected as cosmic deviations of, or recognized as cosmic expressions of Christianity, but what do we mean by cosmic? The cosmic religious outlook views all the forces of nature as personal divine beings working alongside humans, and upon death, all are absorbed into the cosmos together. The elements of the natural world are not instruments in the hands of people but rather their co-workers, fellow participants in the marvel of existence. This mindset holds worldly things to be sacred and sees the sacred as being tangible of this world; Aloysius Pieris called this holistic outlook “sacred this-worldliness” (Pieris 2004: 258, 259). This contrast in worldview was inadvertently highlighted by the Treaty of Pangkor. From the British side, Pangkor was a trade agreement with added implications for interreligious relations, but from the Asian point of view, a trade agreement—or any type of worldly agreement—would concern religion inherently, not just by implication. There is no cosmic cultural equivalent of the Western maxim that religion and politics do not mix, because there is no equivalent of the Western philosophical dividing line between the worldly and the sacred (Bell 2004: 430). The European attachment to binary thinking has haunted interreligious and interethnic

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dialogue since the first Christian missionaries set foot in Southeast Asia. Unhindered by conceptual divisions of sacred and profane, Southeast Asians’ engagement with and practice of world religions such as Christianity developed unique local features, reflecting their values and customs without conflict. Some Anglican missionaries in Asia, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, began to accept, accommodate, and encourage these local features. They recognized the flaws in colonial Christianity and promoted the idea of autonomous local churches to replace it. These missionaries became known as “atheists of empire” because they lost faith in the British imperial ideal. They rejected the strategy of recreating the English church in the tropics, foisting it on people who already had their own religious and spiritual traditions, which the atheists of empire recognized as valid (O’Connor et al. 2000: 99–100). In general, however, missionaries were slow to attune to the priorities and sensibilities of new Asian Christians. The churches carefully established their distinct identities and they respected boundaries between themselves and other denominations, little realizing that denominational differences were not particularly important to Asian Christians (Roxborogh 2014: 63–64, 64–65). Disdain for indigenous religion still seemed ingrained well into the twentieth century, with some Anglican clergy recoiling in Victorian horror of what they described as “a religion of … superstition and fear [of a] multitude of gods and spirits … which the Christian religion alone can dispel” (Stonton 1947: 16). The idea of Christianity as a “civilizing” force seemed hardwired, the tasks of Christianizing and civilizing being so closely correlated in the European mindset as to be almost synonymous (Cox 2008: 13). Gentlemanliness, refinement, and good manners, once considered prerequisites for a missionary, were also considered the hallmarks of a successful convert, demonstrating that the missionary had transmitted these qualities effectively. The notion that Christianization could be achieved by nurturing a new social elite of converts was believed to honor the all-important example of English society, in which evangelization of the “lower orders” had always started from the upper class downward (Cox 2002: 4). Well into the twentieth century, some still failed to grasp that, in Asia, the lived context of mission was spiritually more important than theory or ideas, or even values and principles, let alone airs and graces, and that faith is nourished in experiences of survival, disenfranchisement, migration, and conflict. For the ethnic and immigrant collectives of Malaysia, becoming Anglican was about finding a way to follow Jesus’ teachings that made sense to their

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lives and spoke to their experiences; it was not about identifying with British colonialism or English history, and nor was it about confessional identity or social climbing (Roxborogh 2018: 288, 296). Some clergies were perhaps too deeply invested in colonialism to ever doubt that England and Empire were God-given ideals to be emulated. Most were, in principle, broadly in favor of colonial expansion, advocating for it to be done humanely, with the provision of social services (Cox 2008: 13–14). Mission was seen as standing on three legs: the church, the hospital, and the school; the Anglican Church’s successes in these fields were emboldening for a small organization with limited influence, especially for those who were acutely aware of the church’s weaknesses (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 29). Its small size and small staff had always made it difficult to sustain its own theological college, for example; this could have advanced the church’s autonomy, while the lack of a college reinforced its dependency on outside agencies. For most of the church’s history, clergy were either brought in from elsewhere—most often Britain, Australasia, or India—or, if local, sent abroad for ordination training. After a few false starts, effective and lasting theological education would eventually be the product of ecumenical cooperation. Trinity Theological College (TTC) in Singapore, founded in 1948, was a joint effort of the Methodists, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Lutherans, contributing in that order. TTC was instrumental in equipping a new generation of local leaders and inspired several Anglican bishops—including Roland Koh and John Gurubatham Savarimuthu—to develop facilities of their own, namely Seminari Theoloji Malaysia (STM) in West Malaysia, opened in 1979. At a regional level, they found support in new ecumenical bodies such as the Asia Theological Association (ATA) and the Association for Theological Education in Southeast Asia (ATESEA). The theological and ecumenical foci in the region remain on mission and its context, and sharing resources to develop church leadership (Roxborogh 2014: 88, 119–120; 2018: 293).

Ethnic Groups, Identity, and the Church: from Prejudice to Politicization By the middle of the twentieth century, it was generally accepted that the church’s appeal would forever be limited to the ethnic-Chinese and indigenous communities in Borneo, and mostly confined to the ethnic-Chinese and ethnic-Indian communities on the Peninsula. The complexity of

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Chinese religion had initially prevented missionaries from seeing their potential for evangelization; they were presumed to all be Buddhists, perhaps because missionaries observed customs common to all Chinese worshippers, whatever their religion (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 31–32). Malaysia’s ethnic Indians are mostly Tamils and Malayalis, with smaller numbers of Telugus, Goans, and Punjabis. Most ethnic-Indian Christians are Tamils, and around five percent of Indian Christians are Anglicans (Daniel 1992 [1]: 77). Among the Malays, who only slightly outnumbered the ethnic-Chinese by the middle of the twentieth century, hopes for serious evangelization faded early, and the Pangkor agreement was generally interpreted as precluding this (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 5). The breakdown of the church’s ethnic composition seems straightforward, but the picture is distorted by a national tendency to take little or no account of mixed ethnicity, which has quite a long history, and also by the fact that non-Anglicans attend Anglican Churches without formally becoming members (Daniel 1992 [2]: 95). The higher profile of some ethnic groups can be attributed to their having a written tradition, which helps to preserve and transmit identity, while others, including many indigenous groups, have little or no written history (Koepping 2006: 66). In reality, however, indigenous groups are the backbone of Malaysian Christianity, though early assessments of them were ambivalent (Roxborogh 2018: 294). The Dayaks were considered “uncivilized [but] interesting barbarians” who were nevertheless “simple, truthful, and honest” (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 30–31). Courtship rituals involved the suitor presenting his maid with a human skull, but missionaries expressed approval of the Dayaks’ monogamy and morality. Equality between male and female, meanwhile, often contrasted with European conventions. Dayak religion was, at first glance, mistaken for Hinduism, from which it may have adopted some features, and it was appraised very harshly. This “purely savage” religion was, it was felt, “of an insignificant and feeble character, not extending probably beyond a very indistinct perception of a Supreme Power” (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 30–31). The same could probably be said of the Christianity professed by many supposed believers. Conversion to Christianity changed some aspects of the Dayaks’ lifestyle, but not all. Some crimes continued to be punished with public curses, the delivery of which was described as a terrifying spectacle, generally resulting in anonymous redress, such as the discreet return of stolen property (Gomes 1911: 64–65, 65–66). Cosmic

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practices of daily life and daily ritual, in communion with visible and less visible beings, were not about to change (Koepping 2006: 62). Relations between Christians and Muslims, overall, have been characterized by confrontation and conflict but also by long periods of peaceful co-existence (Walters 2021: 159). The earliest policy with regard to the Muslim Malays was to exercise caution, but until Pangkor evangelization was still thought possible. In Borneo, increased mobility, interaction with Europeans, and the fact that a foreigner—and a Christian—had been entrusted with such sacred power as Rajah Brooke, all fostered hopes that Malays might begin to look favorably on Christianity. Missionaries hoped to find common ground with them, emphasizing that they all worshipped the same God. They believed that most Malays only had a rudimentary knowledge of their own religion, and that their defensiveness was emotional rather than rational. Evangelization was considered possible if they could replicate the non-confrontational way that Malays were exposed to, and familiarized with, other features of European life (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 31, 32). Later critics asked why so few Malays had been converted, compared to the similarly daunting but relatively successful missions to evangelize in China and Japan. Missionaries in Malaysia accused outside critics of minimizing the challenge and romanticizing Islam: “They idealize this mysterious religion which they know only from a distance … impressed by Mohammedan [sic] piety, the superficiality of which they do not gauge … while the evils of Islam are, on the other hand, felt more and more by those who come into intimate contact with it” (Ferguson-Davie 1921: 15–16). The far-from-universal perception of Malays as difficult people with an “evil” religion helped to focus attention on the more receptive ethnic groups, and the conclusion that Malays were unapproachable was probably self-fulfilling. By the late 1950s, the church was on the way to becoming truly local. This process encouraged affirmations of minority ethnic identity, while also drawing those communities into greater cooperation for a common good. Fears of Christianity’s reputed divisiveness generally dissipated in the face of common causes; many part-Christian ethnic groups across Southeast Asia played a part in defeating the Japanese, and this experience of solidarity brought forward their expectations of getting rid of the old colonial occupiers too. These aspirations would find expression in theological shifts; Southeast Asian Christianity would move from a theology of domination, imported by the colonial masters, to a theology of liberation, developed on the ground. The former corresponded to that “unholy

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alliance” between church and colonialism; less a theology than a strategy for inculcating a Christian moral worldview to accompany the Western economic one (Pieris 2004: 256). Religion’s ability to reinforce ethnic identity has often led to its politicization, consistent with the holistic, allembracing nature of the cosmic religious outlook. National independence movements have often included an affirmation of one “true” religion as the most authentic expression of the nation’s core values. Rival religions, in these cases, can be easy to cast in a negative light; the history of Christianity in Southeast Asia allows it to be portrayed as alien and invasive. Independence movements in Vietnam and Burma, both rooted in Buddhist organizations, deliberately conflated anti-colonialism with antiChristianism (Pieris 1988: 76). Malaysian Christians may not have faced that kind of mass, organized anti-Christianism, but they were perceived as contributing little to the cause of independence, and this caused resentment (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 128). The independence struggle actually provided opportunities for missionary work, which, even with the political agenda only thinly disguised, the church embraced. The politicization of one religion can obscure the fact that no religion is immune to utilization, by the unscrupulous, for political ends.

Theology Meets Sociopolitics: Pathways of Colonial and Postcolonial Christianity As mentioned above, responses to the dismantling of the colonial system have had and continue to have theological expressions. By the 1970s, the postcolonial experience had begun to produce a theology that could be called a third-world theology, often perceived as sitting alongside liberation theology, both chronologically and in spirit. “Third world” in this case does not carry the negative connotation of being in third place after the capitalist “free world” and the old Soviet bloc. “Third world” indicates an alternative world to be aspired to, a third way of doing things. This echoes the language of the Greek Fathers of the church, who referred to Christianity itself as “triton genos”—a third kind or a third way—to emphasize that their religion was neither Judaic nor Hellenistic. Christians in Southeast Asia were able to embrace this non-binary thinking, having experienced one way, colonial domination, and having faced the prospect of a second way, becoming a satellite state of a superpower, and having begun striving for a third way that avoids new economic forms of imperialism. Southeast Asia experienced the first way and generally rejected the

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second, and a third way seemed to offer potential for self-determination. At grassroots level, Christianity has been perceived by many young, rural Malaysians as offering an alternative, different way of doing things, with connotations of internationalism, modernity, and economic wellbeing (Koepping 2006: 60, 61, 62–63, 64–65). Southeast Asian countries amply demonstrated their hunger and readiness for independence after the Second World War; Indonesia won freedom from the Dutch, Burma broke away from Britain, Vietnam defeated not one but two world powers (first France and then the United States) and Malaysia concluded a painful, protracted, but ultimately successful separation from Britain. China’s steady rise to the level of economic, political, and military giant gave a boost to Asian consciousness. As Asians gained confidence, they rejected the idea of “being developed” from without, and they were able to see all of the big world powers critically— including, eventually, China—often in terms of sources of domination rather than sources of development (Pieris 2004: 256–257). Most decolonized nations of the 1950s and 1960s, whether in Africa, Asia, or the Mediterranean, had to resist becoming puppets of one of the world blocs, and other new forms of colonialism. This explains Asian liberation theology’s reluctance to fully embrace Marxism; emerging nations did not want to repel the Western colonizers only to be controlled from Moscow instead. It would be erroneous to assume that Southeast Asia inherited either the West’s compulsive wariness of the Soviet Union or an ideological preference for Western capitalism, however; anticommunism in Southeast Asia had more to do with social conservatism, avoiding armed conflict, and eschewing further surreptitious foreign control. Even so, the opposition to unbridled capitalism (identifiable as Mammon-worship) professed by socialist governments often caused Asian Christians to feel greater sympathy for the communist worldview than for the capitalist one (Pieris 2004: 257). Forging a theological pathway between competing global influences was not new for postcolonial Asian Christians. They had already managed to reconcile Christian and Southeast Asian religious worldviews, and they were therefore able to look beyond apparent contradictions to find a harmonious third way. Though the term “third world” need not be seen as wholly negative, it is evident that for multiple reasons the third world has indeed been left in third place, in many senses; it is famed for its exploitation by the other two “worlds” and, in correlation, for its widespread poverty. The so-called third world is also, however, numerically superior,

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including, crucially, in numbers of Christians, which has prompted some to refer to it as “the two-thirds world.” Global Christian theology was soon forced to catch up with third-world theology, as a series of experiences turned the churches’ attention toward the poor and exploited. The modernization of the Roman Catholic Church since the Second Vatican Council highlighted Christianity’s “preferential option for the poor,” as church leaders in Latin America, Africa, and Asia spoke out for the oppressed; these factors and significant advances in (and appetite for) ecumenism combined to force a worldwide reevaluation of the church’s purpose and mission. Specific local experiences, such as the brutal dictatorships in Latin America and the apartheid system in South Africa, transformed the worldview and theology of a generation of church members in all parts of the world (Pieris 2004: 256–257). Christianity has understandably been portrayed as the religion of the invaders in Southeast Asia, a political cult used for justifying the Western socioeconomic worldview. Colonial mission was idealized as the epitome of the church in action, taming the “savages” and saving them from “wretchedness” and “heathenism” (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 28, 30, 34). This easily-politicized “Christian” vision was one of the so-­ called three M’s—merchants, missionaries, military—of colonial domination, but relatively few people in Southeast Asia today have direct experience of colonialism. Christianity’s opponents now seek to expose it for being intrinsically morally wrong, rather than for having a foreign political agenda, but they struggle to explain the extent of local ownership of Christianity, including Anglicanism, and nor was this widely foreseen. Few people imagined, in fact, that every aspect of the Anglican Church in Malaysia would one day be entirely managed by locals (Cox 2008: 9, 20). Not every missionary subscribed to the “taming the savages” viewpoint either, however. They did not necessarily favor mainstream theology or politics, and the preferred ecclesial vision—largely thanks to the SPG— was the somewhat niche and eccentric High Church Anglo-Catholic tradition. This tended to emphasize the intensity and depth of the liturgical and sacramental experience, encouraging resistance against Protestant attempts to stamp out these “popish” notions. Inadvertently or otherwise, Anglo-Catholicism fostered an autonomous and slightly rebellious spirit in the local church. With a few notable exceptions, including staff members at TTC, pre-­ Merdeka Church leadership was all High Church and Anglo-Catholic; the designation Protestant was not welcome, and connections with the

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Reformation were minimized (Roxborogh 2018: 296). Though it was distinctly out of sync with mainstream Anglicanism, High Church Anglo-­ Catholicism nevertheless leaned toward supporting colonialism. Anglo-­ Catholics idealized an ordered society, both within the church and in the world at large; they revered the bishop and the monarch, and wanted to see salvific Christian civilization extended throughout the world. This was at the heart of their understanding of colonial expansion, and it was a perception that sat in harmony with the political understanding of colonialism as well. It was effectively a political theology that saw church and state as intimately associated, both theologically and practically, as two aspects of a single national entity (O’Connor et al. 2000: 6–8). This mirrored the societal model once prevalent in continental Europe, usually referred to as Christendom, comprising the complementary and universal powers of church and state (Bell 2004: 425). This model was not without influence in Britain and the English church, whose relationship with its Catholic roots remained equivocal. High Church Anglicans affirmed the literality of “Ecclesia Anglicana”—the true Catholic Church in England—and it was this vision that many chose to export. Organizations such as the SPG and the SPCK appeared to demonstrate the validity of this ecclesial vision through their success (O’Connor et al. 2000: 7–8).

Church Thinking Today: Orthodoxy, Discipleship, Ecumenism, and the Global Church Elements of High Church Anglo-Catholicism still survive across Southeast Asia, but the priorities of those who might be attracted to these traditions have evolved. Their main concern today is a worldwide one; that fundamental biblical values are threatened or minimized in the current orientation of the global church. This could still be considered a political theology, but the political issues have changed. This viewpoint might be described as traditionalist or conservative, though conservative Anglicans’ preferred term would be orthodox. Orthodoxy, as a loose movement within Anglicanism, accommodates both Catholic and Evangelical wings, just like the High Church tradition. Anglicans in Southeast Asia share the global concerns of the orthodox movement, aligning with Global South, GAFCON, and the FCA, while consciously maintaining continuity with local Anglo-Catholic heritage. Practical aspects of churchmanship and worship style are liberalized in Malaysia, however, and High Church

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touches coexist with other, not historically Anglican traditions, such as Pentecostalism. The church in Malaysia is guided by a range of influences, in fact, and it is more than just an incubator for conservative tendencies. It takes its engagement with mainstream Anglican mission philosophy seriously, while prioritizing sensitivity and diplomacy in the challenging context of modern Malaysia. Examples of modern mainstream thinking include the Anglican Consultative Council’s (ACC’s) call for every province, diocese, and parish in the Anglican Communion to implement intentional discipleship as a daily mission. Discipleship is explained as centralizing Jesus’ invitation to follow him in everyday life. Jesus, the ACC states, invites people not just to join him, not just to worship him, but to live and share a life like his, shaped by his life (Anglican Communion 2019: 1). The ACC described intentional discipleship with a Trinitarian model; immersion in a relationship with God the Father, taking shape as faith in Jesus, and sharing it with others through the power of the Holy Spirit. They call this a Jesus-shaped life. From an Asian Christian perspective, it is interesting to see how the ACC interpretation emphasizes the holistic character of discipleship. This understanding seems to integrate south-of-­ the-world spirituality, which looks through and beyond theory, constructs, and structures, to focus on praxis. Developing this holistic idea, the ACC highlights “living for Christ every day and in every way” and the interdependence of various aspects of life; the personal, cultural, social, economic, and religious cannot be separated. Life’s diverse concerns are to be considered as a whole by the intentional disciple, embracing home and family, care of creation, human needs, social justice, leisure time, handling wealth and resources, gifts and talents, and prayer life (Anglican Communion 2019: 2, 12). It is framed as a quiet revolution; “within our churches, people have been taught, but have stayed put—South African bishop Martin Breytenbach commented—[but] disciples are … people who … feel the responsibility to go out and share their lives and the good news of God’s love” (Anglican Communion 2019: 6). It is a gentle but firm rejection of ways of “doing church” that previous generations brought to the south of the world, which, as earlier critics agreed, tended to foster a dependency on structure and institution rather than emphasizing actually going out and living the faith (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 5–7). Despite the colonial churches’ great concern for preserving institutional integrity and identity, ecumenical cooperation came easier and earlier than might be expected, often driven by convenience and practicality (Spencer no. 3, 1847: 95). It also became clear that this cooperation came

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easier to Asian Christians, in line with their tendency to prioritize living the faith over safeguarding confessional identity. Denominational differences were not trivialized, but their importance was relative to the practical view that religion only becomes real when the prescribed tenets are lived out. The challenge of ecumenism, like the Treaty of Pangkor, highlighted some fundamental gaps in understanding. Asian Christians’ cultural and philosophical openness to ecumenical cooperation contrasted with the missionaries’ experiences of older Christian communities, whose denominational attachments can seem almost pathological, intricately bound up with specific and powerful regional and historical factors. Denominational allegiance in parts of Europe can be influenced by arcane superstitions, clan rivalries, ancient battles, or aspirations of social mobility. It is possible that some colonial-era missionaries assumed that, in accepting their European denomination, Asian converts would also espouse these types of attachment in some way. A few of them may also have assumed that becoming Anglican represented, for Asians, a declaration of allegiance to Britain or an appreciation of colonial civilization; neither assumption proved correct (Roxborogh 2018: 288, 296). Apart from the obvious theological dimension, ecumenism can have a significant impact on intra- and intercommunity relations, and just as church history unfolds in constant dialogue with wider history, the priority of advancing Christian unity found itself buffeted between the shifting priorities of postcolonial, postmodern, pluralist societies. Ecumenism in Asia features the examples of peaceful church union in India, but despite being influential and inspiring, the big “united Church” model failed to become the regional norm. Everyday ecumenism, on the other hand, occurs spontaneously and instinctively in Asia, when Christians cooperate to address social problems, health crises, and environmental disasters. This may be considered “real” ecumenism that promotes understanding, generates tolerance, and exploits common ground, while bypassing the conferences, theorizing, and lofty promises of “formal” ecumenism. This grassroots type of ecumenism arises from the true localization and integration of Christian being and mission, furthering the shift away from Western mechanisms. Local Asian leadership has tended to challenge Western denominational priorities, such as conventional conceptions of ministry and ordination, in favor of solutions that respond directly to the context. This became clear in the negotiations for the formation of what became the Christian Conference of Asia, from the late 1950s onward. Organizations like the World Council of Churches (WCC) and, until its

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merger with the WCC, the International Missionary Council (IMC) feared the emergence of a rival Asian body, but rivalry was not Asian Church leaders’ goal; they were simply determined not to become a branch office of another Western-based, Western-mindset multinational entity. They were aware, on the other hand, that there was no alternative, at that time, to being dependent on organizations like the WCC for funding (Roxborogh 2018: 288, 292, 296).

Conversion or Coercion: Evolving Concepts and Strategies of Mission In many parts of the global south, even in the lands where the great missionary societies once had success, the mention of Christian mission is met with some wariness. People may hear the word “missionary” as synonymous with “converter,” and “conversion” as synonymous with “coercion.” The missionary, in this understanding, is he (usually) who cajoles and pressures the vulnerable, using powers borrowed from governing forces, or dangling material incentives, in order to fill his pews. The Anglican Church has struggled as much as any Christian organization to consign such negative perceptions to the past. Current Anglican writing on mission avoids the language of “propagation of the gospel,” “expansion of Christendom,” and “converting the heathen,” all of which historically connoted “mission,” and which are now almost universally rejected by the main Christian bodies as inappropriate and unhelpful. The image of the imperious and coercive Victorian missionary far outlived the missionaries themselves; it was considered useful and was kept on life support by some anti-imperialist historians (Cox 2008: 3–7). While distancing themselves from paternalistic and heavy-handed approaches of yesteryear, Anglicans also seek to clarify that “mission” is not as simple as the etymology of “sending out” missionaries, in the spirit of the biblical Great Commission. They describe mission as Christians’ attempts to reach out from their default ethnic, socioeconomic, linguistic, and national contexts, to witness to the gospel through proclamation, service, church planting— the New Testament triad of kerygma, diakonia, and koinonia—and promoting prophetic justice (Presler 2013: 15). This vision seeks to centralize mission as the essence of church life, rather than as one of the church’s activities. Every expression of the church can be understood as mission, in this reading, and every church community can be understood as a church plant (Cottrell 2009: 72).

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This characterization of mission as “reaching out” is faithful to the origins, it is argued, of Anglicanism itself, which “reached out” from the context of Roman Catholicism; a viewpoint that may or may not appeal to Catholic-leaning Anglicans. This view is problematic, however; it risks undervaluing the patrimony of missionary activity in the British Isles before the Anglican break-up, suggesting that missionary “reaching out” only began with the “branching out” from Rome. The idea of reaching out from their contexts, furthermore, may not mean very much to Christians who do not have ownership of “their” contexts, or the confidence of being able to work safely from those contexts; Christianity is, in many places, a minority affair, practiced discreetly, and tolerated by a dominant national culture, as in Malaysia. It could be seen as a highly privileged attitude to assume that “reaching out” is, can, or must always be done from a position of personal and community security. Mission cannot always, and does not have to operate from a context of sociocultural and socioeconomic advantage, with a straightforward from-us-to-them directionality (Evers 2014: 72). Wording that seems to entrust mission to the already-empowered, granting a special role to the confident and comfortable, essentially risks resurrecting colonial-era paternalism. To combat these risks, the fuzziness of “reaching out” must be matched by tangible characteristics of mission. The Anglican Church proposes “five marks” of mission: it should be prophetic, integral, holistic, frontier, and it should promote reconciliation in the forms of liberation and justice. These characteristics recall the happier aspects of Southeast Asian mission history, with the notable absence of “winning conversions” from amongst the priorities. The proposal calls for a clear distinction between evangelism and proselytism, insisting that mission is not just about converting people; it rejects not only coercive methods but also incentivization, however subtle or indirect, such as greater access to aid or relief that might result from conversion to Christianity (Price 2012: 3, 20, 47). Doing good works, it is argued, must be an end in itself, detached from ambitions of converting people, especially as few people anywhere, in the twenty-first century, would truly be fooled by such tactics (Ballard and Pritchard 2006: 149). But the corresponding concern is that winning conversions to Christianity has not just been displaced from the center of mission thinking but completely sidelined. In Southeast Asia and elsewhere, admittedly, mission inhabits contexts in which conversion can be controversial, divisive, and even legally problematic, but while discretion and diplomacy are important, over-cautiousness risks bypassing the

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question of how to encourage correctly-motivated conversions. Without elaboration, affirmations such as “the needs of the world are the raison d’être of the Church” by Archbishop Stephen Cottrell (Cottrell 2009: 70) can legitimately worry those who would like to see the church grow in numbers as well as in relevance, besides sounding disingenuously simplistic (Ballard and Pritchard 2006: 149). Missionaries must surely have more in their toolkit than just the offer of baptism, but the question of winning converts cannot be airbrushed out of the picture. Christians across the spectrum obviously agree that conversions are both desirable and, fortunately for the churches, still happening, but the nature, means, mechanics, and long-term outcomes of conversion are all debated. Dissonance over conversion is as old as Christianity, of course, and the earliest incarnations of the church struggled, not always successfully, to distinguish between proselytizing and converting. It is generally accepted that a person’s conversion is more than accepting doctrines and reciting formulas, which on their own are no proof of authentic conversion (Walls 2004: 2). Understandings of conversion often follow denominational lines. Some see conversion as a sudden, punctiliar event, triggered by an encounter or realization that signals the start of the Christian journey. The strengths of this view are its simplicity and functionality, and whole churches could no doubt be built on large numbers of such thunderbolt conversions. This typically Evangelical understanding has something in common, interestingly, with the Catholic-Orthodox model of conversion, marked by sacramental rites of passage, which are also punctiliar. Both models present similar problems in practice, as time-specific conversion experiences have a tendency not to lead to an enduring commitment. Supporters of these understandings of conversion may not agree, but there are in fact many, often gradual ways to convert, with lasting conversion being, for most people, a process rather than an event. These different perspectives serve to highlight the fact that there are several meanings and connotations of the one word “conversion.” For this reason, perhaps, mission discussion often avoids the terminology of conversion, converting, and converts, in order to focus on the constituent actions; the teaching, baptizing, and nurturing of new believers. This helps to move away from the image of conversion as a single thunderbolt moment (Cottrell 2009: 70). When a dramatic conversion “event” does occur, it is still only a first step, not the whole of the Christian journey, but without a first step there can obviously be no journey (Peace 2004: 9, 12–13).

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For many new Christians, conversion is most effectively achieved through a supportive, friendly, communitarian process of socialization. Rooted in a welcoming community, this approach also gently encourages existing but lukewarm Christians to become more committed followers, and it engages proactively with genuine inquirers, whether casual or highly motivated. Socialization is wary of mere cultural adherence and nominalism; it aims for the authentic conversion of others, as the evangelizers themselves continue their own processes of conversion. Conversion is the ongoing business of all members of the community and not something to be imparted by the “saved.” This approach resists becoming fixated on accumulating conversions but sustains a healthy interest in encouraging them, with sensitivity and awareness of the wider environment, which may be non-Christian or challenging. Crucially for contexts in which conversions may be rare or problematic, the socializing community approach recognizes that the path of conversion is always individual. This is no paradox, as the community lives out each unique first encounter with Christ as if it were the first ever, and in this way, the mission of the church is renewed each time, rather than being accumulative (Cottrell 2009: 75). Evangelization is likened to a pilgrimage rather than an event, and although the pilgrimage is carried out as a group the single steps that make up the journey are always individual (Ballard and Pritchard 2006: 157).

A Missionary Model for Malaysia: Anglican Village Ministries Mission understandings in Malaysia have predictably been shaped by historical experiences. For much of the colonial period, the development of missions, like the development of local leadership, was held back, either by retrogressive attitudes or inflexible policies. Even so, the positive aspects of the colonial inheritance were widely valued; colonial-era missionaries generally pushed forward social improvements, popularized healthcare, and introduced modern educational values. Many missionaries came to appreciate cultural diversity and developed comparatively progressive attitudes toward women. Ultimately, Christian organizations delivered aid and services to the community that the colonial government was unable or unwilling to provide. By focusing on disadvantaged groups such as the poor and disabled, women and girls, recent immigrants, ethnic minorities, and rural communities, missionaries raised awareness of these groups’

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plight, empowered them to a degree, and facilitated their social integration. The churches played a significant role in transcribing, translating, and encouraging the use of minority languages, motivated, of course, by the importance of language for evangelism (Evers 2014: 66–69, 70–72). It could be argued, in fact, that these activities primarily served the churches’ interests, that their impact was limited or ambiguous, or that they ultimately helped to prolong an unfair regime. These activities, however, were widely appreciated by the population and often only barely tolerated by the authorities, while securing modest gains for the churches. There were occasional objections from some sectors of the community, local religious leaders, and clashes with missionaries of other denominations, but, on the whole, missionary work was welcomed as a force for good (Goh 2005: 14). In the late twentieth century, Anglican Village Ministries (AVM) would choose to see itself in continuity with this controversial tradition, while also being responsive to the calls of contemporary Anglican mission thinking (Ng 2009: 89–91). AVM began in 1993 under the leadership of then-Archdeacon, and later Archbishop, Ng Moon Hing, with the support and encouragement of the then-bishops. In recent years it has consisted of a team of around fourteen full-time workers, occasional short-term missioners, and many volunteers. Teams can also be “loaned” to other mission and church-­ planting initiatives. Archbishop Ng related AVM’s story in his 2009 book, Village to Village. Since its inception, AVM has reached out to thirty Orang Asli villages, ten ethnic-Chinese villages, and one ethnic-Indian village. It has focused on the highly diverse state of Perak in northern peninsular Malaysia, drawing financial support from several parishes, associations, individuals, and charitable organizations. In terms of physically beginning the mission, AVM’s strategy was to introduce some socially useful and readily appreciable “gateway” activity—typically tutoring and teaching— in order to become involved in the community while identifying, and then moving on to target, more specific needs. This could mean providing transport for people to access healthcare in urban areas, giving practical help with applying for jobs, or assisting people to access drug rehabilitation. The choice of the name Anglican Village “Ministries” rather than “Mission” was deliberate; it aimed to distance AVM from those dreaded connotations of cajoling, coercing, and converting people, moving toward a holistic, service-focused, needs-responsive working model. AVM’s social engagement expanded from those initial gateway activities to more formal and lasting assistance, establishing kindergartens and micro-industries,

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such as goat-, fish-, and chicken-rearing, paddy-planting, and thrift shops. Some AVM team members acquired specific skills in order to assist villagers with things like accessing legal aid. These activities are considered self-­ fulfilling gospel witness, rather than being a means to an end, and they are not tied to any evangelistic expectation (Ng 2009: 25, 70–71). AVM’s socially useful activities are unconnected to any “direct” or “open” evangelism, which is done separately, Ng explained. When it comes to more open evangelism there is a danger of conflict, and physical threats of violence do arise. This is a stark reminder that seeking to evangelize is fundamentally to seek a confrontation; the offer of conversion can be culturally incongruous, unsettling, and offensive. When one or two people in the community do convert, fresh problems appear; the conversion of single family members can be confusing, disruptive, and divisive. The disruption is reduced when more than one family member or even a whole family converts at once, meaning that the adopted religion can be smoothly integrated into family life, but the conversion of just one spouse or one teenager remains potentially traumatic. AVM appears to accept that a degree of divisiveness is inevitable, while at the same time discouraging the idea that mission success should be gauged in terms of numbers of conversions. AVM team members are “specifically advised and warned not to go for or offer “cheap grace’” as Ng puts it. He cautioned against accepting “nominal belief without commitment or understanding” in order to “play the numbers game.” Nevertheless, reports of significant numbers of conversions are always celebrated, and such occasions also tend to stimulate donations. While it may not be the best way to qualitatively assess the mission’s effectiveness, progress has generally been reported in terms of baptism numbers (Ng 2009: 26, 28–29). The appeal of being able to report impressive numbers is understandable, especially when collecting more complex data may be impractical and time-­ consuming; AVM and the rest of the Anglican Church work across a range of challenging cultural settings in which collecting reliable data can be a near impossibility (Goh 2005: 14–15). AVM’s difficulties come in many forms and many terrains, with mountainous jungle trails to climb in search of remote communities, daunting linguistic and cultural barriers to overcome, and a lack of infrastructure and utilities to work around. Underlying all this is the ongoing challenge of gently interjecting Christian perspectives during the various activities. AVM aimed to foster the local ownership and local character of each intervention, in the spirit of the self-propagating mission philosophy; this

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has been one of its most demanding tasks, as well as being its most effective guarantor of lasting success. Promoting local leadership, historically a challenge for the church in Malaysia, was built into AVM’s practice, incorporating leadership training programs, grassroots evangelism training, youth work courses, Bible schools, and sponsorship to access formal theological education. In a sociocultural context in which major decisions are normally made by groups, AVM workers demonstrated sensitivity and respect by first approaching community leaders—typically the “headman” and his cohort—as a group, rather than seeking talks with individuals. This greatly increased the chances of obtaining the community leadership’s “nihil obstat” if not their unreserved endorsement. This combination of cultural awareness, openness, and diplomacy is seen as a significant departure from older missionary methods, which tended to approach community heads as equals, assuming permission to intervene, or even facing-down local leaders, applying persuasion and force of personality. The more sensitive methods seem to be crucial to establishing enduring mission activities such as church-building. From AVM-launched missions, local congregations have constructed seven Orang Asli village churches, three ethnic-­ Chinese village churches, and one ethnic-Indian (Tamil) church. These are in addition to many house churches and mission centers.

Chapter Conclusion There is clearly a wide choice of perspectives from which to examine the case of the Anglican Church in Malaysia, and indeed all of Malaysian history. The late, great historian Khoo Kay Kim warned against reducing the key distinction to “the angle from which history is viewed—from the shores of the Peninsula [looking] outward or from the deck of the ship of the East India Company” (Khoo Kay Kim 1974: 3). History itself suggests such simplistic binary critiques, but there are strong arguments for rejecting them. Western ways of thinking have, predictably, permeated the transmission and interpretation of Malaysian history in general. Church and mission history has also, as Jeffrey Cox pointed out, been riddled with binary analyses; British and foreign, European and native, white and black, traditional and modern, colonizers and colonized, civilized and savage. Some of these categories are roundly repudiated, but others are so well-­ rooted that they seem unavoidable, and they can mask the complexity of the colonial experience. More enlightened discussion may opt to compare the margins (or periphery) of colonial life to the center, while multilateral

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interethnic relations, identity, gender, and patriarchy may not be recognized as key influences (Cox 2008: 5, 6). There is also a danger of attributing too much to colonialism; understanding British colonialism is certainly relevant to today’s Malaysian Christians, in order to fully appreciate their history, but it cannot be allowed to define them. Amidst the ongoing global religious revolution and the unfolding reconfiguration of twenty-­ first-­century Asia, Asian Christians must, as Peter Phan wrote, “take their Asianness seriously as their context of being Christian” (Phan 2000: 218). Missionaries in Malaysia understood their limits quite early, accepting that Christianity’s appeal would be confined to some of the two million-­ or-­so ethnic Chinese and some of the one million-or-so ethnic Indians of the Peninsula, and the indigenous groups and some of the ethnic Chinese of Borneo. By the 1860s, serious ambitions with regard to converting Malays had waned, and the colonial government’s agreements with the sultans, from the 1870s onward, were interpreted as precluding evangelism directed toward Muslims. These clear demarcations of where their target audience began and ended were in some ways convenient for the church, in terms of allocating resources and planning services, and it sent out the right message for maintaining good relations with the majority group. On the other hand, the church was determined to develop much-­ needed social services that were accessible to all sections of society, and this had to be done sensitively; a busy, proactive missionary church was more likely to upset non-Christians than an insular or sectarian one. Diplomatic methods of being a missionary were developed, but the imperative of winning converts remained nagging, and this dilemma was manifested in the Christian movement globally. One approach to the dilemma, used by Anglicans and non-Anglicans, has been to frame the church’s humanitarian work as its true “raison d’être” and recast conversion as a welcome by-product of doing good deeds. This tests the credulousness of outsiders, however, and risks losing the confidence of church members. At the heart of pluralist societies like Malaysia’s, there is an uneasy truce and an unspoken truth, that Muslims, Christians, and Buddhists would gladly see the other teams convert en masse. Interpretations of the Malaysian church’s story as a two-sided tale of minority Christian Chinese versus majority Muslim Malays are woefully inadequate, but they do point toward another truth; the terse and elusive dialogue between Christians and Muslims ultimately reveals the core characteristics and central dilemmas of the whole Anglican adventure in Asia. The Anglican approach was initially characterized by a very Victorian

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combination of conviction, prejudice, and disingenuousness, metamorphosing into caution, patience, and cunning (Hayter and Bennitt nd: 5, 35–36). It was always somewhat tempered by political imperatives, since Rajah Brooke exhorted everyone to “prevent even the faintest chance of uncharitable feeling arising between the Christian and Mahometan [sic] communities” (Taylor 1983: 5–6). Clashes between Christians and Muslims threatened to dynamite the whole colonial scheme; Brooke and the other administrators ensured that being Muslim remained a protected and privileged position, thereby presaging foundational principles of modern Malaysian life. The church’s presence, overall, was welcomed by colonial administrators; they liked the idea of spiritual and temporal powers being in alignment, but in practice, neither the church nor its people were considered consequential, and the church’s priorities were not the state’s (O’Connor et al. 2000: 8). This ambiguous and offhanded political attitude created a paradox for the Anglican Church; the more willingly missionaries conformed to the expectations of government, the fewer concessions they seemed to receive. The challenge for the modern church lies, partly, in being able to accept the same sour trade-off; being officially tolerated and allowed to serve, while carefully balancing the flaws and failures of yesteryear with the ambitions and aspirations of tomorrow.

References Anglican Communion, Living and Sharing Jesus Shaped Life. London: Anglican Consultative Council, 2019. Ballard, Paul and John Pritchard. Practical Theology in Action: Christian Thinking in the Service of Church and Society. London: SPCK, 2006. Bell, Daniel M., Jr. “State and Civil Society.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, 423–38. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Cottrell, Stephen. “Letting Your Actions do the Talking: Mission and the Catholic Tradition.” In Fresh Expressions in the Sacramental Tradition. Edited by Steven Croft and Ian Mobsby, 66–80. Norwich: Canterbury Press, 2009. Cox, Jeffrey. The British Missionary Enterprise since 1700. New  York: Routledge, 2008. ———. Imperial Fault Lines: Christianity and Colonial Power in India, 1818–1940. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002. Daniel, J. Rabindra. “Diversity Among Indian Christians in Peninsular Malaysia.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 65, no. 1 (262) (1992) [71–88].

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Evers, Georg. “‘On the Trail of Spices’: Christianity in Southeast Asia.” In The Oxford Handbook of Christianity in Asia. Edited by Felix Wilfred, 65–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Ferguson-Davie, Charlotte Elizabeth (editor). In Rubber Lands: An Account of the Work of the Church in Malaya. London: The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1921. Goh, Robbie B. H. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publications, 2005. Gomes, Edwin H. Seventeen Years Among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo. London: Seeley and Co. Ltd. 1911. Hayter, John and Jack Bennitt. The War and After: Singapore. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, n.d. [c. 1947]. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. Khoo Kay Kim. “The Pangkor Engagement of 1874.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 47, no. 1 (225). Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1974. [1–12]. Koepping, Elizabeth. “Hunting with the Head: Borneo Villagers Negotiating Exclusivist Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 12, no. 1 (2006). Edinburgh University Press [59–78]. “Mission to the Island of Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1, no. 1. (July 1847) [26–34]. Ng Moon Hing. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. O’Connor, Daniel, et  al. Three Centuries of Mission: The United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, 1701–2000. London: Continuum, 2000. Peace, Richard V. “Conflicting Understandings of Christian Conversion: A Missiological Challenge.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 28, no. 1, 2004 [8–14]. Phan, Peter C. “Ecclesia in Asia: Challenges for Asian Christianity.” East Asian Pastoral Review 37 (2000) East Asian Pastoral Institute [215–32]. Pieris, Aloysius. An Asian Theology of Liberation. London: T&T Clark, 1988. ———. “Political Theologies in Asia.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, 256–270. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Porter, Andrew. Religion Versus Empire? British Protestant Missionaries and Overseas Expansion, 1700–1914. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. Presler, Titus. “The History of Mission in The Anglican Communion.” In The Wiley-Blackwell Companion to the Anglican Communion. Edited by Ian

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S. Markham, J. Barney Hawkins IV, Justin Terry, and Leslie Nuñez Steffensen, 15–32. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Price, Janice. World-Shaped Mission: Exploring New Frameworks for the Church of England in World Mission. London: Church House Publishing, 2012. Roxborogh, John. “Asian Agency, Protestant Traditions, and Ecumenical Movements in Asia, 1910 to 2010, with Special Reference to Malaysia and Singapore.” Asian Ecumenical Movement; Hong Kong Journal of Catholic Studies no. 9 (2018); Centre for Catholic Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong [285–317]. ———. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Spencer, George John Trevor. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 3 (September, 1847) [88–96]. Stonton, Arthur W. The War and After: Borneo. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 1947. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Walls, Andrew F. “Converts or Proselytes? The Crisis over Conversion in the Early Church.” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 28, no. 1, 2004 [2–6]. Walters, Albert Sundararaj. “Christian-Muslim Relations in New Malaysia: Overcoming Barriers, Building Bridges.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al., 159–194. Claremont CA: Claremont Press, 2021.

CHAPTER 9

Afterword

When contemplating contemporary Christian theology, the contribution of Malaysian Christians may not spring immediately to mind. Nevertheless, Malaysia is home to an active and growing theological community, benefitting from experience in a multiethnic, multilingual, multicultural, and plurireligious society. Malaysian Christian academics’ unique insights and perspectives speak loudly to European and North American scholarship, especially as traditional Eurocentric Christianity comes to terms with no longer being the dominant or normative global voice. Malaysian scholars have developed dynamic tools for evaluating theological approaches and the worldviews they interact with, while responding to an intense, intricate, and evolving home landscape of cultural diversity and religious pluralism; there is clearly much to learn from them (Wei-Fun Goh et al. 2021: 1, 2). Recognizing their responsiveness to evolving concepts inspires the choice of subtitle for this book. Evolving concepts such as believing, belonging, and identifying, formed and informed by nation, location, and confession, as well as compound connections like education and evangelism, ecumenism and communitarianism, are all ripe to be explored. Challenging contexts, also found in the subtitle, is deliberately ambiguous phrasing, suggesting interethnic and interreligious strife, certainly, but also indicating a story in which contexts have been challenged; the politicization of religion, the “reach” of dominant religions, the denigration of indigenous culture, and many forms of discrimination and prejudice. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4_9

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Emerging subtexts suggest realizations that are by definition ongoing, which the reader may avert, identify, and reflect on, according to their own context; Asian Christianity continues to fascinate, surprise, and adapt, evolving in tandem with an ever-more complex and consequential Asian future. While the movement at the center of this story displays certain types of continuity, the priorities, objectives, and internal dynamics of the church have not remained constant. “Anglican Church in Malaysia” points to an organization that has metamorphosed in nearly every aspect during the course of its history, and nearly everything surrounding the organization has changed too: names of countries, composition of the population, language, values, law; a constant historical carousel lasting two centuries. This suggests that the church itself is a highly responsive entity, whose sources and priorities are repositionable according to the demands and obligations of the age. This characteristic may have developed due to there being such a wide variety of factors—geopolitics, migration, conflict, religious reform, religious revival—to dialogue with. Organizational responsiveness is praised in many contexts, but in a church, it can often be criticized and misconstrued; it is one of the most commonly lamented— and lauded—features of modern Anglicanism and organized Christianity in general. Anglicanism is, of course, not a centralized organization with one theology or one worldview, and this flexible formula has somehow allowed it to survive as an international communion. The high degree of centralization in the Roman Catholic Church, incidentally, has not spared it from challenges similar to those faced by the decentralized and chaotic Anglican Communion.

Looking to the Past The religious goals of British colonialism two hundred years ago were unapologetically presented in partnership with commercial objectives. This was the sad beginning of the church’s two-hundred-year history in Malaysia. The diffusion of Christianity’s supposed “enlightened principles and civilized habits” was considered to be “of the utmost importance … to our colonial empire and commercial interests.” The hitherto “uncivilized” and “purely savage” locals were pitied, ripe to be “redeemed” from their “unparalleled wretchedness [and] heathenism” (Mission to the Island of Borneo 1847: 26–28, 30, 34). For several decades, however, church activity was strictly curtailed, so as not to jeopardize the very

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commerce it had been sent to morally support (Spencer no. 4, 1847: 132). The idea of unfettered and indiscriminate missionary work among all ethnic groups, furthermore, was incompatible with the British policy often described as divide and rule. Ethnic divisions and ethnic enclaves were deliberately promoted, with each group encouraged to guard its own interests, vis-à-vis the others. The church did not initially combat this (Wei-Fun Goh et al. 2021: 5). Missionaries did themselves no favors by assuming that the societies they encountered were unsophisticated and savage. They found social systems that were not just functional but comprehensive in addressing all aspects of daily life, in keeping with the holistic Asian mindset. Colonialism, similarly, sought to be a holistic social vision, but Britain’s “supreme Christian duty” was exposed as corrupted, embracing the opium trade, the betel trade, pawn-broking, and the trafficking of laborers. The “sultans” of this Western system—bankers, businesspeople, administrators, military, and the church—traded-off with each other to preserve their various concerns. This, it seemed, was colonial Christianity, lived-out. The Pangkor treaty acknowledged, in the Malay rulers, what the British aspired to but could not achieve: spiritual authority coalescing with ruling power. What a contrast with the very British notion that religion and politics do not mix! Pangkor was a landmark, but not a turnaround; there was never a time when the British were not ready to make concessions in order to pursue their goals. Rajah Brooke, fearful that rivalry between Christians and Muslims might affect business, preempted any power struggles by unequivocally affirming the privileged status of Islam (Taylor 1983: 13–14). The Malays already enjoyed a degree of stability and security, though this did not necessarily translate into affluence or influence; it was the basic self-assuredness that comes with an ordered society and guaranteed rights. Many ordinary Malays were extremely interested in acquiring the things being offered by the church: the “three legs” of missionary work—education, medicine, and welfare—that equated to the gospel commands to teach, heal, and care. These activities are not exclusive to Christianity, of course; they were always widely appreciated in Malaysia and helped to establish these services as core values and aspirations of society, shared by people of all religions and none. It is not unreasonable to conclude that this historical social usefulness played a significant part in the old colonial church’s survival. The consensus of the churches in Malaysia, including the Anglicans, gradually turned towards favoring the development of local and

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indigenous church identities, but while locally born ministers were eagerly appointed, their progression to leadership positions was slow across all denominations. The churches coveted each other’s diversity, but none wanted to go too far, it seems. With clergy and missionaries coming from as many as seven or eight different countries, the Anglican community was already very international (Roxborogh 2014: 32, 33). Instances of the church’s overly close cooperation with the colonial authorities became fossilized as the unreliable “collusion paradigm,” but it is not the only unreliable paradigm. The enduring image of the British colonial missionary—patrician, imperialist, and male—was actually atypical; most missionaries were women, and many of the “British” missionaries were actually Australians and New Zealanders, with Irish and even Swiss represented. Plenty of them contested or rejected imperialist values, moreover. In the early twentieth century, forward-thinking Anglicans praised the breaking down—at last—of some ethnic barriers, though mixed-ethnicity services did not become the norm until the Second World War made them necessary (Ward 2006: 269). They noted ruefully, however, that even this newfound solidarity tended to stop at the church door, where divisions and language barriers resumed. They felt that the church was not active enough, too complacent, and too self-absorbed to play a full part in the life of the community. There was also a feeling that church leaders could have done more for local people during the war, though it seems likely that survivors’ guilt gave rise to this sensation (Hayter and Bennitt n.d.: 6–7). These feelings, combined with a desire to remain relevant and useful, may explain the church’s decision to cooperate in the government’s outrageous kampong baru scheme during the Malayan Emergency. It became one of the most extraordinary examples of political weaponization of religion in modern times, and, sadly, the Anglican Church once again toed the colonial line.

Looking to the Present The Anglican Church in Malaysia is there to stay. Its contributions to society are well-known and highly acclaimed. As far as religious ministry is concerned, it went from being strictly confined to the expatriate community to reaching out to society’s minority ethnic, immigrant, and disadvantaged groups; their religious orientation was of no interest to the colonial authorities, just as it does not directly trouble the Islamic authorities of

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today. In West Malaysia, internal resistance to missionary work, conflicting visions of mission, and unfavorable conditions—from segregationist policies to challenging geography—held back the church’s development (Burleigh 2013: 167). Systematic mission programs like Anglican Village Ministries (AVM) only became possible in later decades, inspired by the ongoing success of indigenous churches in East Malaysia (Ng 2009: 22). Seen from the outside, today’s prosperous, peaceful, multiethnic Malaysia is no magnet for missionary intervention at all. The focus of the historical missionary societies, such as today’s USPG, has also changed; they maintain a largely symbolic relationship with the self-assured Malaysian Anglican Church of today. In mission, however, it has been said that there is nothing new under the sun; all “innovative” missionary movements, in some way, recall, revamp, and revive old models (Cottrell 2009: 67). Malaysian Anglicans’ approaches to mission, depending on the point of view, may be seen as either anachronistic or prophetic; they honor an old tradition while being attentive to modern ideas, but they do not shy away from the controversy of conversion. The backlash from the old coercive methods of “converting people” damaged perceptions of Christian mission, and attempts to rehabilitate the mission have been wary of courting further controversy. The small matter of actually multiplying the number of Christians has often been relegated to the status of a happy by-product of “real” missionary work; very welcome when it happens, but not the main business of the church. Projects like AVM are anti-revisionist when it comes to this issue, pushing back against mainstream Anglican trepidation, but sensitively. The language may have changed from “converting people” to “bringing people to Christ,” for example, the approach is participative, the tone is diplomatic, but the message is clear; this core component of the mission cannot be revised away. Converts are actively sought but not at any cost. Missionaries today, as in the past, are wary of so-called “rice Christians” whose conversion is motivated by the prospect of receiving material or other benefits. AVM has tended to meet with greater hostility when perceived as bringing “only” Christianity. But the prospect of receiving benefits, opportunities, or social advancement—blessings, in other words—from becoming a Christian is, per se, neither revelatory nor mercenary, and the relationship between good works and conversion has always been ambiguous. The verb “to convert” is, in itself, ambiguous, being both transitive and intransitive, and both the actors and their

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motivations must be defined. A missionary’s normal “sales pitch” offering personal fulfillment and wellbeing can sound like incentivization (perceived access to benefits and opportunities) but a genuine conversion is arguably more likely within a stable context of education, health, and employment (actual access to benefits and opportunities). A context of security, community, and achievement is more conducive (rather than coercive) to a free decision of faith. In theory, as mentioned above, Anglican evangelism and non-Muslims changing religion do not worry the Islamic authorities, as long as the national demographic balance is not affected. In practice, huge amounts of tact and diplomacy are required. A militant posture of being out to convert people, or allowing such a reputation to develop, could be detrimental for any religious movement, long before a holy book is waved or a sermon is preached. The fact that anti-revisionist, non-politically correct mission models have currency within conservative, orthodox, global south Anglicanism is not surprising, though the context of Muslim-majority Malaysia, with its particular pressures, makes this an unusual and bold case. For Anglicans in Southeast Asia, however, working within the constraints of unsympathetic laws and policies is familiar territory, harking back to the church’s foundations in the region. The modern Malaysian church, whether it likes it or not, is unavoidably true to its roots, still providing services, opportunities, and pathways—including conversion—that other agencies do not offer. This “offer” of conversion is radical in itself, as it affirms an individual’s ability to convert, potentially opening the door to a range of conversations in contexts where palpable sensations of freedom may be rare. The pendulum arguably swings away from anathematizing conversion towards a mission vision that centralizes the multiplication of Christians, just as mission itself is now recognized as being central to doing church, rather than an add-on. It is a reminder that Christians who aim to rehabilitate the idea of mission cannot avoid rehabilitating the idea of conversion as well. Many aspects of the church’s two centuries of experience highlight the importance of nurturing good relations between Christians and Muslims, with the unexpected by-product that this emerged as a fundamental long-­ term aspiration. This contrasts sharply with the disastrous history of Christian-Buddhist relations in Burma, where the British arrived to find a Buddhist-majority country under a single Buddhist monarch, who ostensibly ruled the vast kingdom from a mysterious central royal city. Unlike

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the rulers of the Malay states, who were actively involved in civil, social, and government life, the Burmese king was a rarely seen, almost mythical figure, whose observance of Buddhism could even be called into question. The British correctly surmised that the Burmese king’s rule was ineffectual; he could be sidelined and, at the right time, neutralized or expelled as necessary. This became the default approach in colonial Burma, and up to a point it worked; it prompted, however, the rise of a militantly Buddhist (though not necessarily royalist) anti-British movement, which would eventually expel the British and make a permanent enemy of the Christian community. Christian-Buddhist relations in Burma have never recovered. This would sound like an unfair comparison with Malaysia but for the fact that hostile Christian-Buddhist relations have been seen to spiral into bloodshed as easily and unexpectedly as any other interethnic or interreligious relations (Jarvis 2021: 151–153). No religion, clearly, is safe from being politicized, weaponized, and exploited by the unscrupulous. Malaysians now celebrate sixty-five years since Merdeka—national independence—which was largely driven by the need to address the profound inequality suffered by the country’s biggest single ethnic group, but the struggle did not end there. After the interethnic unrest of the 1960s, and the positive discrimination measures in favor of Malays in the 1970s, the 1980s saw the implementation of a program of so-called “Islamization.” Many institutions and areas of public life were affected, such as the media, judiciary, banks, schools, and universities. This Islamization program coincided with a worldwide Islamic revival that was reciprocated in postcolonial Malaysia, in reaction to urbanization, modernization, secularism, and commercialism. This revival included greater emphasis on Islamic dress and mannerisms, increased use of Arabic greetings, stricter observance of dietary rules, and more overt public prayer and other religious duties. Since then, Malaysia has frequently set ambitious goals of finally overcoming interreligious and interethnic tensions, encouraged by decades of growing prosperity. This optimistic future is usually framed in terms of a “Vision” of a “New Malaysia,” and it is a goal that Christians can easily sympathize with and espouse. But these surges of optimism also tend to highlight anew the divisions in Malaysian society, and they can provoke an ever-harder line from the Muslim majority. In the words of one Christian scholar: “The New Malaysia is set back, burdened by the baggage of the Old Malaysia” (Kee-Fook Chia 2021: 121, 126, 128).

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Looking to the Future As this book nears its end, it is clear that the story itself is far from over. The modern Anglican Church in Malaysia continues to effectively manage and celebrate its diversity, paying tribute to those amongst the early missionaries whose insistence gradually eroded barriers of ethnicity and social position, and the constructs of race and caste. There is still much to learn from and about this curious church. The global Anglican Communion is marked by heated debate over its orientation, foundations, authority, future, and its very survival as a worldwide church. Malaysian Anglicans play their part in that debate, punching well above their weight in the world arena. The church is no mere relic of the British Empire as may be thought; it preserves customs and traditions of those old English churchmen who first stepped off the ship onto Asian soil, but it has made that patrimony its own, defiantly and self-consciously, with a keen awareness of where it came from. The church preserves the widespread use of the English language as part of the joint inheritance enjoyed by modern Malaysian society as a whole, rather than as a hangover from the historical relationship with the former colonial powers. One potential outcome of this book is for Christian and especially Anglican readers and students of religion in the global north to more fully appreciate some aspects of the worldwide recalibration taking place within Anglicanism, with its emphasis on the global south, which may have escaped their attention. This story concerns the rebuilding and reimagining of networks and lines of communication in a world that is postcolonial, post-Cold War, and in some ways postcapitalist, at least in the sense of the unfettered Western-dominated capitalism that went unquestioned and unchallenged for so long. This takes place alongside the ongoing evolution of Christianity and Christian identity in Asia. In the face of major new and emerging challenges, the world today feels a much greater sense of connectivity and sensitivity to other cultures, but also a greater urgency to find common ground on a wide range of crucial issues: poverty, food, water, freedom of thought and worship, human dignity, the family, economic and social justice, the environment, and of course the management of future global health crises. The churches of the global south almost without exception once formed part of something bigger—an empire ruled from the global north—and with the end of the empire, there came the risk of isolation, becoming an anachronism on the fringe of the worldwide church. No merciful divine plan, however, could be perceived as relegating a local church, or a people, on the basis of their place in the economic pecking

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order, so this apparent marginalization could not go uncontested. Anglicans began to query the unspoken power flow running from north to south, and to wonder whether it would prove still fit for purpose. As time progressed, the age-old power frameworks superimposed onto worldwide Anglicanism were shown up to be defective, with global north and global south being completely out of balance and out of harmony. In a quest to preserve Anglican values, to uphold the traditional sources of authority and moral decision-making, and to reserve the right to discern those values and morals for themselves, new alignments emerged which transcended the old ones. The worldwide Anglican Church may finally have to acknowledge that the old channels of influence are fully obsolete. Against the odds, small minority churches in half-forgotten corners of the old empire have raised their voices for the regeneration of the worldwide communion, and the voice of the church in old “British Malaya” and Borneo is heard by and directly resonates with around ninety million people worldwide. The Anglican Church in Malaysia is both committed to and emblematic of the shift towards a reinvigorated Anglican Christianity with a focus on the global south. This shift manifests itself as a church movement that is modernizing and receptive as much as it is orthodox and conservative; it heralds either the break-up and separation or the renewal and revitalization of global Anglicanism. This shift is also an affirmation of identity, which testifies to Malaysian Christians’ fluency in articulating their experience and positioning it within Asian and global theological contexts. The rise of a critical and competent generation of Malaysian Christian scholars is good for Malaysia as a whole, it has been argued, as this demonstrates the seriousness of their commitment to public theologizing and airs common aspirations that go beyond the community and confession. What is needed, Sivin Kit wrote, is “to pursue a national solidarity not bound by the respective self-interests of each community,” with religious diversity as the unlikely—but actually indispensable—starting point. Christians in Malaysia and in all parts of Asia must continue to be serious about being Asian Christians in distinctive forms, according to their particular traditions, such as maintaining Anglican heritage, in ways that transcend ethnocentric and religion-centric preconceptions. This must include finding the courage to self-critically address forces of divisiveness within their own communities. These steps may help the church to address its pressing domestic concerns, including managing and improving Christian-­ Muslim relations, as well as increasing the church’s relevance to and connectivity within the wider Asian Christian world (Sivin Kit 2018: 482).

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References Burleigh, Michael. Small Wars, Far Away Places: The Genesis of the Modern World 1945–65. London: Macmillan, 2013. Cottrell, Stephen. “Letting Your Actions do the Talking: Mission and the Catholic Tradition.” In Fresh Expressions in the Sacramental Tradition. Edited by Steven Croft and Ian Mobsby, 66–80. Norwich: Canterbury Press, 2009. Hayter, John and Jack Bennitt. The War and After: Singapore. London: Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, n.d. [c. 1947]. Jarvis, Edward. The Anglican Church in Burma: From Colonial Past to Global Future. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2021. Kee-Fook Chia, Edmund. “Wawasan 2020 and Christianity in Religiously Plural Malaysia.” In From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies, edited by Wei-Fun Goh et al, 119–137. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021. “Mission to the Island of Borneo.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1, no. 1. (July 1847) [26–34]. Ng Moon Hing. From Village to Village. Kuala Lumpur: Synod of the Diocese of West Malaysia, 2009. Roxborogh, John. A History of Christianity in Malaysia. Singapore: Genesis Books and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 2014. Sivin Kit. “Speaking the Truth in the Midst of Divisiveness: The Merdeka Day and Malaysia Day Statements of the Christian Federation of Malaysia (CFM).” [449–487] Asian Ecumenical Movement. Hong Kong Journal of Catholic Studies 9 (2018); The Chinese University of Hong Kong: Centre for Catholic Studies. Spencer, George John Trevor. “Notes of a Visit to Penang, Singapore, and Malacca.” The Colonial Church Chronicle and Missionary Journal 1: no. 4 (October, 1847) [131–139]. Taylor, Brian. The Anglican Church in Borneo, 1842–1962. Bognor Regis, UK: New Horizon, 1983. Ward, Kevin. A History of Global Anglicanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Wei-Fun Goh, Elaine, Kah-Jin Jeffrey Kuan, Jonathan Yun-Ka Tan, and Amos Wai-Ming Yong (editors). From Malaysia to the Ends of the Earth: Southeast Asian and Diasporic Contributions to Biblical and Theological Studies. Claremont, CA: Claremont Press, 2021.

Appendix I: Timeline of the Anglican Church in Malaysia

1780s Individual Anglicans are present among traders in Penang and Melaka 1805 BEIC appoints its first chaplain for Penang 1813 Diocese of Calcutta founded 1818 St George’s church opened in Penang 1820s Raffles allocates land for a future Anglican cathedral in Singapore 1826 The Straits Settlements are established BEIC appoints its first chaplain for Singapore 1834 Bishop Wilson of Calcutta first visits Singapore

1837: Victoria Becomes Queen 1838 1846 1848 1852 1855 1856 1857

Brooke arrives in Borneo and becomes “Rajah” three years later Labuan becomes a British colony BCMI founded in London, at Brooke’s suggestion The first missionaries and their families arrive in Borneo BCMI‘s work passes to the SPG Diocese of Labuan created, with McDougall as first bishop McDougall becomes Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak Chinese insurrection in Kuching

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4

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1861–1874 1864 1867 1869 1870s 1874 1881 1893 1896

Larut Wars in Perak McDougall suggests autonomy of “The Church in Borneo” The Straits Settlements become a British Crown Colony Straits Settlements jurisdiction passes to the Diocese of Labuan Chambers becomes Bishop of Labuan SPG appoints first “hybrid” chaplain-missionaries in Straits Settlements Treaty of Pangkor Hose becomes Bishop of Singapore, Labuan, and Sarawak North Borneo (Sabah) ceded to the BNBC Chaplain-missionary appointed for Bangkok Federated Malay States established

1901: End of the Victorian Era 1909 1910

Singapore becomes a separate diocese for British Malaya Ferguson-Davie becomes the first bishop of Singapore Mounsey becomes Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak First clergy conference held at Kuala Lumpur

1914–1918: First World War 1917 1921–1930 1927 1931 1934–1937 1937 1938

Danson becomes Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak College of the Holy Way operates Roberts becomes Bishop of Singapore Hudson becomes Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak Japan invades and annexes Manchuria Mirfield Fathers work in Borneo Japan at war with China Hollis becomes Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak

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1939–1945: Second World War 1941 Wilson becomes Bishop of Singapore 1942–1945 The Church operates semi-clandestinely under Japanese occupation 1946 The unified Crown Colony of British North Borneo is created The flawed and short-lived Malayan Union is created in Peninsular Malaya

1948–1960: Malayan Emergency 1948

The unified Federation of Malaya is created, not including Singapore TTC opened 1949 Cornwall becomes the first and last “Bishop of Borneo” Baines becomes Bishop of Singapore 1950s Kampong baru missions scheme 1952 House of the Epiphany opened in Kuching 1956–1958 New mission initiatives in Borneo’s remote inland areas

1957: Independence from Britain 1958 Koh becomes the first Asian bishop, as assistant bishop of Singapore 1960 Diocese of Singapore renamed Diocese of Singapore and Malaya Sansbury becomes the first Bishop of Singapore and Malaya 1962 Diocese of Borneo divided into Dioceses of Jesselton and Kuching Wong becomes the first Bishop of Jesselton, first Asian diocesan bishop Allenby becomes the first Bishop of Kuching

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1963: Creation of Malaysia 1965

Singapore detached from Malaysia, becomes independent state Koh becomes the second Bishop of Jesselton, the first Malaysian diocesan bishop 1967 Chiu Ban It becomes the second Bishop of Singapore and Malaya Diocese of Jesselton renamed Diocese of Sabah 1968 Temenggong becomes the first Sarawakian, Sea Dayak (Iban) Bishop of Kuching 1969 “Race riots” in Kuala Lumpur lead to a state of emergency 1970 Diocese of West Malaysia created Koh becomes the first Bishop of West Malaysia 1971 Chhoa becomes the third Bishop of Sabah 1972 Savarimuthu becomes the second Bishop of West Malaysia 1970s Expulsion of foreign clergy from Sabah 1979 STM opened 1985 Leung becomes the third Bishop of Kuching 1990 Yong becomes the fourth Bishop of Sabah 1993 AVM launched 1995 Lim becomes the third Bishop of West Malaysia 1995 Katib becomes the fourth Bishop of Kuching 1996 The Province of South East Asia is created within the Anglican Communion Malaysia’s three dioceses plus Singapore form the new Church province 2000 Yong, as primate, endorses AMiA and Anglican realignment 2006 Vun becomes the fifth Bishop of Sabah 2007 Ng becomes the fourth Bishop of West Malaysia Lapok becomes the fifth Bishop of Kuching 2015 Tais becomes sixth (and first indigenous) Bishop of Sabah 2016 West Malaysia is divided into North and South areas under suffragan bishops 2017 Jute becomes sixth Bishop of Kuching 2020 Provincial Synod approves West Malaysia’s division into two dioceses 2021 Abarrow becomes the fifth Bishop of West Malaysia

Appendix II: Bishops Overseeing the Anglican Church in Malaysia

(a) bishops of Calcutta, 1813–1876 (b) bishops of Labuan / Singapore, Labuan and Sarawak/Labuan and Sarawak, 1855–1948 (c) bishops of Singapore, 1909–1960 (d) bishop of Borneo, 1949–1962 (e) bishops of Singapore and Malaya, 1960–1970 (f) bishops of Kuching, 1962–today (g) bishops of Jesselton / Sabah, 1962–today (h) bishops of West Malaysia, 1970–today (i) archbishops of the Province of Southeast Asia, 1996–today (a) bishops of Calcutta, 1813–1876 Thomas Fanshawe MIDDLETON (28 January 1769–8 July 1822) was the first bishop of Calcutta, from 1813 until his death. Reginald HEBER (21 April 1783–3 April 1826) was the second bishop of Calcutta, from 1823 until his death. John Thomas JAMES (23 January 1786–22 August 1828), known as Thomas James, was the third bishop of Calcutta, briefly, from 1827 until his death. John Matthias TURNER (24 February 1786–7 July 1831) was the fourth bishop of Calcutta, briefly, from 1829 until his death. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4

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Daniel WILSON (2 July 1778–2 January 1858) was the fifth bishop of Calcutta and first metropolitan of India and Ceylon, from 1832 until his death. George Edward Lynch COTTON (29 October 1813–6 October 1866) was the sixth bishop of Calcutta and second metropolitan of India, from 1858 until his presumed death by drowning. Robert MILMAN (25 January 1816–15 February 1876) was the seventh bishop of Calcutta and third metropolitan of India, from 1867 until his death. (b) bishops of Labuan / Singapore, Labuan and Sarawak / Labuan and Sarawak, 1855–1948 Francis Thomas McDOUGALL (30 June 1817–16 November 1886) became the first Bishop of Labuan in 1855, and of Labuan and Sarawak in 1856, serving until 1868. Walter CHAMBERS (17 December 1824–21 December 1893) became the second Bishop of Labuan, but apparently not Sarawak, in 1869. He resigned on health grounds in 1879. George Frederick HOSE (3 September 1838–26 March 1922) was the Bishop of Singapore, Labuan, and Sarawak from 1881 to 1908. William Robert MOUNSEY (20 September 1867–18 June 1952), known as Robert, became Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak in 1909. He resigned in 1916 following an accident. Ernest Denny Logie DANSON (14 June 1880–9 December 1946) became Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak in 1917 and resigned in 1931. Noel Baring HUDSON (18 December 1893–5 October 1970) became Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak in 1931 and resigned in 1937. Francis Septimus HOLLIS (10 November 1884–4 February 1955) became Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak in 1938 and resigned in 1948. (c) bishops of Singapore, 1909–1960 Charles James FERGUSON-DAVIE (16 March 1872–11 September 1963) became the first Bishop of Singapore in 1909. He resigned in 1927. Basil Coleby ROBERTS (23 September 1887–3 February 1957) became the second Bishop of Singapore in 1927, resigning in 1940. John Leonard WILSON (23 November 1897–22 July 1970) became the third Bishop of Singapore in 1941 and resigned in 1948.

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Henry Wolfe BAINES (2 February 1905–29 November 1972) was the fourth Bishop of Singapore from 1949 to 1960. (d) bishop of Borneo, 1949–1962 Nigel Edmund CORNWALL (13 August 1903–19 December 1984) became the first and only Bishop of Borneo in 1949, serving until 1962. (e) bishops of Singapore and Malaya, 1960–1970 Cyril Kenneth SANSBURY (21 January 1905–25 August 1993) was the first Bishop of Singapore and Malaya, the short-lived joint diocese, from 1961 to 1966. Joshua CHIU Ban It (c. 1921–9 November 2016) became the second Bishop of Singapore and Malaya in 1966, remaining as Bishop of Singapore alone until 1981. (f) bishops of Kuching, 1962–today David Howard Nicholas ALLENBY (28 January 1909–28 February 1995) became the first Bishop of Kuching in 1962, when the diocese was created (or ninth, counting the previous incarnations of the diocese). He returned to England in 1968. Basil TEMENGGONG (11 October 1918–22 September 1984) was the second (or tenth) and first Malaysian Bishop of Kuching from 1968 until his death. He was the first-ever Sarawakian and Sea Dayak (Iban) bishop of the Anglican Church. John LEONG Chee Yun (23 May 1925–18 October 2013) became the third (or eleventh) Bishop of Kuching in 1985. He retired in 1995. Made anak KATIB (23 January 1942–23 January 2013) became the fourth (or twelfth) Bishop of Kuching in 1996, the first diocesan bishop of Bidayuh (Land) Dayak ethnicity. Katib retired in 2007. Bolly anak LAPOK (born 10 August 1952) was the fifth (or thirteenth) Bishop of Kuching from 2007 to 2017. He is of Sea Dayak (Iban) ethnicity. From 2012 he served four years as provincial Archbishop, the first Sarawakian and second Malaysian in that post. Danald anak JUTE (born 24 November 1966) became the sixth (or fourteenth) Bishop of Kuching in 2017 and is the incumbent at the time of writing. He is of Sino-Bidayuh descent.

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(g) bishops of Jesselton / Sabah, 1962–today James WONG Chang Ling (1900–27 April 1970) was the first Bishop of Jesselton (Sabah) from 1962, when the diocese was created, to 1964. Roland KOH Peck Chiang (c. 1909–6 October 1972) was the second Bishop of Jesselton (and then Bishop of Sabah), the first Malaysian diocesan bishop, from 1965 to 1970. He was already Malaysia’s first ethnic Chinese and first Asian bishop. Luke CHHOA Heng Sze (20 April 1925–19 April 2000) became the third Bishop of Sabah in 1971, retiring in 1990. YONG Ping Chung (born 20 February 1941) was the fourth Bishop of Sabah from 1990 to 2006. He served four years as provincial archbishop. Albert VUN Cheong Fui (2 December 1956–15 July 2014) was the fifth Bishop of Sabah from 2006 until his death. Melter Jiki bin TAIS (born 12 June 1965) became the sixth (and first indigenous) Bishop of Sabah in 2015. He is of Kadazan ethnicity. In 2020, Tais began serving as provincial archbishop, and he is the incumbent in both roles at the time of writing. (h) bishops of West Malaysia, 1970–today Roland KOH Peck Chiang (c.1909–6 October 1972) was the first Bishop of West Malaysia from 1970, when the diocese was created, until his death. He was previously Bishop of Jesselton / Sabah. John Gurubatham SAVARIMUTHU (29 November 1926–29 November 1994) was the second Bishop of West Malaysia from 1973 until his death. LIM Cheng Ean (born 10 March 1942) became the third Bishop of West Malaysia in 1995 and retired in 2007. NG Moon Hing (born 12 November 1955) became the fourth Bishop of West Malaysia in 2007. He served four years as provincial archbishop until retiring from both roles in 2020. D.  Steven ABARROW became the fifth Bishop of West Malaysia in 2021. He is the incumbent at the time of writing.

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(i) archbishops of the Province of Southeast Asia, 1996–today Moses TAY Leng Kong (born 14 June 1938) of Singapore was the first Metropolitan Archbishop and Primate of the Province of South East Asia, from 1996, when the province was created, until 2000. YONG Ping Chung (born 20 February 1941) was the second Archbishop Metropolitan and Primate of the Province of South East Asia, from 2000 to 2006, while also being diocesan Bishop of Sabah. John CHEW Hiang Chea (born 4 October 1947) of Singapore was the third Metropolitan Archbishop and Primate of the Province of South East Asia, from 2006 to 2012. Bolly anak LAPOK (born 10 August 1952) was the fourth Metropolitan Archbishop and Primate of the Province of South East Asia, from 2012 to 2016, while also being diocesan Bishop of Kuching. NG Moon Hing (born 12 November 1955) was the fifth Metropolitan Archbishop and Primate of the Province of South East Asia, from 2016 to 2020, while also being diocesan Bishop of West Malaysia. Melter Jiki bin TAIS (born 12 June 1965) became the sixth Metropolitan Archbishop and Primate of the Province of South East Asia in 2020, and, as Bishop of Sabah, he is the incumbent of both at the time of writing.

Index

A Anglican Church in Malaysia Anglican Village Ministries, 141, 171–174 Chin community, 141–143 Church of the Province of Southeast Asia proposals, 122, 144 congregational identities, 136–137 current status, 136–138, 143–144 development of local leadership, 105–106, 182 end of foreign leadership, 139–141 ethnic composition and diversity, 3–4, 105–106, 108, 130–132, 136–137, 159–160 internal criticism, 161, 182 material losses during Second World War, 101 membership, 59–61 orthodox-conservative orientation, 8 recent projects, 141 reorganizations after independence, 123, 140 rivalry with Roman Catholic Church, 71–73

role and social status, 61 territorial jurisdiction, 61, 69 translations, 36, 42, 47, 60 See also Church of England Anglicanism Anglo-Catholicism, 70–72, 121–122, 164–165 competition with Roman Catholicism, 15–16, 22–23 crisis in, 129, 144–148 current theology, 166–167 High Church, 70–72 orthodoxy and traditionalism, 165 protestant values, 15–18 Anglican Mission in the Americas, see Tay Leng Kong, Moses; Yong Ping Chung B Baines, Henry Wolfe appointment, 106 views, 138 Bangkok, Thailand, 47–48, 50

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 E. Jarvis, The Anglican Church in Malaysia, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-11597-4

199

200 

INDEX

Borneo emergence from Second World War, 98–99 Evangelical Church, 71 insurrections, 39–40 local clergy in Second World War, 96–97 missionary societies, 27 politics and geography, 26, 60–61 postwar mission boom, 119–121 territories (see Malaysia, territories and political administration) British East India Company, 15, 16 chaplains, 20, 22, 41 decline of, 23–24, 41 powers of, 19 Brooke, James, 13 as the “apostle of civilization,” 29, 30 background and arrival in Borneo, 19, 27 relations with Malays, 36–37 on relations with Muslims, 4 C Chambers, Walter, 41–42, 47 Chin Peng, 117, 125 Chiu Ban It, Joshua, 139 Christian Federation of Malaysia, see Christianity, ecumenism Christianity appeal in Southeast Asia, 156 arrival in Malaysia, 12–14, 17 Asian Christianity, emergence of, 158, 163–164, 179–180 and colonialism; the “atheists of empire,” 158; as “civilizing” influence, 28, 156, 180–181; coercive missionary tactics, 155–156; denominational differences, 155–156; study of,

156–157; as an “unholy alliance,” 16, 28–29, 180–182 conflict with other religions, 109–110 conversion, concepts of, 168–171 denominational allegiance, 158, 167–168 denominations in Malaysia, 61 ecumenism, 109, 114, 122–23, 138–139, 159 fostering ethnic identity, 159–161 future course, 179–180 negative perceptions of, 8, 164 pentecostalism, 139 role in postwar society, 109 in Southeast Asia, 12–14, 17 third-world theology, 161–163 Western worldview, 156, 157 Christian-Muslim relations, 4–5, 36–37, 69, 73 after independence, 124, 130–131, 134–135 enthusiasm for, 133, 135–136 impact of, 129, 137 and the Malayan Emergency, 116–117 mutual concerns, 136 origins, 161 See also Pangkor, Treaty of Church Missionary Society, 24, 114, 120 Church of England as colonial-era church, 5, 6; attitudes, 105–106, 123; complicity in colonialism, 5–7; conversion of Muslims, 5, 6; segregation and desegregation of services, 94, 100, 102–103, 108, 124; study of, 6–8 Diocese of Calcutta founded, 18 early presence in Malaysia, 8; Chinese congregations, 23–24;

 INDEX 

Indian congregations, 24; language barriers, 25–26; Malay congregations, 26 legal status in the colonies, 18 See also Anglican Church in Malaysia Coleby Roberts, Basil background and arrival, 73 ministry, 73–74 resignation, 88 College of the Holy Way, 66, 67, 70 Colonialism attitudes to religion, 155, 180–182 and Christianity, study of, 6–9 as civilizing influence, 28, 156, 180–182 Dutch colonies, 61 in Malaysia, 8–9 in Southeast Asia, 12–13; contradictions of, 30–31; motivation and goals of, 12–13, 54–55, 155 Communism, 106, 111–112, 115, 118, 163–164 Community of the Resurrection, 70–71 Cornwall, Nigel Edmund, 106–107 Council of Churches of Malaysia, see Christianity, ecumenism E Education missions, 62, 66–68, 71, 76–78 Ethnic groups and categorizations of Malaysia Bumiputera, 3, 132–133 Chinese, 3, 21, 23, 132; perceptions of, 37, 115; as refugees, 74; religions, 3, 74, 159–160 Dayak; background, etymology, lifestyle, 35–37; ministers and

201

clergy, 40, 50, 66–67, 107, 121; missions to, 62–64, 107; perceptions of, 160; religion, 160 Dusun, 107, 120 Indian, 3, 20, 21, 23, 132; Tamil clergy and ministers, 43, 47, 74 indigenous beliefs, 12–14 Malay; and mixed families, 21, 37; perceptions of, 12, 36, 37, 161; postwar unease, 106; status, 6, 36 Murut, 50 F Federated Malay States, see Malaysia, territories and political administration Federation of Malaya, see Malaysia, territories and political administration Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans, see Anglicanism, crisis in Ferguson-Davie, Charles James, 68 G GAFCON, see Anglicanism, crisis in H Hollis, Francis Septimus, 85, 89, 99 Hose, George Frederick as bishop, 47, 49–50 dividing the diocese, 62 expectations of clergy, 51 Hudson, Noel Baring background and personality, 69–70 resignation and the SPG, 85 vision, 70

202 

INDEX

I Islam, see Christian-Muslim relations; Malaysia, and Islam K Kampong baru, see Malayan Emergency Koh Peck Chiang, Roland background and ministry, 138–140 death, 140 and Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 159 L Logie Danson, Ernest Denny appointment, 64 attitudes, 65–67 legacy, 67–68 support of local ministry, 65–66 vision, 65 M Malayan Christian Council, see Christianity, ecumenism Malayan Emergency background, 110 Communist Party of Malaya (see Communism) kampong baru scheme, 110–114 and missionaries, 114–117 Malaysia British control of, 17–18, 20–21 and Christians; Christian denominations, 117, 121, 123; clashes with Muslims, 130–132 constitution, 3, 135, 138 demographics, population, and ethnic composition, 2–3, 54, 59–61, 131–133 division with Singapore, 122–123 economy and development, 67, 69, 83–84

ethnic groups of (see Ethnic groups and categorizations of Malaysia) independence, 130 and Islam, 12, 133–134; arrival and growth of Islam, 5, 36; Christian perceptions of, 161; “Islamization,” 137, 185; Malaysia as a “Muslim country,” 5, 130 national identity, 133 pluralism, 179–180 political parties,131 “race riots,” 131 religious pluralism, 3–5, 132–134 territories and political administration, 2, 59–61, 109, 130–131 Marxism, see Communism McDougall, Francis Thomas arrival in Borneo and early work, 27–28 background and personality, 29 as bishop, 38–41 Dayak outreach, 35 family, 38 health, 38 relations with Chinese, 37 relations with Malays, 36 vision, 65 Medical missions, 62–63, 69, 75–76, 106 Mirfield Fathers, see Community of the Resurrection Missionary work as “civilizing,” 6 and developments in infrastructure, 118–120 expectations of missionaries, 51 hardship and health problems, 38, 62 as a “holistic package,” 6 and incentivization, 6 language barriers, 37, 42–43

 INDEX 

limitations and restrictions on, 5, 15–16, 18–22 in the Malayan Emergency (see Malayan Emergency) motivations and ideology, 71–72 perceptions of missionaries, 51 postwar limitations, 106–107, 121 social contribution of, 6 women’s achievements, 52–53 Missions to Seamen, 25, 85 Mounsey, William Robert appointment and ministry, 62 leadership style and personality, 63, 64 retirement, 70 support of local ministry, 63–64 N Ng, Moon Hing, 172–173 P Pangkor, Treaty of and Asian worldview, 157–158 background, 44–45 impact, 45–46 legacy, 46, 47, 53–54 R Raffles, Stamford, 20 Roman Catholic Church, comparisons with, 72, 180 S Savarimuthu, John Gurubatham, 159 Second World War approach of, 86–88 end, 97–99 invasion, evacuation, internment in Malaysia, 89–91 long-term regional impact of, 92 occupation, 92–96

203

outbreak of the Pacific War, 88 Seminari Theoloji Malaysia, 159 Singapore Christian denominations present in, 85 defenses, 87–88 development of, 20–23, 84–85 diocese; clergy numbers, 83–85; jurisdiction and reach, 83–84, 139 division from Malaysia, 122–123 early Christian communities in, 21–23 government monopolies in, 22 perceptions of, 21–22, 83, 85, 87 postwar situation, 69, 122 Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge and Borneo, 38, 47 Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts and Borneo, 38, 49, 50 founded, 18 “hybrid” chaplain-missionaries, 43–44, 61 shortage of missionaries, 50–51 in Singapore, 24–25, 59 and Straits Settlements, 43–44 and Thailand, 48 varied types of support, 68–69, 73, 74, 120 vision, 18–19 Southeast Asia “cosmic” worldview, 157 independence movements, 109–110, 162–163 presence of religions, 3, 11–12; Christian-Buddhist relations, 184–185; Christianity, 11–14; pluralism, 3, 11–12; Roman Catholicism, 14–16 prior to Second World War, 86–87 (see also Second World War) and spread of Christianity, 156

204 

INDEX

T Tay Leng Kong, Moses, 147 Thailand, see Bangkok Trinity Theological College, 124, 159 W Wilson, John Leonard appointment, 88

recovery from Second World War, 99–100 resignation, 106 in Second World War, 92–96 Women’s ordination, 145–146 Y Yong Ping Chung, 122, 147