ABSTRACT
I assume that the editors have invited me to respond to this set of chapters because my scholarly writings raise issues of ethics and accountability in English Language Teaching (ELT), human rights, and colonial legacies in education. I feel privileged to be invited to comment on this quartet, because however discordant it is-and there is a real clash of civilizations here-all four are impelled by a wish to contribute constructively to professional discourse and dialogue. My own voice may not bring harmony to the quartet, but it attempts to clarify our values as teachers of English. These can, in my view, be spiritual and moral, irrespective of whether they derive from religious faith. But the essential issue is whether attempting to convert others to one’s own branch of Christianity is defensible. I feel I should precede my comments by coming clean about where I stand in relation to Christianity, since the book builds on a confrontation of a range of positions that I have not had cause to reflect on or analyze earlier. I agree with the British chief rabbi, Jonathan Sacks (above), who argues for values that rise above “conquest and conversion.” As a European, I was surprised to learn that ELT and missionary activity are (still) so intertwined. I am frankly shocked to learn that people who are avowedly Christian engage in conversion by stealth and covert proselytizing. I had assumed that the openness of missionary bodies like the Summer Institute of Linguistics represented the norm. I was brought up in a devoutly Christian home in England. From the age of 8 to 14 I attended a cathedral choir school as a boarder. We sang cathedral services 13 times a week, and also had prayers morning and evening seven days a week in the school chapel. I was confirmed by the Bishop of London after lengthy prepa-
ration, which included me delivering a confession, since we were “high church.” It so happened that the priest I was supposed to confess my 12-year-old peccadilloes to was my headmaster, a situation that did not encourage candor or self-incrimination (I was astute enough to arrange for a direct line to God in my thoughts), or faith in the morality of the institution. The school I attended from age 14 to 19 was only slightly less permeated by institutional Christianity. My education has thus given me first-hand insight into how the church (of England, Anglican) functions. However, my faith in institutionalized Christianity of any kind and its theology is non-existent, although I respect the right of people to worship in any way they wish, and know that many individual Christians in different parts of the world behave in selfless, admirable ways. My beliefs correspond closely to those articulated in “Why I am not a Christian” (Russell, 1985):
Where there is evidence, no-one speaks of “faith”. [. . .] We only speak of faith when we wish to substitute emotion for evidence. [. . .] The whole conception of God is a conception derived from the ancient Oriental despotisms. [. . .] A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past, or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men. [. . .] With very few exceptions, the religion which a man accepts is that of the community in which he lives, which makes it obvious that the influence of the environment is what has led him to accept the religion in question.
