I went to St John’s Primary School 1, some kind of Christian school, possibly Catholic, because there’s a St John’s Cathedral next door. We never once prayed in my six years there although I know of ladies who went to mission schools who had to memorise Christian prayers by heart. It was only a Catholic school in name even though the headmasters, Brother Anthony, then Brother Patrick Arikiosamy, were "brothers" who wore white gowns (jubah, in Malay). I'm am reliably informed that these "brothers" are not ordained priests.
When Brother Anthony passed away, we were lined up and marched two by two to St John’s Institution (SJI) next door where his mortal remains were lying in state. I was in shock and was kinda mortified as we were not told we were going to see a dead body. Nobody had prepared us or told us Brother Anthony had died. Anyway, we just solemnly walked around the body in silence and went back to class. No prayers of any sort, as far as I can recall.
I think, in Malaysia, all the religious stuff, by law, had to be confined to the church grounds. Its illegal in Malaysia to proselytize to Muslims so I think that explains the “secular” nature of my primary education.
We Muslims were expected to go to ugama class, but it was optional and the form master didn’t really insist on it. I went once, the ustaz was teaching about the end of the world (Earth) - all fire and brimstone, earthquakes and volcanoes. However, he was a little confused and taught it as it were the end of the universe. I was a precocious kid in those days and thanks to Eagle, Look and Learn, and the astronomy books I had been reading already, knew about the Cold Death Theory of the end of the universe - where we slowly tend towards absolute zero (-273º C or 0º K) due to entropy. So I dismissed the ugama teacher as a moron of inadequate intellect unfit to teach me anything (I can be quite unforgiving in that way, now even). Also, all the “cerita-cerita nabi” (biographies of the prophets) seemed like tall tales belonging more to the realm of mythology and fiction what with prophets living to the very ripe of 800 years old, prophets commanding thousands of birds to drop stones onto the enemy’s army and destroying it, parting of the seas, and etc. It took too much suspension of disbelief to my young mind—it was so much easier to dismiss all this religious stuff as stupid crap for fools.
So that, in a nutshell, was how my “Catholic school education” made me dismissive of all ulamak at such a tender young age. What I heard from ulamak since then have only confirmed my early impression of them.
I had no impression of Christian religious teachers because I was never exposed to any, so never formed an opinion about the veracity of what they espoused.
But later in life, I met Catholic priests, rabbis (Rabbi Hugo Gryn came to give a talk at AC, I was impressed by his intellect and oration and we became friends and communicated by snail mail until his death). What stuck me about them, in contrast to Muslim ulamak, is that as part of their religious training, quite apart from they learn about divinity and theology, it is compulsory for them to learn comparative religion. And this is reflected in their worldview. Ulamak not only do not learn comparative religion but it is haram (forbidden) for them to read scripture of other religions, which accounts for their uniquely parochial and insular worldview. Of course, I’m making generalisations, but for the most part, my experience of them just confirms that this impression I have of them holds true.
Once notable exception was a Filipino ustaz, who was a Catholic priest before he converted to Islam but his enlightened worldview had more to do with his Catholic priest training than his competency in reciting classical Arabic.
My final conclusion is that religion is just a guide to life, but an inadequate one, as it is silent on so many pertinent matters that really affect us and our lives in the here and now, on planet Earth. Anybody who studies science knows its a work in progress and that there are so many phenomena and stuff that needs to be quantified and rationalised.
I had my first exposure to comparative religion when, in my early teens, I chanced upon an English translation of The Tibetian Book of the Dead. Here was a text, a manual, actually, not about life, but about the whole process of death - all quantified in such detailed minutiae - that it seemed unlikely to be a work of fiction. I was impressed by how far this one religion - Tibetian Buddhism - had progressed in his one field, leaving other religions so far behind.
My views on religion were also influenced by Russell. I first started reading about him the day after his death, when the New Straits Times reported that a British mathematician and philosopher had passed away. “Philosopher” was a new word to me (I was eleven then) so I looked it up in the OED, which in its uniquely circular way had to make me also look up “philosophy.” "Love of wisdom," it said. "I could get into this," I thought. And that was how I got started on not just Russell (An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth, Why I am not a Christian, History of Western Philosophy, his pacifism - he was jailed in WWII for his anti-war views, imagine that a British Lord jailed for being anti-war!), but on philosophy as a way of thinking.
Anyway, Russell's pacifism influenced me in much the same manner as Gandhi did and made me very receptive to, and a prime candidate, for my UWC education, where Theory of Knowledge (and epistemology, later) made a lifelong influence.
Copyright 2003-2018 Azlan Adnan Legal Notice Copyright 2003-2011 Azlan Adnan. This blog post is sponsored by The Green Party of Malaysia
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