Renaissance in Britain

For the dreadful blitz days of 1940, the editorial in the London Times may have seemed a minor issue. But not to the Times's readers. The editorial had simply reported that out of a group of 31 children evacuated to the country, 19 did not know who was born on the first Christmas Day. The paper was hardly on the street before hundreds of Britons were writing in, blitz notwithstanding, to deplore the work of "our Godless schools.",

The Times's readers were not alone in worrying about the schools, or in resenting the religious vacuum the schools had created. In a solemn plea, the Archbishops of Canterbury, York, and Wales noted the "urgent need," asked that all denominations join in a common drive to restore religion to education. Indeed, added Winston Churchill on the floor of the House of Commons, "religion has been the rock in the life and character of the British people . . . This fundamental element must never be taken from our schools."

In 1944, Britain saw to it that the fundamental element would be safe. By the Education Act, religious instruction became compulsory in government-controlled schools, and all denominations made a preliminary agreement on the way it was to be taught. How has the act worked out? By last week, Britons had reason to feel satisfied: God was back in education.

Of & For . . . Britain's government schools were set up in 1870, when the tides of Victorian secularism were running high. The most that the secularists would allow were optional classes, left entirely in the hands of local education boards. As a result, most religious instruction became a matter of indifference. Few teachers bothered to train themselves for it, and few students bothered to take it. As in the U.S., freedom of religion came to mean almost no religion at all.

Today Britain can boast both freedom of religion, and freedom for. If a parent sincerely objects to the instruction--and some Jews and Roman Catholics do--he may keep his child away. Otherwise, a pupil can learn from "reserved" teachers, specially trained in "religious knowledge." The texts the teachers follow are specially written syllabi, which Anglicans and other Protestants agreed in 1944 to accept.

For pupils under five, there are hymns and simple prayers; later there are Scripture lessons and Bible stories. As the pupil grows older, he is led into the Old Testament and the life and teachings of Christ. Gradually, this simple beginning is expanded to include the whole fabric of Christianity.

"We ... Are Grateful." In eight years, the only real opposition to the Education Act has come from the Roman Catholics --not because they want less religion, but because for themselves they want to go further, with their own instructors. According to the act, a denominational school must either pay at least half of its own building costs or accept public control, government-appointed teachers, and an agreed syllabus. The Catholics argue that to maintain the freedom of their own schools, they must really support two systems of education at a time when costs are at an alltime high. Their demand for their own schools: more aid from the state, but without state control.

Last week, after holding a series of conferences with Roman Catholics, the Minister of Education was working on a compromise. But as for the Education Act in general, even the Catholics agreed that it was beginning to have the effects everyone had wanted.

Few pupils have refused to take part in religious classes. Example: out of 165 schools in Norfolk County, only eight reported any "conscience" withdrawals. But a more significant indication of success lay elsewhere. The number of secondary school students who have applied for further work in "religious knowledge" has more than doubled since the act, and nearly half of all student teachers are now going in for it. For this spiritual renaissance, said the Archbishop of York, "we who are members of the Christian Church are grateful . . ."

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