A Caged Bird in a Communist Pavilion: Chao Tzu-chen and the Remolding of Yenching University’s School of Religion, 1949–1951

Abstract

This article examines church–state relations in the early period of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) by scrutinising the thoughts and the administration of Chao Tzu-chen—a prominent Chinese Christian leader—at Yenching University’s School of Religion and its successor organisation. This article largely relies on the archives of the Hong Kong Sheng Kung Hui, delving into Chao’s psychological conflicts and the role of the Anglican churches in Chao’s plan for the separation of the School of Religion from the university. It argues that Chao Tzu-chen’s self-contradictions in his public versus private expressions after 1949 signify his disillusionment in fostering the convergence between Christianity and Communism, as demonstrated in his dilemma regarding church–state relations. Although Chao tried to adapt to the new political order by urging Chinese churches to offer practical and concrete social services, he continued his independent, critical theological reflections on the indigenisation of Christianity, as reflected in his private portrayal of the incompatibility between Christianity and Communism, and in his close connection with foreign churches in his fund-raising campaign. Moreover, apart from highlighting the importance of the Hong Kong Anglican church in financially supporting the Yenching School of Religion, this article seeks to contribute to academic research of Chinese higher education in the 1950s through examining how the Chinese Communist Party’s remolding of the School put an end to the emerging public sphere of a civil society. It reveals that this liberal Christian institute, which lost its control over curriculum design and the right to accept foreign funds, was quickly converted into a government-funded, socialist theological college in service of two masters: the Party and the Church.

1. Introduction

Tracing the mission history in the founding years of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), this article scrutinises Chao Tzu-chen’s 趙紫宸 (1888–1979) ambivalence about the process during which he and Yenching University’s School of Religion (renamed the Yenching School of Religion in 1951) adapted to the new political order under the rule of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). It makes significant use of archival materials found at the archives of the Hong Kong Sheng Kung Hui (香港聖公會; Hong Kong Anglican Church, hereafter referred to as HKSKH), opening a window onto the inner world of Chao Tzu-chen after 1949 and the role of the Anglican communities in the functioning of the Yenching School of Religion—topics that have been largely understudied in modern Chinese history. It contributes to the research on China’s evolving church–state relations, the indigenisation of Chinese Christianity, and the landscape of higher education by examining how Chinese Christian educators and Western churches responded to the Communist takeover of Christian colleges. This article sheds light on the divergent portrayal of Chao’s attitude towards church–state relations in his public versus private expressions after 1949. It argues that Chao Tzu-chen lost faith in the idea of reconciling Christianity with Communism, as evident in his self-contradictions regarding his views on the relationship between the church and the state. Despite Chao’s overt endeavour to march in tune with the times after 1949, he continued to independently and critically reflect on his faith and church–state relations. This can be seen in his private expressions, which show his specific concerns about Communism and about his mixed thoughts regarding maintaining contact with foreign churches—organisations that were regarded by the CCP as “imperialist”. He not only elucidated why Christianity could not reconcile itself with Communism, but also lacked confidence to sustain the functioning of the Yenching School of Religion under Communist rule. Apart from securing funds from other Chinese churches, Chao subsequently sought financial support from the Church of England and its Diocese in Hong Kong—a British crown colony that was regarded as an “imperialist foe” by the CCP during the Cold War. Moreover, this article shows that the Hong Kong Anglican church played an important role in financially supporting the Yenching School of Religion largely because of the friendship between Chao and the Anglican communities, despite Chao’s rejection of the funds from Hong Kong due to the opposition of the Chinese authorities. In addition to examining the church organisations’ response to the regime change, this article also gives an account of how the CCP remolded Christian colleges in post-1949 China.

Evidence from extensive historical sources in English and Chinese has opened a window onto the relationship between the Anglican communities and Yenching University’s School of Religion, and onto the inner world of Chao Tzu-chen after 1949.1 The primary materials cited in this article range from the correspondence between Chao, his friends and colleagues, to a memoir of one of Chao’s students, and to some Christian periodicals and newspapers published in China between the 1920s and early 1950s. In this article, I have significantly consulted Chao’s correspondence held at the HKSKH Archives, which has not been fully utilised in scholarly enquiry so far. These materials offer a unique opportunity to show Chao’s complex feelings in times of turbulent change, as well as the long-standing friendship between Chao and the Anglicans. Relying heavily on the HKSKH archive, this article provides a preliminary assessment of Chao’s tragic experience in times of regime change, and offers a unique perspective on the role of the Anglican communities in Chao’s decision-making regarding the functioning of the Yenching School of Religion between 1949 and 1951, after which sources become unavailable.

Studying Chao’s thought and reaction to the Communist takeover of Christian colleges after 1949 is important to our understanding of the development of Christian history in the PRC. Chao became a Christian and was baptised in 1907 while attending Soochow University. In 1914, he went to the United States to study at Vanderbilt University, where he was later awarded a Master of Arts degree in sociology and a Bachelor of Divinity degree. Upon returning to China in 1917, Chao taught at Soochow University before serving at Yenching University as professor of religious philosophy from 1926 to 1952. Figure 1 is a portrait of Chao when he taught at Yenching. In 1948, the first general assembly of the World Council of Churches elected him as one of its six presidents (Wang 2009, pp. 1–3; Wickeri 2017, p. 8). Chao was widely recognised for his scholarship on the indigenisation of Chinese Christianity. His actions would become indicative of other Chinese Christians who confronted the state’s socialist education policy.

In fact, there is a divide within the current scholarship on Chao’s relationship with Communism. Some scholars consider Chao’s adjustment to the new status quo as his political surrender to the CCP. Some of the literature published in Taiwan denounces Chao as one of the “Judases who betrayed Jesus”. It also explains that Chao encouraged Chinese churches to join the patriotic movement because he wanted to ingratiate himself with Joseph Stalin (1878–1953) and seize the property of Christian converts (Zhongguo 1952, pp. 7–8). Conversely, some mainland Chinese scholars such as Tang Xiaofeng 唐曉峰 argue that his theological accommodation to the new Communist entity after 1949 was impeccable because he was a true patriot who stood firm against the kind of Christianity that had been contaminated by imperialism, hypocrisy, and exclusivism (Tang 2010, pp. 84–85). Yet, scholars from the other side of the debate, such as Philip Wickeri, Ying Fuk-tsang 邢福增, and Lam Wing-hung 林榮洪, are more critical of what they deem to be Chao’s “capitulation” to Communism. They believe that the radical discontinuity of Chao’s theological thinking could be attributed to Chao and other theologians’ efforts to develop an indigenous Chinese theology that could cater to the needs of China—a country that had experienced socio-political upheavals from the nineteenth century (Wickeri 1988, pp. 244–46; Ying 2003, pp. 110–11; Lam 1994, pp. 320–24). In particular, it was Chao’s wish to connect Christian faith with questions of personal salvation through Christ, social change and national reconstruction (Ying 2005, p. 243; Wickeri 1988, pp. 244–46). In the eyes of Chao, seeking common ground between Marxism and Christianity could be one of the solutions to these questions (Wickeri 1988, pp. 244–46; Ying 2003, pp. 110–11).

Chao’s post-war mentality has been examined by Philip Wickeri, who utilised the correspondence from the HKSKH Archives between Chao and Bishop Hall in his paper “Theology in Revolution”. Wickeri primarily provides a linear, chronological description of Chao’s unfortunate personal matters after 1945, without focusing on his ecumenical cooperation with foreign churches for his seminary-building project after 1949. It shows how Chao spoke of his loneliness, his melancholy, and his depression in the late 1940s, during which he was removed as Dean, experiencing financial difficulties and disagreements with Anglican clergymen who opposed intercommunion with the wider Christian fellowship at Yenching (Wickeri 2017, pp. 9–18). Chao’s views on Communism were barely discussed in Wickeri’s paper, except for Chao’s concern about the incompatibility between Christianity and Communism, as a conflict between “the idea of continuity upon which science rests” and “that of discontinuity which Christianity holds as between sin and holiness, life and death, as well as man and God” (Wickeri 2017, pp. 19–20). Wickeri’s paper ends with Chao suffering in an array of political movements during the 1950s, a scenario that Wickeri describes as “a tragedy of liberation” (Wickeri 2017, pp. 20–24).

Following in the footsteps of the above scholars, this article offers new insights into Chao’s theological view on the relations between church and state during and after the 1940s. This article does not intend to study how the Anglican traditions impacted Chao’s theological thinking, a widely discussed topic (Ng 2015, p. 167; Chen 2015, pp. 191–92).2 Instead, it sheds light on Chao’s dilemma, as he was torn between reconciling Christianity with Communism when a large number of Protestant and Catholic churches were heavily criticised as “imperialists” because of their connections with foreign missions. This article moves beyond the current scholarship to reveal the incompatibility between Christian principles and Communist doctrines in the eyes of Chao by showing the divergent portrayal of the compatibility between Christianity and Communism, both in public and privately expressed. While qualifying Leung Ka-lun’s 梁家麟 argument concerning Chao’s total rejection of Communism (Leung 1998, pp. 98–99), this article points to the psychological conflict of Chao, as shown in his theological construction. It not only shares Winfried Glüer’s argument that Chao could not fully accept Communism because of the incompatibility between historical materialism—Karl Marx’s (1818–1883) theory of history—and his belief in God’s surpassing presence beyond history (Glüer 1998, p. 295), but it also affirms the findings of Ying Fuk-tsang that Chao was convinced by Christianity’s capability to rectify any deficiencies in the nation-building process of Communist China (Ying 2003, p. 219). This article goes further to point out the failure of Chao’s attempt to foster a convergence between Christianity and Communism. It also builds on Wickeri’s existing interpretation of Chao’s belief as to why Christianity stood irreconcilable with Communism (Wickeri 2017, pp. 19–20). It does so by scrutinising the correspondence between Chao Tzu-chen, Tsai Yung-chun, and senior Anglican clergymen from the HKSKH Archives. In Chao’s view, the lack of transcendence in Marxism and the CCP’s growing control over Christian organisations made both incompatible.

Aside from studying Chao’s theological transformation, this article makes a contribution to the history of China’s Christian higher education after 1949. This article echoes Philip West’s argument regarding the impact of China’s political development on Yenching University—a foreign-run educational institution that was established after the Opium Wars—as exemplified in its remolding by the CCP (West 1976, p. 246). It also builds on Jessie Lutz’s and Dwight Edwards’ initial explorations of the demise of the Christian Colleges in China (Lutz 1971, pp. 473–84; Edwards 1959, pp. 340–43), and adds to the body of knowledge by elucidating how Yenching University’s School of Religion, in spite of its survival following the incorporation of Christian colleges into government-run universities after 1952, was subsequently converted into a state institution—a theological college affiliated with the Party-State. Apart from discussing how the Communists remolded higher education institutions, as discussed by Jeremy Brown and Paul Pickowicz (Brown and Pickowicz 2007, pp. 1–18), this article also highlights the role of the Anglican churches in Chao Tzu-chen’s intellectual process concerning the separation of the School of Religion from Yenching University. It builds on the finding of Xu Yihua 徐以驊, who argues that after 1949 the Yenching School of Religion came to the belated realisation that the School had to “relegate” itself to seeking financial support from local Chinese churches, but not from their foreign counterparts (Xu 1999, pp. 148–49). It does so by demonstrating the important role that the Anglican churches played in funding the Yenching School of Religion and supporting Chao’s effort to seek financial assistance from foreign funds.

Beginning with an analysis of the earlier literature on the plight of Chao after 1949, this article examines how Chao Tzu-chen tried to think and act independently in his careful management of Yenching University’s School of Religion after 1949. However, the political movements that Chao and many Christian leaders would face restrained Chao’s freedom of speech and prevented him from raising funds from overseas, making Chao like a bird caged in a Communist pavilion.

2. Chao’s View on the Correlation between Chinese Churches and Politics

Chao was a strong advocate of the indigenisation of Christianity in China. He suggested that Chinese churches should be independent and free from interference by their foreign counterparts. Throughout the 1920s, he supported the Chinese indigenous church movement, encouraging Chinese churches to be united without being separated by sectarianism—Christian principles and concepts adhered to by different Western denominations after the reformation (Lam 1994, pp. 114–15, 125).3 He believed that “judging by the local circumstances, Chinese converts should have the right to test, recreate, and adjust those Western institutions and organisations brought by missionaries” (Chao 1927, p. 3).

Nevertheless, the independence of the Chinese church did not mean terminating all the connections with the global churches and Western missionaries. According to Chao (Chao 1927, pp. 1–2), “as the forerunners who spread the gospel to the East, Western churches had the moral responsibility to assist their Chinese counterparts in developing their evangelistic enterprises” (Chao 1927, pp. 5–6). He therefore promoted cooperation between Chinese and Western churches, welcoming foreign missions to contribute to China’s indigenous church movement (Chao 1927, pp. 5–6; Lam 1994, pp. 118–19). This could be achieved, for instance, by providing financial aid to the Chinese churches or by serving in different ministries of these churches (Chao 1927, pp. 5–6; Lam 1994, pp. 118–19). The congregations, irrespective of their nationalities, should welcome the development of Chinese churches based on knowledge, eligibility, and experience (Chao 1927, pp. 5–6; 1926, p. 2812). To foster exchange between Chinese churches and their Western counterparts, Chao himself also took part in different ecumenical gatherings outside of China (Sampson 2022, pp. 93–96). To Chao, although the power to manage Chinese church affairs had to be handed over to Chinese converts, foreign preachers were always their friends, and their contributions should be recognised (Chao 1927, pp. 5–6; Lam 1994, pp. 118–19). After the Second World War, Chao continued his efforts to advance ecumenical exchange. Figure 2 captures this genuine friendship and collaborative spirit between Chao and some prominent American scholars and missionaries in 1948.

While Chao maintained a close relationship with Christian denominations from the West, he took a negative view towards Communism—a political theory derived from Karl Marx in nineteenth-century Europe. Chao, who believed that social reforms should be implemented step by step, cast doubt upon Communism and found the revolutionary social reform as too radical. What upset him most was the fact that the Communists took a “utopian engineering approach”, which adopted violent methods, suppressed individual freedom, and regarded individuals as tools of revolutions (Ying 2003, pp. 96–97). To Chao, “a utopian world could not be formed within a short period of time, and the use of military and political power could not effectively help China to achieve genuine democracy” (Chao 1947b, p. 3). The radical approach adopted by the Communists not only failed to relieve people from disasters, but also caused chaos (Ying 2003, p. 96). Chao believed that the factional struggles common in revolutionary politics would slow down the progress of gradual reform in society (Chao 1947a, pp. 2–3). To resolve the problems faced by China, Chao believed that the reconstruction of Chinese morality and personality, instead of social revolution, was indispensable. The key issue was whether the personality of Christ could become the basis for the project of national salvation in this country. While the churches should redress the injustice suffered by the public (Chao 1947b, p. 4), genuine democracy could be achieved only when people accepted transcendent God and overcame their selfishness in everyday life (Chao 1947a, pp. 2–3). Another factor that discouraged Chao from supporting Communism was the latter’s rejection of religion, as part of its atheistic conviction. Religion, in the Communist mindset, belonged to the “superstructure” built upon material, socio-economic reality (Ying 2003, pp. 97–98).

Communism’s authoritarian traits made Chao feel worried about his safety. In a 1948 letter to his friend Bishop Ronald Hall (1895–1975)—an Anglican missionary bishop in Hong Kong and China—Chao already felt anxious about the negative consequences of the Communist takeover of North China. While he was sympathetic with the Communists, he worried that they would not be cordial to the kind of evangelical work to which he was committed. In the case of a radical change in Beijing and at Yenching University—an American-funded Christian university—he would leave Yenching given the chance. He once considered taking refuge at Hong Kong St. Paul’s College—a theological college where Bishop Hall offered him a job to train the Anglican clergy in Hong Kong (Chao 1948). The increasing threats of Communism caused Chao to prepare for martyrdom following the CCP’s advance on Beijing and their sweeping victory over Guomindang (GMD, the Chinese Nationalist Party) troops after 1948 (Chao 1949h, pp. 1066–68; Chao 1949i).

3. The Incompatibility between Christianity and Marxism

Following the Communist takeover of Beijing in early 1949, Chao Tzu-chen modified his political stance by taking a more positive view of Communism. Chao, who regarded the Communist victory as a reflection of God’s judgement and a chance for a renewal of life (Chao 1949a, pp. 83–85), complained about the faults of the GMD—as a corrupt, oppressive political entity that failed to reform itself and to win the heart of the people (Chao 1949b, pp. 265–67). From Chao’s perspective, the new regime led by the CCP could lead to efficient, responsible, and democratic governance. After attending the People’s Political Consultative Conferences held in September 1949 and in early 1950, Chao showed his appreciation towards the CCP (Chao 1949g, 1950a). He had confidence in the Communists, who promised the toleration of religion in the new era (Chao 1949b, pp. 265–67). Judging by these friendly policies, Chao now criticised the West for “making a grave mistake in combating Communism and not bowing before God’s judgement upon for social wrongs” (Chao 1950g). Moreover, he urged the Church in China to confess its “sins” and “short-comings”. These wrongdoings ranged from seeking to save its own life by occasionally siding with reactionary forces, to not openly renouncing some prominent GMD figures—Chiang Kai-shek 蔣介石 (1887–1975), Kung Hsiang-hsi 孔祥熙 (1880–1967), and Soong Tse-vung 宋子文 (1894–1971)—as the “Judases” of the Christian faith. He criticised Chinese churches for misinterpreting and misunderstanding the CCP’s revolution, which was morally right and fair (Chao 1949i). In his correspondence with Bishop Hall in July 1949, Chao even showed his anger concerning the apathy of the churches in northern China because they were so “utterly mechanical” and so unable to adapt themselves to new conditions led by the People’s Government—the new regime that Chao was wholeheartedly in support of and the best his generation of Chinese could wish for (Chao 1949f).4

Out of his admiration of the CCP’s good work, Chao adjusted to the new political status quo by exploring whether Christianity was reconcilable with Communism after becoming Dean of the School of Religion of Yenching University in 1949. When the Communist troops were approaching Beiping in November 1948, Chao told his student Tsai Yung-chun 蔡詠春 (1904–1983) that the time for them had come to understand Marxism and to discover ideological similarities between Christianity and Marxism (Xu 1999, p. 142). In his letter to Bishop Hall in February 1949, Chao mentioned that people at Yenching were well and happy, and stated that Christianity had a “fighting chance” in China in the new political order. In the new era, during which a utopian world began to emerge, the gospel could not be revealed to be a living message without effecting individualisation in collective action (Chao 1949a). Therefore, Christianity must render “practical and concrete social service”—an indigenous action that met the socialist principles of the newly founded Communist regime—and must internally show real fellowship divested of its bourgeoisie disposition, attitude and outlook (Chao 1949d). In light of the political change in China, he thought that the School of Religion was in a unique position to be “prophetic” under God’s guidance (Chao 1949d). Chao even made a radical supposition in his theological thought: one could be both a Christian and a Communist in China. He recalled seeing a worshipper in Communist uniform kneeling besides him, and this experience filled his heart with gratitude, leading him to understand that the Chinese were “a moderate, reasonable, practical and non-ideological people who did not see the incompatibility between Marxist-Leninist thought and Christian beliefs” (Chao 1949i). Based on Chao’s optimism about the Communist takeover of China, it is not difficult for us to understand why Chao still insisted that the School of Religion should remain at Yenching University at Beiping and opposed any plan to relocate this theological school to other countries, despite facing uncertainties after the change of regime (Huang 1996, p. 78).

Another reason why Chao changed his stance on Communism was because of his pursuit for the indigenisation of Christianity in China. In the eyes of Chao, after 1949, Chinese churches had already become far less affected by foreign countries, as evidenced in the withdrawal of missionaries and foreign funds from China, successfully providing the demanded “self-governance” and “self-support”. The remaining task for Chinese Christians to reform Chinese churches was to study how to put the concept of “self-propagation” into practice (Huang 1996, pp. 87–88). The study of “self-propagation” was what Chao was versed in. This could be the main reason why Chao began to examine how Christianity could be integrated into traditional Chinese culture after 1949, during which Communism was a dominant ideology in China. Tsai Yung-chun, Chao’s student who was invited by Chao to teach at Yenching after graduating from Columbia University in 1949, also aligned with Chao’s thought on “self-propagation”, and had a very positive view on the future of China under Communist rule. Tsai not only assumed that supporting the government’s religious policy would lead to a settlement favourable to the missionary enterprise in the new China, but also believed that the merger between Communism and Chinese culture would make Communism milder than it used to be in the Soviet Union, and especially more tolerant and liberal on religious issues. Tsai also thought that correlating Christianity with Marxism might foster the spread of the gospel, because the people’s knowledge of Christianity could be enhanced at a time when Communism prevailed in China (Huang 1996, p. 79).

The factors mentioned above possibly explain why Chao made an outright statement in early 1950 about the possible reconciliation between Communism and Christianity. According to Chao, Chinese churches were contaminated by many ills imported from the churches in the West. He therefore suggested Chinese churches not only put aside Western cultural inheritance that had nothing to do with Christianity (Chao 1950i, pp. 133–34), but also foster the formation of a socialist theology. Christians could thus face the challenge epitomised by Marxism–Leninism, which was effective and correct from a scientific point of view (Chao 1950c, p. 182). Figure 3 shows Ningde 寧德 Hall—a place where the School of Religion was housed between the 1920s and the early 1950s, and a testing ground that would foster the coexistence between Communism and Christianity in the eyes of Chao.

Apart from being driven by his optimism and ambition, Chao planned to restructure the curriculum at the School of Religion, possibly also because he felt under pressure. In fact, from 1949, the Communist regime had begun to dictate curricular changes at universities by eliminating courses that were not acceptable to the CCP and by assigning many party members or cadres to teach classes (Lutz 1971, p. 455). In a letter to Tsai Yung-chun written in August 1949, Chao illuminated the pressure he felt from the government to teach in accordance with Marxist theory (Xu 1999, p. 142). Chao’s optimism towards Communism, his desire to achieve self-propagation, and the pressure applied on him by the CCP led to his initial support for revisions of the curriculum at Yenching University’s School of Religion. These included changes to the names of different subjects, apparently to avoid giving undue offence (Is Instruction Given in the Schools n.d.),5 and also followed the instructions set by the new educational authorities by adding new courses on Communism. All theological students were required to study ideological courses such as “Principles of the New Democracy”, “Historical and dialectical materialism”, and “History of Social Changes” (Chao 1949g).

Chao also even asked his student Tsai Yung-chun—who accepted Chao’s invitation to teach at the Yenching School of Religion after graduating from Columbia University—to spend a year studying Marxism during his doctoral training at Columbia (Tsai 1950). This request was totally unrelated to Tsai’s thesis on the works of Cheng I 程頤 (1033–1107) and Cheng Hao’s 程顥 (1032–1085) Neo-Confucianism in the Song era (Barbour 2000, p. 16). Tsai subsequently studied Christian social ethics with a Christian Marxist professor named Joe Fletcher (dates unknown). He learnt from Prof. Fletcher about some socialist and Communist concepts concerning doctrinal bases, historical developments, economic institutions, political institutions, and social institutions (Huang 1996, pp. 71–72). Before Tsai’s return to China, Chao asked Tsai to buy books on Marxism and Leninism and critical literature for the School of Religion, and suggested eight different courses that he wanted Tsai to teach, including a course relating to Communism entitled “Dialectical Materialism”, in addition to other courses such as “History of Christian Thought” and “History of Chinese Philosophy” (Tsai 1950; Huang 1996, p. 79).6 The courses Tsai taught focused on the integration of Christianity into contemporary Chinese culture. Tsai wanted to teach students how to understand Marxism–Leninism and Mao Zedong’s 毛澤東 (1893–1976) thoughts from a Christian perspective, and vice versa (Huang 1996, p. 79).

In a fashion similar to what other seminaries in China did after 1949 (Is Instruction Given in the Schools n.d.),7 the School of Religion sent dozens of its teaching staff and students to Southwest and Central China to participate in the Land Reform Movement of the 1950s. Before their departure, Chao gave them a word of advice, asking them to “prioritise service over self-enjoyment” (Fang et al. 1951). While observing how the Land Reform program was carried out by the CCP, professors and students were expected to learn from Maoism, and to reflect on economic inequalities and class struggles as a means of enhancing people’s political awareness and smashing the landlord hierarchy (Yanjing 1951; Fang et al. 1951).

Despite his overt endeavour to integrate Yenching’s School of Religion into the prevailing order, Chao simultaneously offered some divergent portrayals of the incompatibility between Christianity and Communism in his private correspondence with Anglican friends in Hong Kong between 1949 and 1950. While discussing the English translation of his publications with Dean Alaric Rose, Chao stressed that “I can accept Marxism as a whole with only one addition which it lacks—namely a principle of transcendence” (Chao 1950f). Chao was anxious to see the correlations between Christianity and Marxism, and agreed with the idea of ideology and religion as growing out of social, economic, and political experience. But he also said that “what I am anxious to know is the whence of the experience of forgiveness and justification, of the grace of God, and of being made a new man in Christ.” He believed that all these experiences were unlikely to come from “within the natural process” (Chao 1949e). He was also unable to reconcile the idea of continuity upon which science rested with that of the discontinuity that Christianity perceived between life and death, sin and holiness, and man and God. Materialism to him was nothing but neo-naturalism, which, in a scientific sense, Christianity could accept. However, in the sense of pure religion, which emphasised the incarnation and God’s transcendence—a spiritual or practical condition of moving beyond physical needs and realities—Christianity pointed to the supernatural (Chao 1949e). According to Chao, in Christianity, there was a struggle in the transcendental world and a final fulfilment there, and there must be a trans-historical event at the final stage of all things (Chao 1950f). He therefore believed that while mysticism, pantheism (Buddhism and Taoism), naturalism, and immanentism (Confucianism) could be reconciled with Marxism, only Christianity, in its insistence upon a transcendental Lord and upon another world, stood as irreconcilable (Chao 1949e).

Chao further elaborated his argument by mentioning the consequences of the lack of transcendence in Marxism for society in 1950. He told Bishop Hall that he accepted the Communist world in which he lived, including “nearly all that Marx had to teach”. He explained that he only used the phrase “nearly all” due to the fact that he could not come to terms with the lack of transcendence in Marxism—a political philosophy that broke down the “bourgeois idol” and denied a transcendent God, who was considered a violation of scientific truth (The Religious Teaching n.d.; Chao 1949e, 1950d). From Chao’s perspective, the problems that Marxism brought to China were detrimental to an individual’s personality or character development (Chao 1949e, 1950d), and were connected with Chao’s earlier question: whether forgiveness and justice came from natural processes or from God (Chao 1949e).8

Apart from the doctrinal differences between Christianity and Communism, Chao also pointed out how the lack of religious freedom in the PRC caused Christian workers difficulties in marching in tune with the times. Chao’s letter to Tsai Yung-chun in 1950 shows that the situation in new China had been full of contingencies and uncertainties. In an indirect reference to the state’s control over religion, he stated that “the generation in which we live, with its growing schematisation and regimentation”—implying the political influence on university curricula (Lutz 1971, p. 455)—“is one in which a devout religious person cannot feel comfortable” (Chao 1950g). Prior to Tsai Yung-chun’s return to China, Chao worried that people like Tsai who had been in the United States for so many years would find it difficult to live in a world without much freedom. In such a world, where the fundamental values of life were threatened by the change of regime, Chao suggested Tsai be prepared to “find a shocking disillusionment”, but at the same time to try to be himself and not be too anxious in adjusting his theology to the leftist thinking prevalent in the PRC—a country that offered a painful opportunity for creating a future for the Christian faith (Chao 1950g). Moreover, Chao not only advised Tsai to be prepared to find discrepancies between his conjecture and the real China (Chao 1950g), but also emphasised that one must be “on the alert all the time”, to be “utterly faithful to truth and to Christ” (Chao 1950g). Chao’s criticism of the incompatibility between Christianity and Communism and the Dictatorship of the Proletariat via the CCP shows his ongoing, independent, critical theological reflection on the indigenisation of Christianity, which was still his primary interest, even after the change of political regimes.

Chao Tzu-chen did not express his concern about Communism in his publications after 1949. On the contrary, in his 1964 reminiscences, presumably written for the purpose of self-criticism, Chao criticised Yenching University and its School of Religion—the religious institute he once led—for their pro-American stances and for their attempts to introduce a religion that caused infinite harm to the Chinese (Chao 1964, p. 128). More seriously, Chao denounced God’s love as “sentimental”, “hypocritical”, and “inauthentic”, and denied the existence of important elements of central Christian concepts—eternity in Heaven, God’s divine rule, Christ’s kingdom on earth, and salvation through Jesus Christ (Chao 1964, p. 128). Chao also refused to meet his intimate confrère Bishop Ronald Hall, who visited Beijing with his wife in 1956 (Wickeri 2017, p. 20). In his publications, Chao did not mention why he underwent such a drastic change in his faith and his social contacts. But this could be attributed to an array of CCP-led political movements, starting from the 1951 Three Anti-Campaigns (sanfan yundong 三反運動) and the 1952 Five Anti-Campaigns (wufan yundong 五反運動)—political reform movements that aimed to get rid of corruption and the state’s “enemies”: “old” intellectuals, wealthy capitalists, and political opponents of the new regime (Hsü 1999, pp. 658–59). During these movements, Chao suffered a lot because of his alleged political “errors”—being a scholar who collaborated with the American “imperialists” and who was passive towards the Three-Self Patriotic Movement (Tang 2010, pp. 71–75; Wickeri 2017, p. 21). Perhaps what was more tragic was that Chao was reportedly deprived of his pastorship and placed under house arrest because of his insistence on the transcendence of Christian faith beyond anything worldly (Zhongyang ribao 1952). The poor experience Chao had in these political movements might force him to hide his concern about Communism and the CCP’s governance.

4. Restricting Ecumenical Cooperation with Foreign Churches

Apart from the ideological incompatibility between Christianity and Marxism, another aspect that troubled Chao was the upkeep of his friendship with foreign church organisations. There are many examples showing Chao’s nationalist, anti-foreign stance in crisis moments, such as his resignation from the World Council of Churches’ presidency in response to the 1950 Stockholm Peace Appeal and to the council’s condemnation of North Korea as an aggressor in the Korean War (Chao 1951g), as well as his criticism of the Americans’ military “invasion” of the Korean peninsula (Chao 1950b) and their “cultural invasion” of China (Chao 1951a, pp. 2–5). As one of the presidents of the World Council of Churches, Chao refused to write a letter of appreciation and goodwill to Prince Prem Purachatra of Siam (1915–1981)—the editor of Thailand’s English newspaper Standard—for the warm welcome the citizens of Bangkok had extended to the East Asia Christian Conference, which was regarded by some Chinese newspapers as a conference of anti-Communist, “reactionary Christians” (Chao 1949c). Chao tried to be cautious and explained that Christians in China who tried to be faithful to Christ and support the new regime might be easily misunderstood as regarded their attitude towards Communism (Chao 1949c). Chao’s alleged pro-Communist sympathies aroused international criticism and drew the attention of Dr. Willem Adolph Visser’t Hooft (1900–1985), General Secretary of the World Council of Churches, who asked Bishop Ronald Hall in Hong Kong to clarify whether Chao was still a Christ-centric and orthodox theologian in China (Hooft 1949).

Chao’s anti-imperial, nationalist stance can also be seen in his overt opposition against the practice of receiving funds from the West. In his articles published in early 1950, Chao lamented the “pessimism”, “desperation”, and “decadence” of those pastors who received American funds. In contrast with their counterparts who strove for independence from the West, these pastors who relied on foreign funds were just “muddling along”, “like monks randomly chiming a clock” (Chao 1950h, p. 207). He therefore suggested that the best way to run and revive Chinese churches and seminaries was to prevent churches from accepting foreign funds (Chao 1950c, pp. 185–86; 1950h, p. 214). More importantly, he stated that Chinese churches were obliged to participate in the fight against foreign colonial presence in China. If these churches did not oppose imperialism, what they preached could not be Christian (Chao 1950c, pp. 185–86).

Yet, the private correspondence between Chao and the Anglican Church in Hong Kong in the late 1940s and the early 1950s provides us with a different angle for evaluating Chao’s anti-imperial, nationalist stance shown in public. The divergent portrayal of Chao’s thought appeared again in his public versus private expressions, as evidenced in his attempt to raise foreign funds from different parties for the Yenching School of Religion—the successor of Yenching University’s School of Religion, which had officially been separated from the University in February 1951 (Chao 1951h) Prior to the amalgamation of Christian universities with their government-funded counterparts in 1952, the School of Religion, which had sixteen college graduates in December 1949, had already faced financial troubles—possibly an ongoing phenomenon caused by the inflation resulting from the civil war in the late 1940s. Initially, the university could seek government help (Chao 1949g), but the School’s financial condition deteriorated after becoming an independent religious institute. Following the outbreak of the Korean War, the American government froze all funds connected to Chinese organisations in the United States from December 1950. The Yenching School of Religion immediately found itself in a serious financial crisis (Chao 1950e).

To ensure the school’s survival, Chao sought assistance from Chinese churches. The School published a statement at Yenching University’s Christian magazine entitled En You 恩友 (Christian Fellowship Monthly), openly confessing the School’s dependence on American funds since the 1930s. While accepting government funds, the School promised to seek financial support from Chinese churches and to abandon its imperialist ties with the United States (Huang 1996, p. 83). It was the School’s hope that it could become a nationwide, inter-denominational theological institute to train Christian servants—people who loved God, China, and the Chinese public—and to foster the indigenisation of Christianity (Chao 1951h, pp. 2–3). Despite the anonymous nature of the statement, it was likely that Chao had approved its release.

However, around four months before the publication of the School’s statement in April 1951, Chao contradicted his earlier public refusal to accept foreign funds (Chao 1950c, pp. 185–86; 1950h, p. 214). Possibly realising that Chinese theological colleges and churches could not fulfill the demanded “self-support” under Communist rule, Chao privately sought financial assistance from the Anglicans in Hong Kong and Britain (Chao 1951b), a country which fought alongside the Americans against the Communists in the Korean War. The clergymen whom Chao contacted included the Right Reverend Ronald Hall—Bishop of Victoria, Hong Kong and South China—and Reverend David Paton (1913–1992), who served at the Diocese of Fujian and helped Chao secure the support of the Most Reverend Geoffrey Fisher (1887–1972), Archbishop of Canterbury (Paton 1951). In his letter to Bishop Hall, Chao mentioned that the School’s staff and students could not call on the local churches to strive for self-support while the School was happy to live comfortably with support from the Chinese government. They decided to “make an adventure of faith” by securing the Anglicans’ support (Chao 1951b). Chao wondered if the British churches could support the Yenching School of Religion for three to five years, with a request for an annual amount of USD 7000 to 8000. That support would give the School time to stand on its own feet (Chao 1950e, 1951b; Paton 1951).

The Anglican communities in Britain and Hong Kong were happy to offer a helping hand to the Yenching School of Religion. In fact, before Chao sought economic assistance from the Anglicans for the School, in 1948, Bishop Ronald Hall had already made financial contribution via the Episcopal church in New York to Tsai Yung-chun’s doctoral study at Columbia University for Tsai’s preparation for teaching services at Yenching after his graduation (Chao 1948; Huang 1996, p. 65). After receiving Chao’s request in early 1951, the Anglicans continued their support for Yenching. In his letter to Archbishop Geoffrey Fisher, Reverend David Paton emphasised that the churches of the West should do everything in their power to help their Chinese counterparts after the change of regime in China. To Paton, providing funds for the School headed by the two Anglican priests, Chao Tzu-chen and Tsai Yung-chun, who formerly belonged to the church pastored by Ronald Hall, would not only show British churches’ willingness to continue the fellowship with their Chinese counterparts, but also contribute to theological education in China, where young educated Christian Chinese had to meet the intellectual challenges of the times after 1949 (Paton 1951). It was Paton’s hope that the funds given by the older churches of the West could draw the Chinese churches’ leaders to believe in the goodwill of the West and to ignore the CCP’s accusation of “imperialism” (Paton 1951). Possibly being persuaded by Paton’s point of view, the archbishop, despite worrying about Chinese churches’ difficulties in receiving subsidies from abroad, agreed to provide financial support for the theological colleges in China, and asked Bishop Hall to follow up on this matter (Fisher 1951; Hall 1951). In February 1951, Bishop Hall successfully raised money from a theological foundation associated with St. Paul’s College in Hong Kong, and decided to send HKD 1,000 through his Canton treasurer each month to Chao and Tsai (Hall 1951).

However, in the end, Chao was not given permission by the Chinese authorities to accept any foreign funds. Chao refused to accept the funds given by the Anglican communities, and would later return the money sent by Bishop Mo Yung-In 慕容賢 (1893–1966), claiming that the fund was not from Chinese sources. He explained that he and his colleagues felt that Christianity in China must “bear its own burden and create its own life through faith in Christ who lived righteously, suffered on the cross, and is now the Lord of our hearts and minds” (Chao 1951d). One month later, Chao, who hoped to raise about RMB 15,000,000 for the year between 1951 and 1952, reframed his request to Bishop Hall by seeking financial support from Hong Kong Chinese Christians, who could be classified as overseas Chinese and from whom the Chinese government might accept donations to mainland China. To raise funds in Hong Kong, Chao asked Bishop Hall to secure him permission to enter Hong Kong (Chao 1951c), but he postponed his trip because he was still waiting for the Chinese government’s authorisation for his visit (Chao 1951f). The Chinese congregation in Hong Kong subsequently raised RMB 10,000,000, in two instalments, for the Yenching School of Religion (Chao 1951e). But Chao declined to accept the money again, claiming that as a patriotic Christian institution, the School could not receive this sum of money, which was of “dubious background” (Chao 1951e). In November 1951, Chao finally returned all the money to the Chinese churches in Hong Kong and asked them not to remit money to him again (Chao 1951e).

Chao’s sudden withdrawal from raising funds in Hong Kong might well have been motivated by the same concern expressed by Archbishop Geoffrey Fisher—that the church in China might think it to be politically dangerous to receive money from Britain, and it would be impossible for any registered religious body to receive subsidies from abroad (Fisher 1951). In Chao’s reminiscences, nothing is mentioned about his efforts to seek financial assistance from the Anglicans in Hong Kong and Britain, except recalling how hard it was to raise funds from local Chinese churches (Chao 1964, pp. 125–26).

More clues are needed before I can comment on whether Chao’s fundraising campaign aimed at the Anglicans was an act of heroic resistance or a suicide mission. Evidence does not show whether Chao understood the painful consequences of seeking foreign funds, but what Chao did was possibly a miscalculation, derived from his optimism towards the friendly relationship between Bishop Hall and the Communists. It could be inferred that Chao considered Hall—an Anglican Bishop who was sympathetic to China’s Communist movement and believed the gospel would flourish under Communist rule (Huang 1996, p. 73; Chan-Yeung 2015, p. 101)—to be a figure to whom the CCP was well inclined. In fact, Bishop Hall, who in the 1940s began to think that the Chinese people might enjoy a better life under Communist rule, had become acquainted with CCP members such as Gong Peng 龔澎 (1914–1970), later an official of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the PRC, and Zhou Enlai 周恩來 (1898–1976), the later Premier of the PRC, through various relief and humanitarian works in which he engaged from the 1930s (Chan-Yeung 2015, pp. 101–2, 135–42). During China’s war of resistance against Japan, Hall served as the President of the International Committee for the Promotion of Chinese Industrial Cooperatives—a position that enabled him to raise funds and allocate money to the CCP’s Eighth Route Army for their wartime service (Li 2023). In response to Hall’s generous help, Mao Zedong even wrote a letter to express his appreciation to Hall in 1939. Despite the antagonism between the PRC and the West during the Cold War, Hall and his wife were still invited by Zhou Enlai to visit Beijing in 1956, during which time Zhou treated them to dinner (Chan-Yeung 2015, pp. 135–37; Li 2023).

It was therefore perhaps due to the amicable relationship between Ronald Hall and the CCP that Chao Tzu-chen felt safe to seek financial assistance from Hall, his intimate friend and the senior clergy member who ordained him as Anglican priest in 1941. Unfortunately, in the 1950s, Chao’s friendship with and affection for Bishop Hall was seen as collusion with “the imperialists” to destroy the Three-Self Patriotic movement, and as a result Chao was subjected to many struggle sessions and denunciation rallies (Huang 1996, pp. 87–91), violent public spectacles in Maoist China where people were publicly humiliated, accused, beaten and tortured. Although the CCP finally disapproved the transfer of foreign funds from the Hong Kong Anglican church to the Yenching School of Religion, Chao’s attempt to secure foreign funds for his seminary-building project after 1949 demonstrates how he continued his efforts to advance ecumenical cooperation with other missionary organisations, irrespective of their nationalities.

5. Conclusions

This article argues that Chao Tzu-chen’s self-contradictions in his public versus private expressions after 1949 signify his disillusionment with fostering the convergence between Christianity and Communism, as well as church–state relations. Chao, who tried to adapt to the new political status quo, adhered to many of his existing theological stances, particularly his pursuit of the indigenisation of Christianity for the self-propagation of Chinese churches. Believing the Communist victory to be a sign of God’s judgement, Chao also tried to incorporate his practical theology into the Communist utopian world. This attempt not only served as an example of “making sense of the Christian message in local circumstances” (Schreiter 1985, p. 2), but also showed how the indigenous Christians selected some elements that they felt suited their needs (Kaplan 1995, p. 3). Nevertheless, his subsequent reflections on the essence of Communism and the termination of foreign funds to the Yenching School of Religion after 1949 led him to re-evaluate the feasibility of the convergence between Communism and Christianity. Chao’s favourable impression of the Communists in the late 1949s and the early 1950s did not prevent him from thinking critically in his theological reflections, or from promoting ecumenical cooperation with foreign Christian organisations. First, despite his emphasis on the need of Chinese churches and theologians to be involved in the construction of a socialist theology, in his private correspondence, Chao also highlighted the incompatibility between Christianity and Marxism, largely because of the transcendence of God. Second, Chao, who realised that Chinese churches and seminaries could not fulfill the demanded “self-support” under Communist rule, sought financial assistance from Anglican churches overseas for the Yenching School of Religion, while opposing Christian organisations’ acceptance of foreign funds and stressing the School’s increasing reliance on Chinese churches and the government in its path to become a self-supporting seminary. Chao’s hope to reconcile Christianity with Communism was finally crushed as he, possibly under political pressure, overtly denounced his faith in his 1964 reminiscences (Chao 1964, p. 128).

Apart from qualifying some politically motivated arguments concerning their praise or condemnation of Chao’s staunch allegiance to the PRC and of his extreme anti-imperial stance (Tang 2010, pp. 84–85; Zhongguo 1952, pp. 7–8), this article also confirms Winfried Glüer’s and Ying Fuk-tsang’s conclusions regarding Chao’s view of the incompatibility between historical materialism and God’s surpassing presence through history (Glüer 1998, p. 295), and his religious vision for Christianity’s role in rectifying the deficiencies of the PRC (Ying 2003, p. 219). More importantly, this article supplements Philip Wickeri’s finding regarding Chao’s perspective as to why Christianity could not be reconciled with Marxism (Wickeri 2017, pp. 19–20). It further pushes his argument forward: the lack of transcendence in Marxism and the CCP’s increasing control over religious freedom also dealt a blow to the convergence between Christianity and Communism.

Moreover, this article provides further insight into the important role that the Hong Kong Anglican church played in Chao Tzu-chen’s seminary-building project following the merger of Yenching University with government-funded universities. It shows that the Communist takeover of China did not deal a blow to the friendship between Chao and the Anglican communities in the early years after the founding of the PRC. It was some senior clergies’ hope that the funds provided by the Anglicans for the functioning of Yenching School of Religion could persuade Chinese Christian leaders to recognise the goodwill of Western churches, which showed their empathy and concern for the sufferings and uncertainties faced by their Chinese counterparts in turbulent times. Although their efforts were in vain because of the Chinese government’s objection, the fellowship between Chao and his Anglican friends was unquestioned. This article supplements Xu Yihua’s argument regarding the Yenching School of Religion’s belated “relegation” to seeking financial support from churches in China after 1949. Foreign funds were still considered by Chao as one of the important sources of income required to foster theological education in the PRC, based on the long-standing friendship forged between Chao and the Anglican communities.

Another premise that this article offers in the field of Christian higher education after 1949 is the radical remolding of Yenching University’s School of Religion and its successor organisation. While resonating with some scholars’ research on how the rise of Communism in China put an end to Yenching University (West 1976, p. 246; Lutz 1971, pp. 473–84; Edwards 1959, pp. 340–43), this article also shows that the School of Religion at Yenching University—a liberal Christian institute—was swiftly converted into a government-controlled, socialist theological school, which served both God and the Party. Such a development compelled this institute to break away from many long-held principles of Christianity. My findings expand on Sigrid Schmalzer’s argument that from the early PRC, many Christians, akin to the Soviet experience (Schmalzer 2007, pp. 253–55), were compelled to be loyal to the Party State and God. The CCP’s inclusion of Christians in its remolding project echoes Douglas Stiffler’s conclusion that in the process of establishing the Renmin (People’s) University of China 中國人民大學 in Beijing in 1950, the CCP enlarged its recruitment campaign by extending its welcome to young intellectuals—including Christians (Stiffler 2007, pp. 302–8). Lastly, the remolding of Yenching University’s School of Religion and its successor also served as examples of the CCP’s removal of Chinese universities’ corporate identities—an idea of higher education’s autonomy—which represented “a stop on the path to the formation of a Chinese civil society”, in the words of Ruth Hayhoe and Zhong Ningsha (Hayhoe and Zhong 1997, pp. 121–23).

This article ends with an epilogue on Chao Tzu-chen after 1951. The increasingly fervid political movement in the 1950s neither allowed Chao to express his concern about Communism nor enabled him to raise funds from the Christian leaders and congregations with whom he was acquainted. He was also removed from his clerical and teaching positions, and was alienated by others who did not want to be identified with him. This meant Chao was deprived of academic, religious, and also personal freedom, and finally not only became “a casualty of liberation”, in the words of Philip Wickeri (Wickeri 2017, pp. 22–24), but also like “a bird caged in a Communist pavilion”, as this article illuminates. According to Winfried Glüer, the political turmoil in which Chao suffered forced him to experience a long period of isolation, during which he claimed to have moved away from his Christian faith. It was not until Chao’s rehabilitation after the end of the Cultural Revolution that he restarted his search for truth—such as transcendence, the universal order, and God—as evident in the letters he wrote in the last stages of his life (Glüer 2012, p. 196). Glüer’s finding on the final years of Chao strikes the same note as the argument of this article, which highlights how Chao was faithful to his theological principles and his faith in the early years after the establishment of the PRC. Although Chao was rehabilitated by the government authorities and regained his honour a few months prior to his death in November 1979 (Wickeri 2017, pp. 22–24), such a remedy for unreasonable accusations and punishments was barely sufficient, and long overdue.