Elite Schooling and Social Inequality:

Privilege and Power in Ireland's Top

Private Schools 1st Edition Aline
Courtois (Auth.)
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/elite-schooling-and-social-inequality-privilege-and-po
wer-in-irelands-top-private-schools-1st-edition-aline-courtois-auth/
Elite Schooling and Social
Inequality
 Aline Courtois

Elite Schooling
and Social Inequality
Privilege and Power in Ireland’s
Top Private Schools
Aline Courtois
University College London
London, United Kingdom

ISBN 978-1-137-52276-4 ISBN 978-1-137-52277-1 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1057/978-1-137-52277-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941196

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2018

The author(s) has/have asserted their right(s) to be identified as the author(s) of this work in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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, express 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 institu-
tional affiliations.

Cover image © Hemis / Alamy Stock Photo

Printed on acid-free paper

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

The registered company is Macmillan Publishers Ltd.
The registered company address is: The Campus, 4 Crinan Street, London, N1 9XW, United
Kingdom
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book has developed out of my doctoral research, conducted under

the guidance of Anne-Catherine Wagner, Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, and
Kieran Allen, University College Dublin, who were both extremely
helpful.
In the four years that have elapsed since I completed my thesis, my
research and thinking about elite education and its implications have been
considerably enriched through conversations with other scholars, in parti-
cular Anne-Catherine Wagner, Ciaran O’Neill, Claire Maxwell and the
other members of the Paris 1-Uppsala Social Sciences Research Network
on elite education.
I am also grateful to Pat Clancy, Ken Fennelly, Kathleen Lynch,
Monique Pinçon-Charlot, Michel Pinçon and Monique de Saint-Martin
for their expertise and useful advice.
I would also like to thank Francis Green, William Hederman, Mark
Lennox, Kathleen Lynch, Niamh O’Reilly, Sinead Pembroke, Amanda
Slevin, and especially Anne-Catherine Wagner, for reading parts of my
work at various stages and giving me valuable feedback and comments.
I am particularly grateful to Tony Cunningham and Theresa O’Keefe
for taking the time to read the full manuscript and to share their
valuable insights. I am also very grateful to them, as well as to Mark
Lennox, for their support and for keeping me motivated through the
process.
Funding from the Irish Research Council and the National University
of Ireland is gratefully acknowledged.

v
vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to include a special note for my gatekeeper, W., without

whom the most interesting sections of this book would not have existed.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge the assistance I received from the
staff in the schools that I visited, as well as all my interviewees for their
time and their interest in this project.
 CONTENTS

1 Introduction 1

2 The Making of Irish Elite Schools 27

3 Which Fee-Paying Schools are Elite Schools? 47

4 Elite Schools: A World Apart 69

5 The Selection of Elite Students 95

6 The Construction of a Collective Identity 125

7 The Multiple Facets of Excellence 157

8 Conclusion 191

Bibliography 205

Index 221

vii
 LIST OF TABLES

Table 3.1 Type of school attended by individuals in the Who’s Who 60

Table 3.2 Number of entries by elite category and by type of school
attended 61
Table 3.3 Intersection of groups A, B and C 63
Table 3.4 Characteristics of schools in each group 64

ix
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

This book explores the hidden world of elite schooling in Ireland. It

examines how, largely out of sight, a handful of schools protect class
privilege and train those who will shape Irish society. It is a sociological
study of elite education. At a time when wealth inequality has reached
critical levels, studies of elite education can help understand how elites
maintain their hold on wealth and power and how they shape social
inequality. They can also shed light on the myth of meritocracy and help
us understand the pervasiveness of social violence in our societies. The
Irish case is interesting in its own right. Despite the high profile of many of
their past pupils, elite schools in Ireland have remained largely under the
radar. Their responsibility in blocking social mobility has been largely
overlooked and successive governments have treated the matter as incon-
sequential, allowing the narrative of a meritocratic, classless society to
prevail.
Does this narrative hold up to scrutiny? Are there no elites in Ireland,
and no institutions facilitating their social reproduction? Is the impact of
selective private schools on Irish society as insignificant as the scant atten-
tion paid to them seems to suggest? Is the use of the term ‘elite schools’
even appropriate in the Irish case? This introductory chapter addresses
these questions and makes the case for a sociological examination of elite
schooling in Ireland. To begin, it clarifies what and who we mean by
‘elites’ in the Irish context. It then examines the impact of elite schooling
on social inequality as documented in other parts of the world. Next it

© The Author(s) 2018 1

A. Courtois, Elite Schooling and Social Inequality,
https://doi.org/10.1057/978-1-137-52277-1_1
2 1 INTRODUCTION

outlines the specific configuration of the private education sector and

introduces some of the schools, which will be central characters in the
book. The final sections explain the methodology used in this research,
tackle the thorny issue of anonymity and lay out the structure of the book.

1 ELITES IN IRELAND?
The core argument of the book is that a small number of schools con-
tribute to the reproduction of social inequality in Ireland; and that they do
so by protecting and amplifying the privilege of a specific segment of Irish
society. This segment is referred to as the ‘elites’, and at different points in
the book I argue that it behaves as a distinct and mobilized social class.
This makes it necessary to clarify some of the inevitable conceptual issues
around elites and class, which are further complicated by the complex
nature of class relations and class formation in Ireland.

1.1 Ireland’s Old and New Aristocracies of Wealth

The notions of inherited privilege, and more broadly those of class and
elites, are at odds with the national narrative and are rarely part of national
conversations. Class relations are less immediately discernible than in the
neighboring UK. For instance, Ireland is believed not to have an upper
class. Indeed, Ireland is a former British colony: its upper class was a
colonial elite, which was overthrown in the wake of Irish Independence
(1921). The industrialization of Ireland happened at a relatively late stage
and was only partial, which hindered the formation of a capitalist class
rooted in industry. The opening to foreign capital in the 1950s then
forced a significant reorganization of the emerging local bourgeoisie. As
a result, Ireland does not have a significant upper class descending from
landed aristocrats and early corporate barons. Upon closer examination,
however, heirs of the colonial elite still controlled large sectors of the Irish
economy well into the 1950s (Kelleher, 1987), and today several of their
descendants feature on The Irish ‘Rich List’ – most prominently the
landowning Lord of Iveagh. Perhaps more importantly, Ireland has its
own indigenous dynasties of wealth: political families, industrial and retail
empires (Dunnes’ Stores, Barry’s Teas, Brennan’s Bakery, Musgrave
Wholesales and, most famously, the Guinness dynasty), landlords owning
hundreds of properties for generations, and so on: the longevity of inher-
ited wealth is as much a reality in Ireland as it is anywhere else.
 1 ELITES IN IRELAND? 3

McCabe (2011) argues that rather than having a capitalist class in the
conventional Marxist sense, Ireland has been dominated by a class of
‘middlemen’, consisting of stockbrokers, bankers, builders, lawyers or
accountants, positioned between foreign capital and the resources of the
Irish state. Finance and property, rather than land and industry, have been
key to their prosperity and influence. This was particularly visible in the
1990s and 2000s (the ‘Celtic Tiger’ years), as ‘light-touch’ regulation and
ad hoc tax breaks opened a space for the spectacular rise of new fortunes
rooted in finance and property. Ireland, the poor man of Europe for a long
time, soon became a poster child for neoliberalism, boasting one of the
most globalized economies in the world, as well as bearing a striking
pattern of accelerated wealth concentration.
In 2007, the magazine Wealth: Creating, Investing, Spending was
launched in Ireland. ‘Tailored to an Irish high net-worth audience’, the
part-lifestyle, part-wealth management magazine offered advice on pur-
chasing fine art, vineyards, yachts, helicopters and even ‘the ultimate status
symbol: your own private island’. It included interviews with Ireland’s
wealthiest individuals and promised to keep readers up-to-date with the
CLEWI (Cost of Living Extremely Well Index), modelled on the cost-of-
living index but based instead on ‘a basket of luxury essentials’, including
Gucci shoes, a Rolls Royce and a yacht. At the time, Ireland counted six
billionaires and 30,000 millionaires for a population of 4.5 million
(O’Sullivan, 2007). The housing market was at its peak, propelling inves-
tors to the dizzying heights of the annual Sunday Times Rich List, along-
side music and media celebrities, financiers, industrialists and heirs to
retailing empires. Meanwhile, aided by the profitability of the financial
and property sectors, the high wages in the top ranks of the professions,
civil service, media and business, and by a favorable tax regime, a section of
the middle class became increasingly wealthy. This reinforced, rather than
challenged, the national narrative of a meritocratic society with no fixed
class structure – even though social mobility remained limited throughout
the period and a substantial section of the population continued to live in
poverty (Causa and Johansson, 2009).
The credit crunch of 2007 and the burst of the property bubble
triggered a severe economic crisis, which deepened the wealth divide.
Under the successive austerity budgets, wages, social welfare benefits
and public expenditure were reduced; unemployment, indebtedness,
homelessness and mass emigration reached a new peak. The crisis first
affected the financial, construction and property sectors, and thus
4 1 INTRODUCTION

dislodged some of the new fortunes from the apex of the rich list. The
total income of those declaring earnings over €275,000 fell by nearly 40
percent between 2007 and 2011 (FitzGerald, 2014), yet the share of
national wealth owned by the top one percent of the population remained
stable throughout the 2000–2014 period at about 27 percent; and
between 2007 and 2014, the number of Irish millionaires more than
quadrupled (Shorrocks, Davi and Lluberas, 2014, p. 125, p. 111). The
process of wealth concentration at the apex of the social pyramid remained
unabated as the state continued to protect the beneficiaries of financial
capitalism (McCabe, 2011).
We may at this stage have formed an idea of who the Irish elites might
be: financiers, property investors, heirs to industrial fortunes, landowners,
and so forth. What else, beyond wealth and conspicuous consumption,
might bring this rather ‘mixed bag’ together? Is it closed to outsiders or
relatively open? Do elites have a common culture and common interests?
Are they just a collection of disconnected individuals occupying specific
positions or do they constitute an ‘active social group’ (Scott, 1991, p. 2)?
In other words, do they form a cohesive group able to recognize and
defend their own interests? These are important questions, which have
historically structured debates in the field of the sociology of elites.

1.2 Are the Irish Elites a Class?

There are different theories of class, elites and power, which are sometimes
framed as competing with each other, but their explanatory power can be
amplified by blending them together, because mechanisms of domination
are complex and require several concepts and theoretical viewpoints to be
better understood (Shore, 2002). Class theory and power elite theory are
particularly useful. Thus, we may consider that the small group we might
call the ‘power elite’ overlaps with the broader capitalist or social upper
class, because the former is largely recruited from - and acts in - the interest
of the latter (Scott, 1991; Useem, 1984; Sklair, 2001; Domhoff, 2006).
With respect to the broader capitalist class or social upper class,
Bourdieu’s concept of ‘dominant classes’ is useful, as it does not posit
ethnic or cultural homogeneity and keeps the focus on the relational
nature of domination. Dominant classes or groups are not superior: they
owe their position to the marginalization and subjugation of others rather
than to their own intrinsic qualities. The term ‘elites’ is used with the same
intention by many researchers working with Bourdieu’s concepts.
 1 ELITES IN IRELAND? 5

McCabe’s disproportionately influential ‘middlemen’ or ‘comprador class’

could be located in this broader group, with some effectively active within
the power elite. Professionals enjoy a particular status in Ireland; while
they would be characterized as middle class, some achieve very high levels
of remuneration and it is not uncommon for accountants, business con-
sultants, barristers and surgeons to invest in property developments and/
or secure positions in corporations or government. We can therefore
hypothesize that access to the ‘power elite’ in Ireland is conditioned
primarily by economic capital and social capital, facilitated by inherited
wealth and positions; and that a broader group designated in Ireland as the
upper-middle class is the pool from which the ‘power elite’ is recruited.
Further work is required to identify the Irish ‘power elite’ more pre-
cisely, but for the time being we can accept that corporate interests are
dominant and more relevant to class production and relations than, say,
the opinions of the still influential Catholic clergy. We can also assume that
elite networks are tighter in a country the size of Ireland. Very high levels
of interlocked directorships and frequent crossovers between the public
and private sectors (Clancy et al., 2010) suggest that the corporate/policy
elite is highly cohesive and organized. Its ability to mobilize and influence
state policy has been well documented by Allen and O’Boyle (2013) and
McCabe (2011), among others, with additional insights from non-aca-
demic works examining the close-knit world of banking (Ross, 2009) or
construction (McDonald and Sheridan, 2008) and their influence on
policy-making.
In terms of a common, exclusive culture, it is worth noting that a
section of the new (or not so new) elite adopted the cultural repertoire
of the former Anglo-Irish ruling class, as shown by their taste for castles,
horses, nobility titles (Sir Michael Smurfit, Sir Anthony O’Reilly, Sir Bob
Geldof), private members’ clubs, boarding schools in Ireland or in the
UK, fine art collections, philanthropy and even fox hunting – all of which
are associated with wealth and are reminiscent of the social and cultural
exemplars set by the colonial elite. The level of integration of this new
aristocracy of wealth to older wealth is not known precisely; yet by adopt-
ing such consumption patterns and exclusive social spaces, some of the
‘new rich’ have in effect become a separate social group. Conspicuous or
discreet havens for the wealthy dot the landscapes of Ireland’s countryside
and cities: the K-Club resort, where holiday homes can only be purchased
by carefully selected candidates, is but one example of the many mechan-
isms of social, symbolic and spatial separation sought by members of this
6 1 INTRODUCTION

group. As far as Ryanair’s multimillionaire CEO Michael O’Leary is con-

cerned, his conspicuous ‘down-to-earth’ demeanor must not obscure the
fact that through his relentless attacks on trade unions, workers’ rights and
social welfare, he is also actively defending class privileges, making visible
the interests he shares with other factions of the Irish elites.
Do the Irish elites constitute a class in and for itself, conscious of shared
interests and mobilized to defend them? The question remains open. But
education plays a part in class formation, and by examining elite schools,
the book will provide some insights into how these institutions lead
children from a cross-section of upper-middle class backgrounds to view
themselves as a separate, cohesive and superior social group.

2 SCHOOLING AND INEQUALITY

2.1 The Role of Education in Social Reproduction
Social scientists speak of social reproduction to describe the transfer of
social positions from one generation to the next. While education systems
are expected to equalize life chances by providing equality of opportunity
and redressing disadvantage, in practice, outcomes still differ widely in a
way that correlates to parents’ educational achievement and social class.
Some sociologists have argued that education alone cannot minimize the
impact of class position on educational outcomes: without equality of
condition, equality of outcome is impossible (Lynch, 2001, pp. 398–
399). Others argue that education systems not only fail to rectify inequal-
ity, but in fact reproduce and even amplify it. Bourdieu and Passeron
examined how schools favor children from privileged backgrounds
(Bourdieu, 1984, 1996; Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977, 1979).
Individuals and groups present different levels and forms of cultural capital.
Cultural capital manifests itself through educational qualifications and
cultural possessions; it also encompasses incorporated dispositions fostered
by family socialization, such as knowledge, tastes, habits, ways of speaking
and so forth. Cultural capital is a source of symbolic capital, signaling social
excellence and thus legitimating dominant positions. Its relative value
varies across time and space and it may compete with economic capital;
but as a social relation, it remains a significant principle of legitimation,
underpinning the domination of some and the marginalization of others
(Serre and Wagner, 2015; Stich and Coylar, 2015). The way schools assess
students’ performance, motivation and behavior is supposedly objective
 2 SCHOOLING AND INEQUALITY 7

and class-blind. However, the cultural capital acquired in middle-class

families is highly compatible with the culture and values upheld by schools.
It is often interpreted as intellectual superiority and consecrated through
high grades and, ultimately, educational credentials. The belief that educa-
tional institutions are neutral gives even more symbolic power to their
judgments and legitimizes the social violence inflicted on working-class
pupils. On the surface, credentials signal merit and intelligence, while in
fact, their acquisition is largely conditioned by social class properties.
Schooling naturalizes and amplifies social class differences through a
class-based distribution of supposedly neutral educational judgments and
titles, thus facilitating the reproduction of social inequality.
While these mechanisms operate below the surface, education systems
are also unequal in more visible ways. With each higher level of educa-
tional achievement comes a higher status and chances of higher earnings in
adult life. To these vertical status distinctions can be added horizontal
status hierarchies. With the expansion of access to education, subtle and
less subtle status hierarchies have developed, generally favoring older,
more expensive and selective institutions, as well as certain disciplines
over others (Croxford and Raffe, 2013). A degree from Harvard or
Oxford is almost certainly more prestigious and beneficial to its holder
than a similar degree acquired in a more obscure college. Families with
higher levels of economic, social and cultural capital are better able to
navigate such status hierarchies. This is exacerbated in situations where
education systems have adopted market principles, allowing the wealthier
to purchase educational advantage through private education, often from
the earliest stages of schooling (Ball, 2003; Dronkers, Felouzi and van
Zanten, 2010). Elite schools are often located in the private sector, at the
higher end of the education market.

2.2 Elite Schooling

A field of study dominated by seminal works by Wakeford in the UK
(1969), Cookson and Persell in the US (1985) or Bourdieu in France
(1996) has been revitalized and expanded with influential ethnographic
monographs, in particular those by Chase (2008), Gaztambide-Fernández
(2009a), Howard (2008), Karabel (2005) and Khan (2011), as well as
numerous edited works.1 This body of research now incorporates studies
of elite schooling in countries as geographically, politically and economic-
ally diverse as Argentina, Singapore, Barbados, Bulgaria, China, Nigeria,
8 1 INTRODUCTION

South Africa, Sweden and many more.2 Even in countries believed to have
relatively egalitarian education systems, researchers are now charting new
maps of educational inequality focused on emerging (or established but
long ignored) elite institutions (Börjesson et al., 2016 on Sweden; Deppe
and Krüger, 2016 on Germany), suggesting this is indeed a world-wide
phenomenon.
While elite schools share common features across borders, there is
no fixed, universal model of elite education (Kenway and Koh, 2015),
and comparative studies have uncovered significant variations. As
already mentioned, the relative value of different forms of capital may
vary from one field to another, from one national context to another,
and over time. Elite schools need to provide the form of capital most
relevant to the field they operate in. For instance, they may successfully
adapt to a changing structure of power, becoming more modern,
academic or international – whichever is required or desirable – and
thus maintain their legitimacy (Cookson and Persell, 2010), or instead
lose ground to new contenders in the market and vanish into (relative)
insignificance (Rivzi, 2014). Earlier works suggested that guaranteeing
social and cultural homogeneity was central to the mission of elite
schools; Bourdieu in particular spoke of ‘social paradises’ to describe
these socially harmonious environments. Contemporary literature on
elite schools in Anglo-Saxon countries – on which we will focus for the
time being, due to the influence of the British model of elite education
across these countries, of which Ireland is one – suggests that elite
schools have broadened their recruitment as meritocracy has gradually
replaced inherited privilege as a principle of legitimation (Cookson and
Persell, 2010; Khan, 2011; Weis and Cipollone, 2013). However,
while they may operate scholarships, they tend to remain expensive
institutions, located in privileged areas affordable only to a minority.
Their fees have increased much faster than inflation over time, meaning
that the economic barrier to entry has risen rather than been lowered.
In addition, scholarships legitimate rather than challenge the exclu-
sionary practices at the heart of elite schooling. When they are
recruited, atypical students are marginalized or expected to conform:
elite identities remain strongly raced, classed and gendered in elite
schools (Chase, 2008; Gaztambide-Fernández and DiAquoi, 2010),
which perhaps reflects the enduring centrality of white, upper-class
(and golf-playing) masculinity in apparently ‘diverse’ elite circles
(Zweigenhaft and Domhoff, 2006). Importantly, due to the intricacies
 2 SCHOOLING AND INEQUALITY 9

of social class and academic performance, ‘meritocracy’ still rewards the

privileged (Kenway and Koh, 2015).
Elite schools have also adapted to the changing and unchanging
demands of the elite job market. Elite education offers tangible benefits,
such as privileged learning conditions (better facilities, smaller classes and
higher expectations), but is also key to the constitution of social networks
and admission to the most coveted higher education institutions (Dunne,
King and Ahrens, 2013; Khan, 2010; Zimdar, 2010). In turn, these elite
colleges bestow prestigious credentials, normalize a sense of superiority
and ‘funnel’ their graduates toward elite professions (Binder, Davis and
Bloom, 2015). Academic credentials are now more important than ever
and elite schools have raised their game accordingly. But they provide
more: in times where high-earning positions are becoming scarce, there is
a fear among the middle classes that credentials may not be enough
(Brown, 2013; Tomlinson, 2008). Work experience (in particular intern-
ships in prestigious organizations), volunteering and international travel
are now integral components of the elite educational experience, in addi-
tion to the traditional team sports and extra-curricular activities. Thus
despite signs of opening and change, elite schools continue to play an
active role in the social reproduction of the most privileged. In fact, the
‘private school premium’ (in terms of earnings in later life) has increased in
recent decades in the UK: the impact of elite schools on social inequality is
now more significant than it was in the 1980s (Green et al., 2012).
Statistical analyses, such as the one just mentioned, are extremely valu-
able, as they objectivize the most salient aspects of privilege. But the
necessary data is not always accessible (it is not in Ireland); and even
when it is, figures may only tell part of the story. To complement existing
quantitative studies, several scholars have examined the ‘character’ of elite
schools, the culture they promote and how their students internalize elite
status. Excellence is multifaceted and elite schools often boast that they
provide a ‘total education’, shaping students intellectually, socially,
morally, physically and spiritually. They instill a sense of social and intel-
lectual superiority in their students, building their self-confidence, sense of
entitlement and ‘assured optimism’ (Bourdieu, 1996; Howard, 2008;
Maxwell and Aggleton, 2013; Forbes and Lingard, 2015). When discon-
nected from social class and type of school attended, the cultivation of self-
confidence and expectations may not affect career outcomes significantly
(Green et al., 2015), but they contribute to the sense elite students have
that they deserve their positions and that social hierarchies are fair (Khan,
10 1 INTRODUCTION

2011, p. 196). For all these reasons, the impact of elite schools on society
is considerable. The culture of elite schools, as well as the dynamics at play
within the field of elite schooling, can shed light on the mechanisms of
domination that shape social inequality in a given national context – for
these are neither fixed nor universal. This is particularly relevant in the case
of Ireland, where social science has not given elites the attention they
deserve.

3 EXAMINING ELITE EDUCATION IN IRELAND

3.1 The Irish Education ‘Market’

The Irish second-level school system largely owes its existence to private
initiatives led by religious orders and congregations, often motivated by
local demand rather than following requests from the state. Unlike coun-
tries where education systems have recently embarked on processes of
privatization (and unlike the situation at third level in Ireland), the Irish
post-primary system was originally essentially private, with the state get-
ting involved at a later stage. Today these state-subsidized, privately
owned and privately run schools (called secondary schools and distinct
from state-run community or comprehensive schools) cater for slightly
over half of the school-going population. Another distinguishing feature
of the Irish education system is that the vast majority of primary and post-
primary schools, private or not, are denominational: mostly Catholic,
sometimes Protestant, occasionally Jewish or affiliated to the ‘School of
Philosophy’, with a handful of multi-denominational institutions. In addi-
tion, one third of post-primary schools are single sex, a higher proportion
than is the norm internationally.
Access to secondary education became free in 1967, relatively late by
European standards. With the ‘Free Education Scheme’, the state offered
to pay students’ fees directly to schools. A handful of schools chose to
remain outside the scheme and to continue charging fees. Therefore,
while all secondary schools are technically private, only a minority charge
fees, which is why the term ‘fee-paying schools’ is used here to avoid
confusion with the wider private sector, most of which is accessible at no
cost. Unlike the situation in the UK for instance, fee-paying schools are
not independent institutions: they receive significant subsidies from the
state in the form of teachers’ salaries and various grants. Yet, and also
unlike the British situation, they are not required to demonstrate that they
 3 EXAMINING ELITE EDUCATION IN IRELAND 11

provide ‘public benefit’ (Davies et al., 2010) and are not expected to
operate scholarships – although in practice, some do. They are held by
rules applying to the rest of the sector in terms of inspections, curriculum
and admission policies, which, as we will see, leave these schools consider-
able latitude. As opposed to the French situation, where the structure of
funding is not dissimilar but where private institutions charge relatively
modest fees, several Irish fee-paying schools charge fees unaffordable to
the vast majority of the population.
The legitimacy of the private and private for-profit sectors and that of
the ‘right to choose’ are strong features of the Irish education system.
Today, between the schools that opted out of the scheme in 1967, those
who came into existence at a later stage and minus a small number that
joined the Free Education Scheme in recent years, there are 53 fee-paying
secondary schools out of a total of over 732 post-primary schools.3
Together, these schools cater for 6.7 percent of the school-going popula-
tion. There is also a growing independent (non-state-subsidized) for-
profit sector, characterized by institutions offering additional tuition
(‘grind schools’), as well as full-time education, thus competing directly
with the state-funded sector and extending the landscape of the education
market. Independent institutions exist at primary and higher levels as well.
At primary level, there are over 40 independent schools, often acting as
feeder schools for the post-primary fee-paying sector. These receive no
state subsidies, and with annual fees in the €5,000–10,000 range, they
represent a significant financial investment.
Parents’ right to choose public, private, independent or home educa-
tion for their children is enshrined in the Irish Constitution and the state is
not supposed to interfere with parents’ decisions in this respect. Unlike
other jurisdictions, Ireland does not have a centralized system by which
school places are allocated on the basis of catchment areas. For their part,
schools are allowed to establish lists of priority criteria and to select their
pupils accordingly. Schools may, for instance, give priority to a given
religious denomination, siblings of already enrolled pupils, children of
past pupils and/or children from their feeder schools. Some schools, in
particular in the fee-paying sector, are more in demand than others and
may therefore allocate a substantial proportion of places to children of past
pupils, to the detriment of others. This is legal and legitimate as long as the
admission criteria are openly available and not blatantly discriminatory,
namely not based on ethnicity or academic ability. Thus, in Ireland,
schools are advised not to select pupils on academic grounds, which jars
12 1 INTRODUCTION

with trends observable in other jurisdictions, where ‘meritocratic’ selec-

tion is considered fairer than selection based on kinship ties. There are
some talks about limiting the number of places reserved for past pupils’
children and challenging the right of schools to select pupils on the basis
of religion, but at the time of writing, given the mobilization of the
Catholic Church, of fee-paying schools and their past pupils, it seems
reasonable not to expect any meaningful change to the current legislation.
As elsewhere, the ‘right to choose’ leads to significant social and ethnic
segregation (Kitching, 2013; Lynch and Moran, 2006; Smyth et al.,
2009). Progression rates to higher education vary widely from one school
to another, as shown in annual league tables (for instance, Irish Times, 27
November 2014; see also McCoy et al., 2014). In the Irish case, while
parents can choose, so can schools, and where their strategies converge,
the impact on social segregation is amplified.

3.2 The Elusiveness of Irish Elite Schools

Unlike the situation in the US, the UK or France, the Irish higher educa-
tion landscape is stratified, but not to the extent that a separate elite
category (such as the Ivy League, the Russell Group or Grandes Écoles)
emerged. The educational background of the most visible elites, such as
political elites or famous businesspeople, varies significantly, with no
apparent connection between educational credentials and power, at least
on the surface. Several studies have examined the Irish private education
market and stated that it furthered the advantage of middle-class students
(Hannan and Boyle, 1987; Lynch, 1989; Lynch and Moran, 2006) – or
did not (Booroah, Dineen and Lynch, 2010). These schools are generally
not viewed as playing a significant role in the reproduction of power and
privilege, beyond the protection of middle-class advantage – although
historian Ciaran O’Neill eloquently challenged this view in a national
paper (2014b) and some scholars have begun to examine the schools in
this light (e.g., Kennedy, 2009, 2014).
Charging fees over €15,000 a year, occupying castles and boasting alumni
famous in politics, business or literature, a number of schools were
prime suspects in my investigation of elite educational spaces. The ban on
academic selection and the scarcity of bursaries and scholarships suggested
that these schools were out of reach even for ‘talented’ or ‘deserving’
children from the lower classes, and for that matter, for large sections of
the middle classes as well. The preferential treatment afforded to children
 3 EXAMINING ELITE EDUCATION IN IRELAND 13

of past pupils evoked a closed system of straight social reproduction. The

phrase ‘understated powerhouses’ used by Forbes and Weiner (2008) to
describe elite schools in Scotland came to mind. However, my endeavor was
initially met with much skepticism, including in academic circles. The diver-
sity within the fee-paying sector, the relative affordability of some of these
schools and the existence of high-performing schools outside the sector were
among the objections raised (by contrast, several past pupils agreed that their
schools were indeed extremely privileged and exclusive). Historically, Irish
schools grew in the shadow of their more prestigious British neighbors,
which were a favorite destination for the children of the Irish elites over
the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (O’Neill, 2014a). Arguably, public
schools such as Eton and Harrow epitomize what we understand to be elite
schools: their deep connections with the British establishment have been
well documented, and beyond scholarly circles, they exert a certain fascina-
tion on the British psyche. Their long history, prestigious associations,
physical character, their perceived aristocratic culture, their rituals and
the air of scandal that has at times surrounded them, all contribute to
make them objects of fascination. By comparison, the main characteristic
of the Irish Clongowes or Saint Columba’s in the Victorian era was ‘anon-
ymity’ (Flanagan, 1977, p. 31). A recurring objection was that given the
generous subsidies provided by the state, fee-paying schools were affordable
to teachers or police officers – again, unlike an Eton in the UK. Another was
that the connection between these schools and power was tenuous, with few
visible figures of the political and economic world known to have attended
them. Arguably, a school would not be an elite school if it did not at some
point produce elites; thus the latter objection deserves consideration and
will be addressed in detail in Chapter 3. For the time being, it is worth
stressing that the clientele of elite schools is rarely exclusively upper class;
in addition, not all their pupils achieve elite positions. Answering the former
objection is somehow easier: as is the case in other countries, private or fee-
paying does not necessarily mean elite. Fee-paying schools have to do with
privilege, but different schools can be associated with different levels of
privilege, including different levels and forms of capital. Day fees vary
from less than €3,000 to over €13,000 and boarding fees from less
than €7,000 to a staggering €25,000. Size, history, demographics,
physical characteristics and academic results also differ greatly
from one school to another. It is necessary therefore to distinguish
schools that cater for elites and play a significant role in their
social reproduction from the rest of the fee-paying sector. This
14 1 INTRODUCTION

is done in Chapter 3, where four groups of schools are identified

according to their level of exclusivity, prestige and relevance to the
production and reproduction of elites. Ten schools are thus identified as
elite schools (‘Top Elite’ and ‘Elite’) and are the main focus of the book.
Another 20 schools are identified as ‘Sub-Elite’ schools. These are of
importance as, firstly, some schools within this group aspire to the same
standards as elite schools and share similar pedagogic and organizational
features. Secondly, this status hierarchy is fluid and by no means definite:
even in recent years, a subtle re-ordering has taken place, and as suggested
by other researchers, the field of elite education is a shifting ground. In
addition, even within the select group at the top of the fee-paying sector,
each school is unique; dismissing their respective specificities as details
would obscure precisely what makes them elite schools, each one in its
own way. Capturing these characteristics and logics requires a close-up
examination. As a result, throughout the book, the focus zooms in and
out, from fee-paying schools as a group to elite schools as a sub-group,
and again to case studies of single schools in isolation.

3.3 Central Questions

As we shall see, past pupils of Irish elite schools are well represented in
corporate circles. Yet is this enough to hold these schools responsible for
the social violence exerted by elites? Not much is known generally about
political socialization in elite schools at secondary level; not all past pupils
become decision-makers – and not all subscribe to the neoliberal ideology.
Education is not the only pathway to the elites, and for that matter, being
a member of the corporate elite is not the only way to become wealthy.
But elite schools play a role at a different level. As I will argue in this book,
their main contributions are, firstly, the facilitation of exclusive access to
dominant positions for individuals recruited among the upper-middle class
(whose class interests lie in the preservation of financial capitalism); sec-
ondly, the reinforcement of a class identity (which comes with a normal-
ization of social segregation, and dispositions compatible with the exercise
of power through the mobilization of social capital); and thirdly, the
legitimation of domination through an apparent ‘taming’ of capitalism
and an emphasis on moral capital (aligned with the notion that elites
deserve their dominant positions and know what is good for society). In
doing this, I draw from several theoretical traditions: in particular,
Bourdieu’s theory of cultural reproduction and distinction (without
 3 EXAMINING ELITE EDUCATION IN IRELAND 15

ignoring local specificities) and Anglo-Saxon elite theory, which is framed

within the larger field of class reproduction theory. Complementary
insights are drawn from the emerging body of literature on elite schooling
in other countries.
In the words of Cookson and Persell, the central question in studies of
elite schools should not be ‘if’ they contribute to inequality but ‘how’ they
do it (Cookson and Persell, 1985, p. 18). In this spirit, the bulk of the
book focuses on what elite schools actually do: what happens behind their
gates and how it impacts on their students’ socialization, self-perception,
social practices, sense of boundaries, and ultimately on society at large. A
number of questions are asked: What makes elite schools distinct from
other schools? How do they recruit their students: if academic criteria are
not used, what principles guide the selection? Do they instill a sense of
solidarity, which may translate into class cohesion? What culture do they
teach? What is the relative value of various forms of capital in an elite
education? How can this help us understand the principles of domination
at play in Irish society? What culture and representations do past pupils
bring with them when they take up positions of power? What are the
implications for those they will manage, judge or rule?
While similar questions have long preoccupied scholars of elite educa-
tion, the Irish context raises additional questions. Firstly, the history of
elite formation is far from linear, and therefore does not follow patterns
observable in other societies. Secondly, these schools are not financially
independent from the state, which poses the question of how they main-
tain their legitimacy in a more acute manner. Thirdly, commenting on the
discernible patterns in contemporary elite education, van Zanten notes
four major changes, among which are the increased importance of aca-
demic merit and individual achievements, while ‘family history and
resources [are] being pushed into the background’ (2015, p. 9). This
may not be the case in Ireland, where mechanisms of closure remain
strong, with few admission channels for outsiders (no matter how acade-
mically talented): in this unusual case, again, what principles of legitima-
tion are at play? Fourthly, while Kenway and Koh (2015) argue that
globalization has prompted a ‘reorganization of privilege’, the impact of
globalization on Irish elite schools is more nuanced. National(ist) cultural
capital is surprisingly potent in this country, characterized by a highly
globalized economy, where one might expect international capital
(Wagner, 1998) to be more highly valued. In sum, the book examines
where Irish schools lie in the global landscape of elite education; it seeks to
16 1 INTRODUCTION

shed light not only on the formation of a minority of pupils, but also, more
broadly, on the morphology of educational and social inequality in
Ireland.

4 METHODOLOGY
This study of elite education in Ireland employs a qualitative methodol-
ogy, based principally on open-ended interviews with school staff and
former students, supplemented with documentary research and participant
observation. It is distinct from classic ethnographic studies in the sense
that it attempts to capture the spirit of a sector of the education system, in
its diversity and with its blurred contours, rather than focus on one
individual school. Instead of depicting the character of a school ‘in the
moment’, it includes the voices of past pupils who have been educated in
elite schools at different points in time. Past pupils attended their respec-
tive schools in the 1950s for the oldest participants and in the 2000s for
the youngest. Most were in school in the 1980s and 1990s and were in
their late twenties to early forties at the time of the interviews. Without
assuming a continuity in school practices over time, including past pupils
makes the long-lasting effects of an elite education more visible by exam-
ining ‘the somewhat intangible influences of attending a particular school
through the eyes of some of the people who had been the subjects of that
influence’ (Proctor, 2011, p. 844).
While Gaztambide-Fernández (2009a) and Khan (2011) were both
past pupils of the schools they undertook to study, I was not a past
pupil of an Irish fee-paying school. I did attend a version of an elite
school in France, but it was at third level and it was neither private nor
fee-paying. The world of Irish elite schooling was unknown to me. The
initial phase of my research consisted in amassing literature on each of
the then 58 fee-paying schools, as well as independent schools and
possible contenders in the free sector. Promotional material, newsletters,
alumni publications and anniversary publications were collected from
schools and libraries. The amount provided varied from one school to
the other, some schools sending appealing glossy brochures and DVDs,
and others – in particular the most established ones, which presumably
do not need to actively seek new recruits – short and simple leaflets with
no illustrations. Elite schools are narcissistic; most fee-paying schools
have published or commissioned books celebrating their history for their
 4 METHODOLOGY 17

past pupils to purchase and cherish. Once assembled, these pieces con-
stituted a complex puzzle. While privilege was common to all, vast
differences emerged in terms of ethos, clientele, and so forth.
Inaccuracies in official figures complicated the task of mapping the
sector and compiling fee structures proved a surprisingly arduous task,
hinting at the level of secrecy maintained by these schools. Some of
these publications provided personal accounts from students, which –
however circumstanced by the promotional or celebratory character of
the publications – drew my attention to the potential impact of these
schools on students’ socialization and self-perception. While the French
educational system remains extremely unequal, with the Grandes Écoles
acting as distinct pathways to elite positions, their selection is largely
based on educational criteria, at least on the surface. The most presti-
gious schools are not the most expensive ones. In Ireland, however, the
over-representation of fee-paying schools in the top sections of league
tables seemed to indicate a very different situation. Besides, elite school-
ing in France is characterized by an ethos of hard work, asceticism and
competition (Bourdieu, 1996), which the material I had collected on
Irish fee-paying schools at this stage did not seem to reflect.
Access to elites and elite settings may be difficult for various reasons:
unlike the underprivileged, the powerful often have a voice of their own,
and may not see the sociological investigation as an opportunity to make
their concerns known to a wider audience and draw attention to their
situation. It is not in their interest to disclose inequality or injustice and
they may be wary of sociology, a discipline often labelled as left-wing. The
study of elites may betray a willingness to correct an imbalance in the
distribution of knowledge (as it is more often the case that research
provides elites with strategic knowledge about the masses than the other
way round) and can therefore be perceived as ‘a political act’ in itself
(Hunter, 1995, p. 151). Elites may have important positions or agendas
to protect from the sociological and public gaze – which is precisely why
Bourdieu encouraged social scientists to keep questioning what is hidden
(1993a). On a more practical level, elites (or those who work for them) are
often busy people, and may not wish to give their time to the researcher.
However, access was easier than predicted by colleagues. I began contact-
ing school principals by letter to request interviews, and about a third
agreed to meet me in person. My letters focused on my interest in the
particular history and culture of the school, thus displaying the goodwill
18 1 INTRODUCTION

and reverence recommended by Pinçon and Pinçon-Charlot in elite

research (2005). As I soon found out, this helped me in gaining access:

We get lots of requests and some of them I turn down, I mean – sometimes
the way people write their letters of request is instructive, and you clearly
had a bit of knowledge about [School] already so I think if someone is
interested in [School] and is prepared to back that up with research, I’m
more than happy to help (principal, interview).

My research was conducted at a time when cuts to the education budget

were being discussed and the state funding of fee-paying schools came
under the spotlight. One school principal, whom I met informally at a
school reunion, categorically refused to be interviewed, arguing that he
systematically turned down researchers and journalists, on principle. On
the other hand, other principals were eager to put across their own points
of view in relation to the funding issue, and possibly saw in the interview
an opportunity to defend their cause. While some of my letters mentioned
the funding issue, the focus of my research was not on the debates, which
preoccupied the media. My interest in schools’ pedagogy, identity, history
and ethos, which I highlighted in these letters, dissociated my approach
from a journalistic one. This was also helpful, as this interview excerpt
illustrates:

I don’t talk to the media, I don’t do interviews . . . I’ve realized at this stage
that it serves no purpose, em for [School] or me to talk to the media about
anything, there’s been a number of high profile issues and incidents and my
practice is I don’t talk to the media. Do I feel we get a rough deal? I don’t
assess that – the media are there to sell newspapers, they see [School] as a
label, which is the prominence in Irish society and they believe that they will
sell newspapers if they reference it. That’s their primary interest, their
primary interest is not education in Ireland, it’s not the development of
education in Ireland, it’s selling newspapers. So that is their business, our
business is education (principal, interview).

Lamont (1992) suggested that her Canadian nationality made it difficult

for both her American and French interviewees to place her socially or to
attribute a particular agenda to her, which she argued helped her gain
access and encouraged her participants to speak freely about sensitive
issues. My nationality might have played a role as some of my interviewees
were surprised by my familiarity with the Irish education system; one did
 4 METHODOLOGY 19

not expect me to have a good command of English at all. Another factor,

which I became aware of at a later stage, may explain why I got access to
some schools. As one staff member explained, a particular fee-paying
school in Dublin is often used to showcase the Irish education system
whenever foreign officials visit the country. This school has therefore
played a representative role in the past; while it remains closed to Irish
journalists, opening its doors to foreign visitors has become habitual
practice. Introduction by a gate-keeper is helpful - if not essential - to
gain access to exclusive groups (Hill, 1995). While most interviewees were
contacted directly without prior introduction or referral, it is thanks to a
gate-keeper that I was admitted to past pupils’ events and invited to stay in
one particular school over a number of days.
Some respondents warned me from the beginning of the interview that
they did not have much time. One in particular greeted me with a solemn
‘right, you have thirty minutes’, and spent most of these 30 minutes
reciting the institutional discourse without leaving me any time to ask
questions: an example of the art of talking while saying nothing, which
elites master (Pinçon and Pinçon-Charlot, 2005). Two respondents
turned the tables and, in effect, interviewed me: they were both eager to
find out what my position was on the funding of fee-paying schools. This
situation of role reversal is common in elite research and illustrates the
dominated position that researchers may find themselves in when examin-
ing the powerful (Arthur, 1987). As we will see in Chapter 4, elite schools
are physically impressive and exert a certain amount of ‘symbolic violence’
(Bourdieu, 1984) on the unsuspecting visitor. Elites sometimes dominate
the researcher, not only because they have more economic capital, but also
because they have more cultural capital. Most of my interviewees were
highly educated people, many with a perfect command of the French
language. Some used Latin phrases and biblical references. Hammersley
(1984) and Peshkin (2001) wrote about their feelings of inadequacy as
they conducted their research in elite boarding schools and I experienced
similar feelings on occasions. Yet, throughout my research, I found the
vast majority of staff members extremely courteous and helpful, and I
experienced none of the open hostility described, for instance, by
Walford (2001, pp. 71–74).
In fieldwork, the researcher adopts a variety of roles, which change as a
result of a process of constant re-negotiation with the subjects of the
research. Initially, the researcher has no option but to conform to the
roles that are recognized and accepted by the subjects (Walford, 2001,
20 1 INTRODUCTION

pp. 63–64). Some of the staff members seemed to assume I was a scholar
of education, rather than a sociologist (one commented that I would
‘probably end up running a school one day’); gate-keepers would intro-
duce me to colleagues as ‘a researcher from the Sorbonne’. Several were
eager to hear my views on the Irish education system, on the benefits of
boarding, and in one case, on a pilot scholarship scheme. Thus, in the
same way as Walford, I was cast in the role of ‘sympathetic researcher’
(2001, p. 79). At times, interviews and other encounters in the setting
became in effect informal conversations on the merits of boarding or on
the French education system and, as noted by Gaztambide-Fernández:

Despite my discomfort in such an affluent school, being able to ‘talk shop’

about boarding schools while engaging in academic discussions about edu-
cation seems to legitimate my presence (2009a, p. 3).

In order to compare and contrast perspectives, it was necessary to talk to

former pupils and pupils’ parents. As informants, past pupils have valuable
insider knowledge of the secretive world of elite schooling, its norms and
boundaries, and their views often differ from the institutional discourse
presented by school principals in their representative roles. Fee-paying
schools cater for less than seven percent of the school-going population,
but inevitably the proportion of past pupils of fee-paying school students is
higher in university circles. It was also surprisingly high in the activist
circles I frequented; participants were therefore easy to recruit. As my
approach was qualitative, I did not follow strict sampling procedures but
took care to interview a reasonable cross-section across age groups, gender
and schools.4 I interviewed past pupils who hated their school experience
and had become fierce opponents of private education, as well as others
who were still grateful and loyal to their alma maters and would send their
children there ‘at the drop of a hat’. I interviewed people who had
achieved prominent positions in Irish politics, business or media, and
others who did not. I conducted 34 recorded interviews; to these must
be added numerous informal conversations, for the most part unplanned,
which took place in a variety of settings. In-depth interviewing helps the
respondent to uncover his or her own suppressed or conflicting attitudes
about the topic discussed (Johnson, 2002). By delving into their own
feelings about their personal experience, several respondents came to
reflect on their own attitudes to privilege and social justice. As far as school
principals and staff were concerned, the longer the interview lasted, the
 4 METHODOLOGY 21

more respondents tended to depart from the institutional discourse, and in

some cases shared very critical views on their schools, in particular the
tension between the values of tolerance and openness promoted by the
institutions and the social segregation, which is part and parcel of an elite
education.
I used my visits to schools as opportunities to observe the setting and
interactions. Before and after each interview, I spent some time in the
school grounds. I spent four days and three nights in one particular
school, where the staff insisted I stayed because they did not want me to
have a wrong impression by getting only a glimpse, or ‘a slice of life’ in the
school. In another school, I was invited to observe a class and to speak
with the pupils. In addition, I attended a number of past pupils’ reunions
and school matches. Although the time I spent in the field was limited in
comparison to the time spent by Chase (2008), Gaztambide-Fernández
(2009a) or Khan (2011), my approach was firmly grounded in ethnogra-
phy as I observed ‘the full range of social behaviour’ (Pole and Morrison,
2003, p. 3) within the schools I visited.
Weber guarded social scientists against the risk of imposing their own
views on the collected data and stated that the best way to avoid biases was
to adopt the point of view of the people under study. However, Brewer
argues that the purpose of analysis is to ‘capture social meanings rather
than necessarily “telling it as it is”’ (2000, p. 107). Respondents may
evade questions or hide behind ‘fronts’ (Douglas, 1976). Some past pupils
distanced themselves from the world of privilege that they had been
brought up in. One respondent (now a political activist) said he was
‘indifferent’ to the high-profile guest speakers and luxurious trips abroad
that his school organized, and described himself as being very sarcastic and
critical of his school at the time he was there. As Walford writes, ‘identity is
created rather than revealed through narrative’ (2001, p. 92); thus, socio-
logical analysis must strike a balance between reflecting respondents’
points of views and identifying patterns discernible beyond the surface.
Self-reflexivity is an important element in the research process (Bourdieu
and Wacquant, 1992). Inevitably, the researcher carries his or her own
history and habitus into the field. Elites can incite fascination; they can also
cause envy. The spectacle of privileged childhoods may, for instance, hold
a mirror to the researcher, reflecting a less than perfect childhood. I myself
grappled with these feelings as I conducted my fieldwork; keeping a
reflexive fieldwork diary was helpful in achieving a balanced, if not neutral,
analysis of collected data.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
afraid? Hear my crying, O Lord; incline thine ear to my calling, my
King and my God, for unto Thee do I make my prayer.’ With these
and other verses of the Psalms the enemy was at length put to flight;
Albinus completed his prayer and went to rest.[64] At that time only
one of his disciples, Waltdramn by name, who is still alive, was
watching with him; he saw all this from a place of concealment, a
witness of this thing that took place.”
St. Martin himself once had a meeting with the devil[65]. There
came into his cell a purple light, and one stood in the midst thereof
clad in a royal robe, having on his head a diadem of gold and
precious stones, his shoes overlaid with gold, his countenance
serene, his face full of joy, looking like anything but the devil. The
devil spoke first. “Know, Martin, whom you behold. I am Christ. I am
about to descend from heaven to the world. I willed first to manifest
myself to thee.” Martin held his tongue. “Why dost thou doubt,
Martin, whom thou seest? I am Christ.” Then the Spirit revealed that
this was the devil, not God, and he answered, “The Lord Jesus did
not predict that He would come again resplendent with purple and
diadem. I will not believe that Christ has come, except in the form in
which He suffered, bearing the stigmata of the Cross.” Thereupon
the apparition vanished like smoke, leaving so very bad a smell that
there was no doubt it was the devil. “This account I had from the
mouth of Martin himself,” Sulpicius adds.
“The father used a little wine, in accordance with the apostle’s
precept, not for the pleasure of the palate, but by reason of his bodily
weakness.[66] In every kind of way he avoided idleness; either he
read, or he wrote, or he taught his disciples, or he gave himself to
prayer and the chanting of Psalms, yielding only to unavoidable
necessities of the body. He was a father to the poor, more humble
than the humble, an inviter to piety of the rich, lofty to the proud, a
discerner of all, and a marvellous comforter. He celebrated every day
many solemnities of masses[67] with honourable diligence, having
proper masses deputed for each day of the week. Moreover, on the
Lord’s day, never at any time after the light of dawn began to appear
did he allow himself to slumber, but swiftly preparing himself as
deacon with his own priest Sigulf he performed the solemnities of
special masses till the third hour, and then with very great reverence
he went to the public mass. His disciples, when they were in other
places, especially when they assisted ad opus Dei, carefully studied
that no cause of blame be seen in them by him.
“The time had come when Albinus had a desire to depart and be
with Christ. He prayed with all his will that if it might be, he should
pass from the world on the day on which the Holy Spirit was seen to
come upon the apostles in tongues of fire, and filled their hearts.
Saying for himself the vesper office, in the place which he had
chosen as his resting-place after death, namely, near the Church of
St. Martin, he sang through the evangelic hymn of the holy Mary with
this antiphon[68], ‘O Key of David, and sceptre of the house of Israel,
who openest and none shutteth, shuttest and none openeth, come
and lead forth from the house of his prison this fettered one, sitting in
darkness and the shadow of death.’ Then he said the Lord’s Prayer.
Then several Psalms—Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks. O
how amiable are Thy dwellings, Thou Lord of hosts. Blessed are
they that dwell in Thy house. Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes. One
thing I have desired of the Lord. Unto Thee, O Lord, will I lift up my
soul.
“He spent the season of Lent, according to his custom, in the most
worthy manner, with all contrition of flesh and spirit and purifying of
habit. Every night he visited the basilicas of the saints which are
within the monastery of St. Martin,[69] washing himself clean of his
sins with heavy groans. When the solemnity of the Resurrection of
the Lord was accomplished, on the night of the Ascension he fell on
his bed, oppressed with languor even unto death, and could not
speak. On the third day before his departure he sang with exultant
voice his favourite antiphon, ‘O key of David,’ and recited the verses
mentioned above. On the day of Pentecost, the matin office having
been performed, at the very hour at which he had been accustomed
to attend masses, at opening dawn, the holy soul of Albinus is[70]
released from the body, and by the ministry of the celestial deacons,
having with them the first martyr Stephen and the archdeacon
Laurence, with an army of angels, he is led to Christ, whom he
loved, whom he sought; and in the bliss of heaven he has for ever
the fruition of the glory of Him whom in this world he so faithfully
served.”
The Annals of Pettau enable us to fill in some details of Alcuin’s
death. Pettau was not far from Salzburg, and therefore the
monastery was likely to be well informed. Arno of Salzburg, Alcuin’s
great admiration and his devoted personal friend, would see to it that
in his neighbourhood all ecclesiastics knew the details. The seizure
on the occasion of his falling on his bed was a paralytic stroke. It
occurred, according to the Annals from which we are quoting, on the
fifth day of the week on the eighth of the Ides of May, that is, on May
8; but in that year, 804, Ascension Day fell on May 9, so that for the
eighth of the Ides we must read the seventh of the Ides. The seizure
took place at vesper tide, after sunset. He lived on till May 19,
Whitsunday, on which day he died, just as the day broke.
“On that night,” to return to the Life, “above the church of the holy
Martin there was seen an inestimable clearness of splendour, so that
to persons at a distance it seemed that the whole was on fire. By
some, that splendour was seen through the whole night, to others it
appeared three times in the night. Joseph the Archbishop of Tours
testified that he and his companions saw this throughout the night.
Many that are still sound in body testify the same. To more persons,
however, this brightness appeared in the same manner, not on that
but on a former night, namely, on the night of the first Sunday after
the Ascension.
“At that same hour there was displayed to a certain hermit in Italy
the army of the heavenly deacons, sounding forth the ineffable
praises of Christ in the air; in the midst of whom Alchuin[71] stood,
clothed with a most splendid dalmatic, entering with them into
heaven to minister with perennial joy to the Eternal Pontiff. This
hermit on that same day of Pentecost told what he had seen to one
of the brethren of Tours, who was making his accustomed way to
visit the thresholds of the Apostles.[72] The hermit asked him these
questions,—‘Who is that Abbat that lives at Tours, in the monastery
of the holy Martin? By what name is he called? And was he well in
body when you left?’ The brother replied, ‘He is called Alchuin, and
he is the best teacher in all France. When I started on my way hither,
I left him well.’ The solitary made rejoinder, with tears, that he was
indeed enjoying the very happiest health; and he told him what he
had seen at day-break that day. When the brother got back to Tours,
he related what he had heard.
“Father Sigulf, with certain others, washed the body of the father
with all honour, and placed it on a bier. Now Sigulf had at the time a
great pain in the head, but being by faith sound in mind, he found a
ready cure for his head. Raising his eyes above the couch of the
master, he saw the comb[73] with which he was wont to comb his
head. Taking it in his hands he said, ‘I believe, Lord Jesus, that if I
combed my head with this my master’s comb, my head would at
once be cured by his merits.’ The moment he drew the comb across
his head, that part of the head which it touched was immediately
cured, and thus by combing his head all round he lost the pain
completely. Another of his disciples, Eangist by name, was
grievously afflicted with immense pain in his teeth. By Sigulf’s advice
he touched his teeth with the comb, and forthwith, because he did it
in faith, he received a cure by the merits of Alchuin.
“When Joseph, the bishop of the city of Tours, a man good and
beloved of God, heard that the blessed Alchuin was dead, he came
to the spot immediately with his clerks, and washing Alchuin’s eyes
with his tears, he kissed him frequently. He advised, moreover, using
wise counsel, that he should not be buried outside, in the place
where the father himself had willed, but with all possible honour
within the basilica of the holy Martin, that the bodies of those whose
souls are united in heaven should on earth lie in one home. And thus
it was done. Above his tomb was placed, as he had directed, a title
which he had dictated in his lifetime, engraved on a plate of bronze
let into the wall.”[74]
The simple epitaph, apart from the title, ran thus:—
“Here doth rest the lord Alchuuin the Abbat, who died in peace on
the fourteenth of the Kalends of June. When you read, O all ye who
pass by, pray for him and say, The Lord grant unto him eternal rest.”
 CHAPTER III
The large bulk of Alcuin’s letters and other writings.—The main dates of his life.
—Bede’s advice to Ecgbert.—Careless lives of bishops.—No parochial system.—
Inadequacy of the bishops’ oversight.—Great monasteries to be used as sees for
new bishoprics, and evil monasteries to be suppressed.—Election of abbats and
hereditary descent.—Evils of pilgrimages.—Daily Eucharists.

We in the diocese of Bristol have a special right to study and to

make much of the letters of Alcuin. Our own great historian, William
of Malmesbury, had in the library of Malmesbury from the year 1100
and onwards an important collection of these letters, from which he
quotes frequently in support of the historical statements which he
makes. More than that, we know of some of the letters of Alcuin only
from the quotations from them thus made by William in this diocese
some 800 years ago. This is specially stated by Abbat Froben, of
Ratisbon, who edited the letters of Alcuin 140 years ago.
The letters of Alcuin are addressed to an emperor, to kings,
queens, popes, patriarchs, archbishops, dukes, and others; so that
of Alcuin’s political importance there can be no question. As to his
learning, William of Malmesbury pays him the great compliment of
naming him along with our own Aldhelm and with Bede. “Of all the
Angles,” he says,[75] “of whom I have read, Alcuin was, next to the
holy Aldhelm and Bede, certainly the most learned.”
Alcuin was born in Northumbria in or about the year 735. He left
England to live in France in 782, returned for a time in 792, and left
finally in 793. He died in 804. We can thus see how he stands in
regard of date to those with whom we have dealt in former lectures.
Aldhelm and Wilfrith died in 709, only about a quarter of a century
before Alcuin’s birth. Bede died, according to the usual statement[76],
in 735, the year of Alcuin’s birth. Boniface was martyred in Holland in
755, when Alcuin was twenty years old.
 As in the case of Gregory and of Boniface, who have been the
subjects of the last two courses of lectures, the letters of Alcuin are
the most important—or among the most important—sources of
information for the history of the times. The letters are 236 in
number, and they fill 373 columns of close small print in the large
volumes of Migne’s series. The letters of Boniface are not half so
numerous, and they occupy considerably less than one-third of the
space in the same print.
The letters of Alcuin, great as is their number and reach, form but
a small part of his writings. His collected works are six times as large
as his letters. His commentaries and treatises on the Holy Scriptures
are much more lengthy than his collected letters, more than two-
thirds as long again. His dogmatic writings are not far from half as
long again as his letters. His book on Sacraments and kindred
subjects is about two-thirds as long as his letters. His biographies of
saints, his poems, his treatises on teaching and learning, are all
together nearly as long as the letters; and there is almost the same
bulk of works which are attributed to him on evidence of a less
conclusive character.
Put briefly, this was his life. He was a boy at my own school, the
Cathedral School of York, a school which had the credit of educating,
800 years later, another boy who made a mark on history, Guy
Fawkes. The head master in Alcuin’s time was Ecgbert, Archbishop
of York and brother of the reigning king of Northumbria; and the
second master was Albert, Ecgbert’s cousin, and eventually his
successor in the chief mastership and in the archbishopric. Alcuin
succeeded to the practical part of the mastership on Ecgbert’s death
in 766, the new archbishop, Albert, retaining the government of the
school and the chief part of the religious teaching. In 778 Alcuin
became in all respects the head master of the school, and in the end
of 780 Albert died, leaving to Alcuin the great collection of books
which formed the famous library of York.
Alcuin had for some years travelled much on the continent of
Europe, and he was well acquainted with its principal scholars. They
were relatively few in number, learning having sunk very low on the
continent, while in Northumbria it had been and still was at a very
high level. Alcuin had also made acquaintance with Karl, not yet
known as Karl der Grosse, Carolus Magnus, Charlemagne, the son
of Pepin, king as yet of the Franks, emperor in the year 800, a man
about seven years younger than Alcuin. On a visit to the continent in
781 he again met Karl, who proposed to him that he should enter his
service as master of the school of his palace, and practically minister
of education for all parts of the vast empire over which Karl ruled. In
782 he joined Karl, having obtained leave of absence from the
Northumbrian king Alfweald, Archbishop Ecgbert’s great-nephew,
and from the new archbishop, Eanbald I. From that time onwards he
was Karl’s right-hand man, in matters theological as well as
educational; and in some matters of supreme political importance
too. The leave of absence lasted some nine or ten years; at the end
of that time Alcuin came back for a short time, but he soon after
terminated his official connexion with York, and spent the rest of his
life in the dominions of Karl.
Archbishop Ecgbert, Alcuin’s master, had been a friend of the
venerable Bede. The only occasion on which we know that Bede left
his cloister was that of a visit to Ecgbert at York, shortly before
Bede’s death, if he died in 735. We have it from Bede himself that he
had promised another visit to York in the following year, but was too
ill to carry out his promise. Failing the opportunity of long
conversations on the state of the Province of York, which
corresponded to the bishoprics of York, Lindisfarne, Hexham, and
Whithern, Bede set down his thoughts on parchment or tablets, and
sent them to his friend. This Letter of Bede to Ecgbert is by very far
the most important document of those times which has come down
to us; both because of the remarkable mass of information contained
in it, which we get from no other source, and because of the large
and broad views of ecclesiastical policy which it sets forth. It was no
doubt the advice and warnings of Bede that led Ecgbert to create the
educational conditions which developed the intellect of the most
intellectual man of his times, the subject of these lectures. Inasmuch
as it seems probable—indeed, is practically certain—that the
distressful state of Northumbria was the final cause of Alcuin’s
abandonment of his native land, it will be well to summarize the main
points of Bede’s dirge. We should bear in mind the fact that we are
reading a description by an ecclesiastic, a man keenly devoted to the
monastic life; and that the date is that of the year of Alcuin’s birth. It
tells us, therefore, something of the setting in which Alcuin found
himself in early boyhood.
Ecgbert had only become Bishop of York in the year of Bede’s visit
to him, 734. York was not as yet an Archbishopric; it was raised to
that dignity in Ecgbert’s time. Some writers call Paulinus Archbishop,
because a pall was sent to him by Gregory; but the pall did not reach
England till after Paulinus had run away from York.
Bede thinks it necessary to urge Ecgbert very earnestly to be
careful in his talk. He does not suppose that Ecgbert sins in this
respect, but it is matter of common report that some bishops do; that
they have no men of religion or continence with them, but rather
such as indulge in laughter and jests, in revellings, drunkenness, and
other pleasures of loose life; men who feast daily in rich banquets,
and neglect to feed their minds on the heavenly sacrifice.
There were in 735 sixteen bishops’ sees in England, held in the
south by Tatuin of Canterbury, Ingwald of London, Daniel of
Winchester, Aldwin of Lichfield, Alwig of Lindsey, Forthere of
Sherborn, Ethelfrith of Elmham[77], Wilfrid of Worcester, Wahlstod of
Hereford, Sigga of Selsey, Eadulf of Rochester; and in the north by
Ecgbert of York, Ethelwold of Lindisfarne, Frithobert of Hexham, and
Frithwald of Whithern. We may, probably, narrow Bede’s censure to
Lindisfarne and Hexham, if he really did, as some assume, refer to
his own parts. As a Northumbrian myself, I think that a long-headed
man like Bede, a Northumbrian by birth, more probably referred to
bishops of the parts which we now know as the Southern Province.
Alcuin’s letters, however, show that in his time there was much that
needed improvement in the case of northern bishops as well as
southern.
A bishop in those days had to do the main part of the teaching,
and preaching, and ministering the Sacraments, throughout the
diocese. Bede points out that Ecgbert’s diocese was much too large
for one man to cover it properly with ministrations. He must,
therefore, ordain priests, and appoint teachers to preach the Word of
God in each of the villages; to celebrate the heavenly mysteries; and
especially to attend to sacred baptism[78]. The persons so appointed
must make it their essential business to root deep in the memory of
the people that Catholic Faith which is contained in the Apostles’
Creed, and in like manner the Lord’s Prayer. Those of the people
who do not know Latin are to say the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer
over and over again in their native tongue; and this rule is not for the
laity only, but also for clergy and monks who do not know Latin. For
this purpose, Bede says he has often given translations of these two
into English to uneducated priests; for St. Ambrose declared that all
the faithful should say the Creed every morning, and the English
practice was to chant the Lord’s Prayer very often. How much we of
to-day would give for just one copy of Bede’s Creed and Lord’s
Prayer in English![79]
Ecgbert’s position in the sight of God, Bede says, will be very
serious if he neglects to do as he advises, especially if he takes
temporal gifts or payments from those to whom he does not give
heavenly gifts. This last point Bede presses home with affectionate
earnestness upon the “most beloved Prelate”. “We have heard it
reported,” he says, “that there are many villages and dwellings, on
inaccessible hills and in deep forests, where for many years no
bishop has been seen, no bishop has ministered; and yet no single
person has been free from the payment of tribute to the bishop; and
that although not only has he never come to confirm those who have
been baptized, but there has been no teacher to instruct them in the
faith or show them the difference between good and evil. And if we
believe and confess,” he continues, “that in the laying on of hands
the Holy Spirit is received, it is clear that that gift is absent from
those who have not been confirmed. When a bishop has, from love
of money, taken nominally under his government a larger part of the
population than he can by any means visit with his ministrations in
one whole year, the peril is great for himself, and great for those to
whom he claims to be overseer while he is unable to oversee them.”
Ecgbert has, Bede tells him, a most ready coadjutor in the King of
Northumbria, Ceolwulf, Ecgbert’s near relative, his first cousin, whom
Ecgbert’s brother succeeded. The [arch]bishop should advise the
King to place the ecclesiastical arrangements of the Northumbrian
nation on a better footing. This would best be done by the
appointment of more bishops. Pope Gregory had bidden Augustine
to arrange for twelve bishops in the Northern Province, the Bishop of
York to receive the pall as Metropolitan. Ecgbert should aim at that
number. It may here be noted that in this year of grace 1908 there
are still only nine diocesan bishops in the Northern Province, besides
the archbishop, and five of these nine have been created in the
lifetime of some of us. Bristol knows to its heavy cost that Ripon was
the first of the five.
But Bede points out, and here we come to very interesting matter,
that the negligence of some former kings, and the foolish gifts of
others, had left it very difficult to find a suitable see for a new bishop.
The monasteries were in possession everywhere. It may be
remarked in passing that all over the Christian parts of the world
monasteries existed, even in those early times, in very large
numbers. We know the names, and the dates or periods of
foundation, of no less than 1481 founded before the year 814, in
various parts of the world; and the actual number was very much
larger than that, from what we know of the facts, especially in the
East. In the time of Henry VIII, besides the monasteries which had
been suppressed by Wolsey, Fisher, and others, as also the large
number of alien priories suppressed at an earlier date, and besides
all the ecclesiastical foundations called hospitals and colleges, more
than 600 monasteries remained in this land to be suppressed.
There being, then, no lands left to endow bishoprics, there was, in
Bede’s opinion, only one remedy; that was, the summoning of a
Greater Council, at which an edict should be issued, by pontifical
and royal consent, fixing upon some great monastery for a new
episcopal seat. To conciliate the abbat and monks, the election of the
bishop-abbat should be left to them. If it should prove necessary to
provide more property still for the bishop, Bede pointed out that there
were many establishments calling themselves monasteries which
were not worthy of the name. He would like to see some of these
transferred by synodical authority for the further maintenance of the
newly-created see, so that money which now went in luxury, vanity,
and intemperance in meat and drink, might be used to further the
cause of chastity, temperance, and piety. Here in Bristol, with
Gloucester close at hand, we need no reminder of the closeness of
the parallel between Bede’s advice in 735 to King Ceolwulf and the
actual course taken in 1535 by King Henry, and carried to completion
by him in 1540-2, in the foundation of six new bishoprics on the
spoils of as many great monasteries. Nor need it be pointed out that
Bede’s proposal to suppress small and ill-conditioned monasteries
was a forecast of the original proposal of Henry VIII.
Bede then proceeds to speak with extreme severity of false
monasteries. It appears that men bribed kings to make them grants
of lands—professedly for monasteries—in hereditary possession,
and paid moneys to bishops, abbats, and secular authorities, to ratify
the grants by their signatures; and then they made them the
dwellings of licentiousness and excess of all kinds. The men’s wives
set up corresponding establishments. Bede urged the annulment of
all grants thus misused: again we seem to hear a note prophetic of
eight hundred years later. To so great a pitch had this gone, that
there were no lands left for grants to discharged soldiers, sons of
nobles, and others. Thus it came to pass that such men either went
beyond sea and abandoned their own country, for which they ought
to fight, or else they lived as they could at home, not able to marry,
and living unseemly lives. If this was allowed to go on, the land
would be unable to defend itself against the inroads of the
barbarians. Bede’s prophecy to that effect came crushingly true in
Alcuin’s time, not fifty years after it was written. And here again we
have a remarkable forecast of Henry VIII’s avowed purpose in the
suppression of monasteries, that he must have means to defend his
land against invasion. Thus the three arguments of Henry VIII,
namely, that lands and money were needed for more soldiers and
sailors, that lands and money were needed for more bishoprics, and
that many of the religious houses did not deserve that name, were
carefully set out by one whom we may call a High-Church
ecclesiastic, eight hundred years before Henry.
On two of the points mentioned by Bede in connexion with
monasteries, it may be well to say a little more by way of illustration.
The two points are, the hereditary descent of monasteries, and the
principle on which the election of the abbat should proceed. To take
the second first,—Bede is very precise on this point. He says that
when a monastery is to be taken as the seat of a bishop, licence
should be given to the monks to elect one of themselves to fill the
double office of abbat and bishop, and to rule the monastery in the
one character and the adjacent diocese in the other. We should have
thought it would have been better to leave them free to elect some
prominent churchman from the outside, than to limit their choice to
one of themselves. And the exception for which arrangement was
made points in the same direction of limitation. If they have not the
right man in their own monastery, at least they must choose one
from their own family, or order, to preside over them, in accordance
with the decrees of the Canons. This strictness was traditional in
Northumbria. The great founder of monastic institutions in the
Northern Church, Benedict Biscop, who founded Monk Wearmouth
in 674 and Jarrow in 685, was very decided about it. He would not
have an abbat brought in from another monastery. The duty of the
brethren, he said, when speaking to his monks on his own imminent
decease, was, in accordance with the rule of Abbat Benedict the
Great, and in accordance with the statutes of their own monastery of
Wearmouth—which he had himself drawn up after consideration of
the various rules on the Continent from the statutes of the seventeen
monasteries which he liked best of all that he had seen—to inquire
carefully who of themselves was best fitted for the post, and, after
due election, have him confirmed as abbat by the benediction of the
bishop. There is a great deal to be said in favour of this course, and
there is a great deal to be said for more freedom of election. The
case which comes nearest to it in our English life of to-day is that of
the election of the Master of a College in one of the two Universities.
In Cambridge the election—in two cases the appointment—is in
every case open, in the sense that it is not confined to the Fellows of
the College, and in very recent times there have been several cases
of the election of a prominent man from another College, to the great
advantage of the College thus electing.
The other point is of much wider importance, namely, the
hereditary descent of monasteries and of their headship. Our
Northumbrian abbat Benedict was very decided here also. The
brethren must not elect his successor on account of his birth. There
must be no claim of next of kin. He was specially anxious that his
own brother after the flesh should not be elected to succeed him. He
would rather his monastery became a wilderness than have this man
as his successor, for they all knew that he did not walk in the way of
truth. Benedict evidently feared that a practice of hereditary
succession to ecclesiastical office might spring up. No doubt he had
seen at least the beginning of this in foreign parts. It was no
visionary fear, for in times rather later we have examples of
ecclesiastical benefices, and even bishoprics, going from father to
son, and that in days of supposed celibacy. We have plenty of
examples of monasteries descending from mother to daughter later
on in England; and in Bede’s own time he mentions without adverse
remark that the Abbess of Wetadun (Watton, in East Yorkshire)
persuaded Bishop John of Hexham to cure of an illness her
daughter, whom she proposed to make abbess in her stead. Alcuin
himself, as we have seen,[80] tells us quite as a matter of ordinary
occurrence, not calling for any remark, that he himself succeeded
hereditarily to the first monastery which he ruled, situated on Spurn
Point, the southern promontory of Yorkshire. We cannot doubt that
the evils naturally arising, in some cases at least, from hereditary
succession to spiritual positions, had much to do with the
intemperate suppression of the secular clergy and the enforcement
of clerical celibacy. In considering the question as it concerned the
times of Alcuin, we must bear in mind that we are dealing with times
very long before the development of the idea of feudal succession.
It is interesting to note that the earliest manuscripts of the Rule of
St. Benedict which are known to exist do not definitely lay down the
precise rule that the person elected to an abbacy must be a member
of the abbey or at least of the same order. The Rule was first printed
in 1659 by a monk of Monte Cassino; and this print was carefully
collated throughout with a manuscript of the thirteenth century at Fort
Augustus for the edition published by Burns and Oates in 1886.
Chapter 64 is as follows, taking the translation annexed to the Latin
in that edition, though it does not in all cases give quite the force of
the original.
“In the appointing[81] of an abbot, let this principle always be
observed, that he be made abbot whom all the brethren with one
consent in the fear of God, or even a small part of the community
with more wholesome counsel, shall elect. Let him who is to be
appointed be chosen for the merit of his life and the wisdom of his
doctrine, even though he should be the last of the community. But if
all the brethren with one accord (which God forbid) should elect a
man willing to acquiesce in their evil habits, and these in some way
come to the knowledge of the bishop to whose diocese that place
belongs, or of the abbots or neighbouring Christians, let them not
suffer the consent of these wicked men to prevail, but appoint[82] a
worthy steward over the house of God, knowing that for this they
shall receive a good reward, if they do it with a pure intention and for
the love of God, as, on the other hand, they will sin if they neglect it.”
We hear a good deal in our early history of kings and great men
renouncing the world and entering the cloister. Bede shows us the
darker side of this practice. Ever since king Aldfrith died, he says,
some thirty years before, there has not been one chief minister of
state who has not provided himself while in office with a so-called
monastery of this false kind, and his wife with another. The layman
then is tonsured, and becomes not a monk but an abbat, knowing
nothing of the monastic rule. And the bishops, who ought to restrain
them by regular discipline, or else expel them from Holy Church, are
eager to confirm the unrighteous decrees for the sake of the fees
they receive for their signatures. Against this poison of covetousness
Bede inveighs bitterly; and then he declares that if he were to treat in
like manner of drunkenness, gluttony, sensuality, and like evils, his
letter would extend to an immense length.
It may be well to mention here another religious practice which
had two sides to it, the practice of going on pilgrimage. Anglo-Saxon
men and women had a passion for visiting the tombs of the two
princes of the Apostles, Peter, whose connexion with Rome is so
shadowy up to the time of his death there, and Paul, their own
Apostle, the teacher of the Gentiles, whose connexion with Rome is
so solid a fact in the New Testament and in Church history. Bede
tells us that in his times many of the English, noble and ignoble,
laymen and clerics, men and women, did this. As a result of the
relaxed discipline of mixed travel, a complaint came to England,
soon after, that the promiscuous journeyings on pilgrimage led to
much immorality, so that there was scarcely a town on the route in
which there were not English women leading immoral lives.
There is one striking passage in Bede’s unique letter which shows
us how great were the demands of the early Church upon the
religious observances of the lay people; while it shows with equal
clearness the inadequacy of the response made by the English of
the time. The passage will complete our knowledge of the state of
religion among our Anglian forefathers towards the end of Bede’s
life. It refers to the bishop’s work among the people of the world,
outside the monastic institutions. The bishop must furnish them with
competent teachers, who shall show them how to fortify themselves
and all they have against the continual plots of unclean spirits, by the
frequent use of the sign of the Cross, and by frequent joining in Holy
Communion. “It is salutary,” he says to Ecgbert, “for all classes of
Christians to participate daily in the Body and Blood of the Lord, as
you well know is done by the Church of Christ throughout Italy, Gaul,
Africa, Greece, and the whole of the East. This religious exercise,
this devoted sanctification, has, through the neglect of the teachers,
been so long abandoned by almost all the lay persons of the
province of Northumbria, that even the more religious among them
only communicate at Christmas, Epiphany, and Easter. And yet,” he
continues, “there are innumerable persons, innocent and of most
chaste conversation, boys and girls, young men and virgins, old men
and old women, who without any controversy could communicate on
every Lord’s Day, and indeed on the birthdays of the holy apostles
and martyrs, as you have seen done in the holy Roman and
Apostolic Church.” The Church History of early times has a great
deal of practical teaching for the church people of to-day.
If the life of religious people in the monasteries and in the world
was thus tainted and slack, we can imagine what the ordinary
secular life was likely to be. There was terrible force in Bede’s
suggestion that a nation so rotten could never withstand a hostile
attack of any importance. Archbishop Ecgbert certainly did all that he
could to bring things into order; and he wisely determined that the
very best thing he could do to pull things round was to get hold of the
youth of the nation, and train them with the utmost care in the way
that they should go. This leads us on to the rise or revival of the
Cathedral School of York.
 CHAPTER IV
The school of York.—Alcuin’s poem on the Bishops and Saints of the Church of
York.—The destruction of the Britons by the Saxons.—Description of Wilfrith II,
Ecgbert, Albert, of York.—Balther and Eata.—Church building in York.—The
Library of York.

It is usual to reckon the year 735 as the beginning of the great

School of York, and Archbishop—or rather, as he then was, Bishop
—Ecgbert as its originator. But it seems clear that we must carry its
beginnings further back, and count as its originator a man who filled
a much larger place in the world than even Ecgbert, archbishop as
he became, and brother of the king as he was. When Wilfrith, the
first Englishman to appeal to Rome, was put into the see of York by
Theodore of Canterbury in 669, his chaplain and biographer,
Stephen Eddi, tells of four principal works which, between that year
and 678, his chief accomplished. The first was the restoration of the
Cathedral Church of York, which had fallen into decay during the
time when Lindisfarne was the seat of the Bishop of Northumbria.
The second was the building of a noble church at Ripon for the
people of the kingdom of Elmete, which Edwin, the first Christian
king of Northumbria, had conquered from the Romano-Britons;
corresponding to the West Riding of Yorkshire and parts of
Lancashire, a portion of the great British kingdom of Rheged, at the
court of which the bard Taliessin had sung. The fourth was the
building of a still more noble church at Hexham, to be the
ecclesiastical centre of the northern part of Northumbria, replacing
Lindisfarne in that character. And the third in order was the
establishment of a School, no doubt at York, as that was his
episcopal seat, and he himself was the chief teacher. The world
credits William of Wickham with the invention of the idea of a public
school in the modern sense of the word; but seven hundred[83] years
before him Wilfrith had grasped the idea and put it into practice at
York. This is what his chaplain tells us. The secular chiefs, the
noblemen, sent their sons to him to be so taught that when the time
of choice came they would be found fit to serve God in the ministry, if
that was their choice, or to serve the king in arms if they preferred
that career. We must certainly reckon the year 676, or thereabouts,
as the date of foundation of the school at York, Wilfrith as its founder,
and its principle that of the modern public school, which is supposed
to give an education so liberal that whatever career its alumnus
prefers he will be found fitted for it. The first scholars of the school of
York entered, some of them, the ministry, as learned clerks; others,
the army, as fit to be soldiers. It was still so when I went to that
school sixty-four years ago. The school is older than Winchester by
seven hundred years, and older than Eton by seven hundred and
sixty-five.[84] Bede’s strong appeal to Ecgbert led to the revival of the
school after the natural decay from which good institutions suffer in
times of ecclesiastical and civil disorder, and we date the continuous
life of the school from him. It was an interesting coincidence, that
men saw in the year 735 the revival of the school and the birth of its
most famous pupil, assistant master, and head master. We may now
turn to that man, whose early lot was cast in a state of society, lay
and clerical, such as that described in scathing terms by Bede; and
who was the first-fruits of the remedy which Bede had suggested. As
a link between Bede and Alcuin we may have in mind a pretty little
story about Bede which we find in a letter of Alcuin’s some fifty or
sixty years after Bede’s death.
Alcuin is writing to the monks of Wearmouth. He Ep. 274. Before
tells them how well he remembers what he saw at a.d. 793.
Wearmouth long years ago, and how much he was
pleased with everything he saw. He encourages them to continue in
the right way by reminding them of the virtues of their founders. “It is
certain,” he writes, “that your founders very often visit the place of
your dwelling. They rejoice with all whom they find keeping their
statutes and living right lives; and they cease not to intercede for
such with the pious judge. Nor is it doubtful that visitations of angels
frequent holy places; for it is reported that our master and your
patron the blessed Bede said, ‘I know that angels visit the canonical
hours and the congregations of the brethren. What if they should not
find me among the brethren? Would they not have to say, Where is
Bede? Why does he not come with the brethren to the appointed
prayers?’”
To us in England, and especially to those of us who are North-
countrymen, nothing that Alcuin wrote has a higher interest than his
poem in Latin hexameters on the Bishops and Saints of the Church
of York. By the Church of York Alcuin evidently meant the Church of
Northumbria, although his account of the prelates dwells chiefly on
the archbishops of his time. Considering his long sojourn in France,
it was fitting that the manuscript of this famous poem should be
discovered at a monastery near Reims, the monastery of St.
Theodoric, or Thierry according to the later spelling. A great part of
the poem is in the main a versification of Bede’s prose history of the
conversion of the North to Christianity, and an adaptation of Bede’s
metrical life of St. Cuthbert. On this account the French transcriber
from the original omitted about 1100 of the 1657 lines of which the
poem consists, and only about 550 lines were originally printed by
Mabillon in the Acta Sanctorum. When our own Gale was preparing
to publish it, he got the missing verses both from the St. Theodoric
MS. and also from a MS. at Reims itself. Both manuscripts
disappeared long ago, probably in the devastations of the French
Revolution[85].
The poem describes the importance of York in the time of the
Roman occupation of Britain, the residence, as Alcuin tells us, of the
dukes of Britain, and of sovereigns of Rome. York was, in fact, the
imperial city; it shared with Trèves the honour of being the only
imperial cities north of the Alps. He speaks eloquently of its beautiful
surroundings, its flowery fields, its noble edifices, its fertility, its
charm as a home. This part of the poem inclines the reader to settle
in favour of York the uncertainty as to the place of Alcuin’s birth. One
graphic touch, and the use of a special Latin name for the river Ouse
which flows through the middle of the city, goes to the heart of those
who in their youth have fished in that river—

Hanc piscosa suis undis interluit Usa.

 He goes on to speak of the persistent inroads of the Picts after the
withdrawal of the Roman troops. Inasmuch as the sixth legion was
quartered at York, and all of the other three legions in Britain were
withdrawn before the sixth, it may be claimed that York was the last
place effectively occupied by the Roman troops. This indeed is in
itself probable, since York was in the best position for checking the
attempts of the Picts to reach the central and southern parts of
Britain. He describes how the leaders of the Britons sent large bribes
to a warlike race, to bring them over to protect the land, a race, he
says, called from their hardness Saxi, as though Saxons meant
stones.[86] The eventual conquest of the Britons by the Saxons
evidently had Alcuin’s full sympathy. The Britons were lazy; worse
than that, they were wicked; for their sins they were rightly driven
out, and a better race entered into possession of their cities. We
would give a great deal to have had from Alcuin a few words of
tradition about some details of the occupation of York by the Angles,
and of the fate of the British inhabitants. Alcuin’s words would
suggest that their fate was a cruel one, but we do not know anything
of it from any source whatsoever. One of his remarks strikes us as
curious, considering that the Britons were Christians and their
conquerors were pagan: the expulsion, he says, was the work of
God, that a race might enter into possession who should keep the
precepts of the Lord. Clearly Alcuin held a brief for his ancestors of
some five generations before his birth. He writes also in a rather
lordly way of the kingdom of Kent, as though Northumbria was the
really important province in the time of King Edwin, as indeed it
unquestionably was. Edwin was the most prominent personage in
England, the Bretwalda, at the time of the conversion of
Northumbria. All that Alcuin says of Edwin’s young wife Ethelburga,
and of the kingdom of Kent whence she came, is this: “He took from
the southern parts a faithful wife, of excellent disposition, of
illustrious origin, endowed with all the virtues of the holy faith.” We
shall have, at a later stage, to remark upon the silence with which
Wessex also was treated by Alcuin.
It is quite true that the facts of the greater part of the poem are
taken from Bede. But it is of much interest to note the selection