Despite the charge of elitism, Glenstal should be celebrated as a provider of liberal Catholic education, writes former pupil Kevin O'Sullivan

A great debate on the issue of God's existence stood out in the course of my education. Over a number of classes, the arguments were put in a court setting; evidence was cited, countered, challenged and submitted for final deliberation.

A Benedictine monk with a legal background was both facilitator and learned judge. The evidence was decisively in favour of the view that there was no God; the arguments went far beyond the obvious: if God was all-powerful, he would not have stood by in the face of Auschwitz; Third World hunger, Hiroshima, wars of all kinds and disease . . .

It was a remarkably brave proposition to put before a group of teenagers who would have readily embraced heresy if only to fly an anti-establishment flag with gusto. For those who wanted to hear, it was a compelling illustration of what faith is in the face of overwhelming cause for disbelief. But in a broader context, it illustrates what is, in my view, the bulwark of a Glenstal education; you deciding for yourself.

Needless to say, for teenagers trying to wrestle with the dilemmas of adolescence, such liberalism was not always a recipe for academic progress, orderly development or parental contentment. Yet it made for strong individuals increasingly infused with the seeds of conscience, justice and a spiritual side to life, even if the bloom came later and sometimes the words on such a heady mix could not be applied until a time of greater maturity.

So 75 years after Glenstal Abbey School opened, its place in Irish education should be saluted, for it was a rare bastion; a provider of a Liberal Catholic Education underpinned by sound reason and a sense of community. A process of osmosis was complemented by the Benedictine "Way" of existence pursued by monks in the adjoining monastery.

For generations, it contrasted with the stark, dogmatic form of Irish education that frequently involved learning driven by fear and the inducement of guilt. The latter was for too long the standard mix promulgated by many other Irish religious orders and, arguably, promoted by the State itself.

Today, of course, such an approach - "If you don't believe, if you don't conform, if you don't redeliver the set view . . . damnation will follow." - would be a recipe for mass derision and empty classrooms. Nowadays, a Glenstal education stands up very well contrasted with what is in the ascendancy; education enveloped in secularism.

Glenstal remains a very small school. As a consequence, it is accused, inevitably, of being an elitist institution. Some, who clearly never experienced it, cynically regarded it as some form of miniature Irish Eton. As one who stepped tentatively into the 19th-century Normanesque castle that makes up much of the physical environment of the school and stayed five years, there was never a sense of being moulded into conformity; the hallmark of British education for much the 20th century.

Disparaging suggestions that it was a simply a posh school for notional ruling and wealthy professional classes were belied by the realisation later that for many parents who sent their sons there it meant considerable financial sacrifice.

If anything, life there in the 1970s made for a surprisingly frugal existence. Through adolescent eyes, it was a strange patriarchal place, located in a large, isolated estate peppered by enormous rhododendrons, where the echoes of plain chant sung by the monks struck a haunting resonance. In its midst was the biggest playing field in Munster where a defiant brand of rugby was often played despite being hopelessly out-manoeuvred, if not out-numbered, by the mights of PBC, CBC and Rockwell.

For the most part, Glenstal allowed the cocoon of childhood to be removed in challenging yet protective surroundings. Much has changed since (rugby too has moved to a higher plain of consistency), but I sense the essential elements remain the same. For me, they amounted to a communal gift imparted unreservedly by both monks and lay people.

They were crucial to my taking with tenacity the leap that was growing-up; to achieving independence. Some 30 years later, plain chant serves as a perfect de-stresser and brings with it the added benefit of willingly transposing my mind back to Glenstal.

Kevin O'Sullivan is Irish Times news editor. He attended Glenstal from 1973 to 1977 and returned to teach biology from 1981 to 1982.