I know, because I was one of them.

Some of you, who have read my book, The Way of Beauty, about beauty in education will remember my descriptions of my time as an undergraduate at St Edmund Hall – ‘Teddy Hall’ as we called it. My intention was to reinforce a point made by Cardinal Newman about the Oxford he attended in the late 18th century. Here is a picture of Teddy Hall today:

Newman told us that in his estimation the lectures were a waste of time, the tutors were inept, and the curricula were ill-thought out. The strongest forming influence, he said, was the influence of the educational community and most of all interactions between students. Immorality and rowdiness pervaded all aspects of life, but despite this Newmans tells us, it was responsible for making Oxford the greatest university in the world at forming students to do what England required of them  – ruling an empire and subduing the Catholic Faith! Here is Newman’s college, Oriel:

I would not be so critical of the tutors or the curriculum in my subject Metallurgy and Science of Materials in 1980s Oxford when I attended. And I have little to say about the quality of the lectures because I barely attended any. However, I would assert that the strongest influence on my education was the same as that in Newman’s day, the conversation with other students and the fun of living in the college community.

Newman was not arguing for bad tutors, dull lectures, or pointless classes in the curricula. Neither was he promoting immorality in college life. Rather, he was telling us that we have to understand that students teach each other the important things in life and if we don’t have a community that does so for good, it will do so for ill. Picking up on this theme, much of my book is devoted to discussion of ways in which a good community can be created and which forms students as faithful Catholics.

As an illustration of the power of the community, I am going to describe how St Edmund Hall introduced me to Schubert and from there to the pleasures of classical music. The faculty had no influence at all. I should add that have not attended a music class since I gave up playing the recorder at age 11, and there were no general education classes at Oxford for anyone (not that I or many others would have attended the lectures or done the homework if there had been).

I was introduced to Schubert’s Impromptu No.4, Opus 90 at a formal college Christmas dinner put on by the students themselves. It may surprise some people to learn that these were often quite rowdy affairs. Even though we were in the college dining hall and wearing black tie and tux, drink flowed freely (the drinking age in England is 18) and by the end of the evening, food was being thrown across the hall.

If you have a picture of the typical Oxford University student as one who is highly sophisticated and cultured, think again. Instead, try to think of the BBC production of Jeeves and Wooster with Hugh Laurie playing Bertie Wooster, and a scene at the Drones Club. Usually, and incidental to the conversation going on front and center, we see grown men, tux wearing toffs, throwing bread rolls left and right or whacking each other with napkins.

This was the norm at college dinners that I went to, especially Christmas dinners. Despite all efforts of the dean to discipline students or to appeal to us to grow up, it happened each year. In the end, the Dean gave up trying to stop us and the college made special wooden covers to go over all the portraits of past principles and notable Old Aularians that hung on the walls. (This just made them targets for practicing the art of hurling Brussel sprouts or grapes.)

On this occasion, once the dinner was over, some of the graduate students had decided to put on some musical entertainment (this was very unusual and, I thought when I heard the announcement, highly pretentious). When I realized it was going to be classical music I rolled my eyes in derision. First, was a lady singing a Victorian drawing room song (something like Come Into the Garden Maude). I couldn’t believe that anyone would think that this was worthy entertainment and spent most of the time with my head buried in the crook of my arm stifling childish giggles. Then it was announced that a pianist would play a piece by Schubert. This was the limit! I couldn’t put up with this any longer, so I reached for the bowl and prepared to launch soft fruit.

Before I could take aim the pianist began, and the music stopped me in my tracks. I felt goosebumps on the back of my neck and just wanted to the performance to go on and on it was so beautiful. Then I was embarrassed by my reaction and didn’t want people to see I was enjoying it so I tried to hide my face. And I wasn’t the only one, afterward, the whole mood of the dinner changed and the audience became far more peaceful I noticed.

After this introduction, I went out and bought a Schubert record and secretly began to investigate classical music starting with Schubert and then moving into Beethoven and on from there. The pattern of these beautiful pieces is the same as before. Their beauty draws me in and leaves me wanting more, something beyond it. Initially, it means trying to chase the experience by finding more pieces of music but in time (several years later)

I now believe that this was beginning to stimulate a search for absolute Beauty that will only be satiated by God.

Here is Alfred Brendel playing the piece in question:

And for your further entertainment here is Rowan Atkinson playing the pretentious pianist in a brilliant piece of comedy. This is what I thought classical music was about before I heard Schubert – nevertheless even this might introduce others to Beethoven!