Anger and glee were vented in equal measure last week when four independent schools were threatened with the loss of their charitable status. Hutchesons’ Grammar in Glasgow, St Leonards in St Andrews, Lomond in Helensburgh and Merchiston Castle in Edinburgh were deemed to offer insufficient public benefit to merit the tax breaks charities enjoy.

There followed shrill gloating by some SNP and Labour politicians, and accusations of class envy by Conservatives and those of no political affiliation who believe turning out well educated, socially engaged young people is itself a public service — particularly when fees are paid by parents who subsidise local authority education through their own taxes.

Most people have a narrowly defined idea of charity. They think of the Maggie’s centres, which help people with cancer, or Mary's Meals, which feeds children in Africa. The altruism of these organisations is self-evident. But help for the starving or sick is not the sole definition of a charity. The official designation is more wide-ranging.

The clumsily named Office of the Scottish Charity Regulator, which ruled on the schools, has 23,500 organisations on its register. It makes surprising reading. What public benefit is provided by the Congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses, in Campbeltown, or the Naval, Military & Air Force Bible Society? Evangelical Christians and Jehovah’s Witnesses might regard them as indispensable to the spiritual health of the nation. To non-believers they are promulgators of superstition. Religious groups seem to get automatic listing — every Church of Scotland is included. You do not have to be Richard Dawkins to consider that partisan.

One could say that churches are non-profit-making and promote good citizenship among their congregations. That case can be made for independent schools. They are also non-profit-making. Pupils — of all faiths and none — are usually fine citizens who participate in what the Americans call “community service”. Disproportionate numbers of athletes educated privately won medals for Team GB at the Olympic Games this year.

The schools are accused of being too restrictive in their admissions — but so, surely, are the Campbeltown Jehovahs. Non-religious charities on the register are also exclusive. My vertigo means I am unlikely to join the Edinburgh University Hot Air Balloon Club. I will never tune in to gospel radio, or enjoy a St Bernard’s Waltz at the Lower Nithsdale Young Farmers’ Club. If I find myself financially embarrassed, I doubt the Scottish Solicitors’ Benevolent Fund will ease my plight.

It seems that the issue is not exclusivity, but the nature of exclusivity. The charities regulator could say that if I overcome my vertigo and matriculate at Edinburgh University, I could fly high in one of those beautiful balloons. But a poor child in Glasgow is unlikely ever to gain entry to Hutchesons’ Grammar because the fees will be beyond his or her reach. The school has bursaries, but the regulator says it must increase the number within three years to retain registration.

Notwithstanding the inconsistencies in the whole business of what makes a charity, this ruling may be turned to the independent sector’s advantage. It could expose the failings of many schools run by local authorities, by showing that children from low income families can achieve top grades with good teaching, high expectations and discipline.

The Sutton Trust, an educational charity in England and Wales, has shown that bright, working-class children lose out in the comprehensive system. In Wasted Talent?, a piece of research published this June, the trust found 60,000 of the brightest eleven year olds — those in the top fifth of academic achievement — lost ground as teenagers. Most did not enter higher education. The trust also leads an experiment in which an independent girls school — The Belvedere in Liverpool — opened to all local pupils, based on academic ability. The wealthy paid full fees, the others got a sliding scale of scholarship. Academic performance soared, the social mix improved and many girls benefited from an education previously beyond their reach.

By demanding more bursaries, the Charity Commission appears to seek a return to earlier times. The last Tory government’s assisted places scheme widened access but was abolished by Labour in 1997. Going back further, schools like Hutchesons’ Grammar, The High School of Glasgow and Allan Glen’s, in Glasgow, began as charitable institutions serving the poor in the middle ages. By the 20th century, they were under the wing of a more pluralist state sector, educating children for nominal fees. Allan Glen’s, which once produced our leading scientists and engineers, was swallowed in the comprehensive revolution of the 1970s and lost its illustrious reputation overnight. The other two resisted that fate, became independent and remained Scotland's top performing schools, although they charged higher fees.

Spreading access to excellence would be a good thing, although challenging as we enter economic recession. The alternative is grim. A loss of charitable status might, at first, mean a rise in fees achievable with belt-tightening. But the forces of mediocrity will then push for the schools to be taxed on assets, such as land and buildings. This would put the fees beyond the middle classes and those who make great sacrifices for their children.

Schools with meritocratic traditions would be forced to target billionaires from overseas. A traditional Scottish education could command a high international premium. What a pity if this is beyond all but the super rich.

joan.mcalpine@sunday-times.co.uk

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