The University of Oxford (est. 1096?): Tradition, Academics & Inebriation

Greetings from Oxford!  First and foremost, I would like to apologise for the belatedness of this post: these first two and a half weeks have been brimming with new experiences and reflections about said experiences, and, what with the stuff of academia firmly under way (more about this later), I’ve continually put off this update in the hopes that, at some later date, I’ll be able to provide a more complete picture of what it’s like to study at the oldest surviving university in the English-speaking world.  That day, I am pleased to say, is here at last.

The first thing that struck me about Oxford — my jetlagged self was being driven through narrow streets in Oxfordshire when I had this thought — is that this city must truly be the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  Although I am certain the following holds true for much of Europe, it is impossible to escape the history that gives this university town its distinctive character.  As indicated by the subject of this post, no one is exactly sure of the date of the founding of the university.  While Wikipedia informs me that teaching has existed in Oxford since 1096, much of what is now considered the University of Oxford proper has evolved gradually and haphazardly over time.  This is reflected in the constituent nature of the institution: the university is made up of 38 individual colleges, each of which has its own governing institutions and is primarily responsible for provisioning the education of its undergraduates.  The colleges range from very old — Balliol, University, and Merton Colleges seem perpetually locked in a conclusion-less debate about which one among them is the oldest college in Oxford (all three were established at some point or another during the 13th century) — to very young (see: St. Catherine’s, a product of the 1960s, a fact that is unfortunately reflected in its architecture).   Each has its own history, full of colourful characters, grand legacies, and religious/political/familial feuds, and prevailing stereotypes.

Radcliffe Camera, a part of the Bodleian Library and one of Oxford’s most famous landmarks.

To be a student at Oxford is to become a character, however minor, in this still unfolding tale that winds its way down cobblestone alleys and centuries past, and tradition is impossible to escape. Here, terms like collections, public examinations, and subfusc, none of which mean what you might think they mean, are thrown around on a regular basis; university rituals include Latin prayers and oaths; and the academic gown is an indispensable component of any student’s wardrobe. In one sense, it is terribly quaint and perhaps just a touch elitist — it is, after all, Oxford, and, together with Cambridge, it occupies a distinguished role atop the pinnacle of the British university system (the closest U.S. equivalent is the Ivy League, but Harvard & Co. don’t even come close to the monopoly that the Oxbridge universities have on intellectual prestige) — but, mostly, it is a humbling and not-so-subtle reminder that many a student once stood in my place and many a student will stand there long after I am gone.

My own college, Pembroke (pictured below), is, I suppose, a comparatively younger one, being, after all, “only” almost four hundred years old. Like the other Oxford colleges, Pembroke is a small place: it boasts an undergraduate population of 400 or so, and I can walk from one corner of Old Quad by the porters’ lodge to the edge of North Quad, which houses the majority of first-year students (i.e., “freshers”) and visiting students, in about two minutes. Instead of leaving me feeling confined, though, the college manages to cultivate an intimate living atmosphere. Dinner, termed “hall,” is served six times a week, and all those with on-campus accommodation are required to attend (three of these dinners are formal hall, which is a three-course dinner at which the wearing of the academic gown is mandatory). Each college has its own JCR (junior common room), which acts as a governing and organising body for the undergraduate population (there is also a MCR — middle common room — and SCR — senior common room — for graduate students and fellows, respectively). The majority of tutorials in the subjects that students read occurs in college. What prevents it from feeling too claustrophobic is the city of Oxford itself. Pembroke is located just a few minutes’ walk south of the city centre, and a variety of very important places — libraries, supermarket, other colleges — require venturing outside of college on an everyday basis. Oxford is therefore able to provide the best of both worlds, really, by combining the ethic of the small liberal arts college with the bustling activity of a larger university.

Pembroke College.
High Street, one of Oxford’s major thoroughfares.

The Oxford pedagogical approach, generally referred to as the tutorial system, is a rather unique one. The academic year is broken down into three eight-week terms: Michaelmas, Hilary, and Trinity. Each term, a student will take two courses (which are called modules, papers, or options, depending on the exact context, but never classes), each of which will meet once a week for an hour with a tutor, i.e., professor or fellow. The tutorial functions as part office hours, part intellectual discourse, and part anxiety-inducing oral exam: during that hour, the tutor will ask the student to present his/her essay on the readings assigned during the previous week and to critically reflect on them. Because each tutorial has only one to four students, it is impossible to hide in the back of the lecture hall, as it were. This system requires a student’s active participation in his/her education like nothing that I’ve ever encountered at Georgetown or in the U.S., in general: it’s intimidating, it’s challenging, and it’s an absolute thrill. There are no grades, as such, given for each tutorial, although individual colleges will administer exams called collections at the start of each term in order to evaluate student progress; rather, the only exams that matter are “prelims” taken at the end of first year and the public examinations (“finals”) that undergraduates sit at the end of their final year at Oxford. Their performance on these exams — which, in spite of their name, are not actually public — determines whether or not they get the degree and the nature of that degree; that is, first-, upper or lower second-, or third-class honours. (Tutorials are also complemented by lectures, which are organised by the university rather than college, but they’re hardly Oxford’s comparative advantage, if I may borrow a phrase from international trade.) This term, I’m taking Econometrics and Economics of Developing Countries, and, with only two subjects on my plate, it’s amazing, really, the depth that can be achieved in each one.

Contrary to the above paragraph, though, Oxford has not been all work and no play, though the balance undoubtedly favours the former on any given day. My first week here coincided with freshers’ week, which is like new student orientation back in the States but with the addition of officially sanctioned alcohol consumption. It is an inevitable result of the drinking age being only eighteen — a fresher was telling me how very excited she was that she had turned eighteen only five months early, something that primarily served to make me feel very old indeed… — and perhaps certain British cultural tendencies: a French student here at Pembroke once remarked to me that drinking in Europe tends to become increasingly less civilised (his word, not mine) as one moves northward. Alcohol plays a more noticeable role in the social & extracurricular scene here — it is not uncommon for clubs and societies to organise freshers’ drinks after their first meeting — but, in that way, it becomes more normal. Certainly, alcohol can also dress up certain functions. The college, for instance, organised semiformal dinners by subject — humanities one night, social sciences the next — with relevant tutors during freshers’ week, gown required, and could there be anything classier than sipping flutes of champagne while milling about with respected scholars, discussing economics and politics?

Another fun occasion was matriculation, which is a cute Oxford tradition in which first years wake up early on a Saturday morning, wear subfusc, get their class picture taken, and swear the Bodleian Oath (delivered, of course, in Latin), thereby becoming official members of the university. Subfusc is the official academic dress of the university. Women must wear a white blouse, black skirt or trousers, black tights, black shoes, a black ribbon around the collar, and academic gown. Men wear a white bow tie instead of the black ribbon. As a visiting student, I am a member of Pembroke College but do not directly matriculate into the university; nonetheless, seeing everybody all dressed up and taking a frightening amount of pictures was more enjoyable than it sounds!

The visiting students of Pembroke, all subfusc’d up!

But grand occasions are not necessary in revealing the day-to-day romance & magic of this place. Just down the street is a wooden “posting box” (British English for mailbox, apparently) that would not seem out of place in a scene from a Charles Dickens novel. My walk to the Social Sciences Library every morning takes me by little cafés with pastries and baguettes lining their window displays. J.R.R. Tolkien used to ponder life, the universe, and fictional halflings with hairy feet while reclined against an Austrian pine tree in the university’s botanical gardens, a tree that still stands to this day. And, sometimes, I’ll just sit at my desk, disregard the equations and notes spread out before me on my desk, and wonder just how exactly it was that I ended up in a place like this.