The persistence and influence of the time-honoured universities

1. Introduction

It is a great honour to be present to salute the achievements of a university which is four times the age of my own. I thank Sungkyunkwan University for its hospitality and add my warm congratulations to the many being presented at this memorable anniversary celebration.

I have two firsts in my life. My alma mater, St. Andrews, is Scotland’s first university, having been created in 1411, and my current home, Sydney, is Australia’s first, with 1850 as its foundation year. That allows me a certain dualism of mind, some relativism in response to the phrase ‘time-honoured’.

Within Australia my university receives that strange mixture of respect and impatient jealousy which is accorded to family elders and we are conditioned to respond accordingly. At the same time we are conscious of our antecedents. Although we are the original link with the time-honoured university tradition, our nature and organisation reflect the period of our birth.

I will allow this background to colour my remarks.

2. Persistence

The Cambridge mathematician, G. H. Hardy, the 50th anniversary of whose death we honoured recently, once expressed his admiration for the ancient Greek exponents of his art in a curious way. Musing over their contributions, he was happy to hail them as intellectual equals – not so much simple natives of some dim bygone age, rather fellows of another Cambridge college. Some might offer this as evidence of the unselfconscious arrogance of a long-lived university, but, in many ways, it was his commentary on the poverty of medieval European mathematics.

It serves to remind me of the narrowness of my own cultural frame and of the fact that, in the intellectual tradition to which I belong, the university – even the time-honoured university – is a relatively modern phenomenon. My thoughts turn naturally to the medieval universities of Western Europe, their roots in cathedral training schools and their evolution via scholastic guilds and faculties. I should like to argue that their remarkable feature is their persistence as institutions.

Persistence does not equate with stability, and interdependence with the church does not guarantee smooth relations. In 1229 the University of Paris was dissolved and the scholars dispersed. The masters of Toulouse discerned an entrepreneurial opportunity. Their advertisement spoke first of scholastic liberty: a chance to discuss the books of Aristotle, forbidden in Paris. But soon they spoke of other things:

"Fear not, since the liberality of the count of Toulouse affords us sufficient security both as to our salary and our servants coming to Toulouse and returning home.

. . . . As for prices, what has already been said should reassure you and the fact that there is no fear of a failure of crops. On this point you may trust both report and the nuncio and these verses:

For a little, wine, for a little, bread is had;

For a little, meat, for a little, fish is bought."

Despite these attractions the masters and scholars returned to Paris in 1231 with the protection of a series of papal bulls.

Nevertheless, by 1391 the situation had again degenerated so that Henry of Hesse felt able to write to Duke Robert of Bavaria:

"For why is it that the universities of France are breaking up, that the sun of wisdom is eclipsed there? Learning withdraws to light another people. Are there not now four lamps of learning lighted among the Germans, that is, four studia generalia shining in concert with rays of glorious truth."

In Italy also the university at Ferrara proceeded by fits and starts. Schools existed from the mid thirteenth century but the studium did not become general until 1391. It must have degenerated quickly because we read of an unsuccessful attempt to renew it in 1402. In 1430 a secret letter was sent on behalf of the city government to lure one John from Bologna by the provision of teaching rooms (and, it was emphasised, nothing more). In 1442 the city entrusted the judge, Joannes de Gualengis, with the task of reforming the university and giving to "the shade of this school a true and living form". The wise judge was an economic rationalist and he describes the economic benefits to the city of Ferrara.

"For to begin with its utility, strangers will flock hither from various remote regions, and many scholars will stay here, live upon our bread and wine, and purchase of us clothing and other necessities for human existence, will leave their money in the city, and not depart hence without great gain to all of us. Moreover our citizens who go elsewhere to acquire an education and take their money there, will have an academy at home where they can learn without expense, and our money will not fly away."

Could this be a clue to the unreasonable persistence of time-honoured universities? Perhaps it is simple economics. A region without a university covets one and a region with one is reluctant to see it fail.

Looking back much further in history we see a simple but consistent pattern. In ancient Egypt, for example, there was the temple school, developing and teaching writing and mathematics. At first this was strictly practical, providing support for agriculture, but the scope increased naturally over time. This evolution is typical of many early civilisations. Organisational development transcends the local peasant cluster, and over-production and trade becomes possible. At this point the community perceives the need for research infrastructure and creates institutions of higher learning!

The model, stripped to its essentials, is of much wider application. On each occasion when geographical frontiers or technological boundaries are pushed back there is a similar need for research and development. At the risk of abstracting the notion to a commonplace, one may consider the establishment of universities in colonies such as America, Canada and Australia. One may even view in this way the rise of civic universities in England and the land grant colleges in the United States.

I have, of course, selected quotations in order to emphasise the force of mercantilism and commercial pragmatism in the beginnings of the medieval universities. By the same token I have understated the role of the Church. Having noted that, let me move on.

Yet another influence bears investigation. Some prefer to attribute the persistence of time-honoured universities to their organisational structure. Indeed, the self-governing collegium is a fine example of the ‘learning organisation’ so much loved by management theorists. At a time when the business efficiency of universities receives attention and managerialism invades the sacred grove, it is comforting to believe that collegiality ensures adaptive stability. In fact, left to their own devices, universities have shown a tendency to stagnate.

In his book on The Idea of the University Pelikan notes that Copenhagen reached virtual stasis in the pre-Reformation period and was subsequently revitalised through the influence of Wittenberg.

No one will dispute that Oxford was in serious need of reform at the beginning of the 19th century. Soon, in Newman’s words, "the storm broke upon the University from the North" as utilitarian thinkers, writing in the Edinburgh Review, attacked the curriculum. To what extent would restructuring have been internally generated and to what extent was it dependent on the provocation of "the cold cutting gibes of that Northern Review"?

Gordon Johnson, in a book which began as an extended preface for a new edition of Cornford’s Microcosmographia Academica, described the politics of change in Cambridge around the beginning of this century. His opinion is that improvement "was also a consequence of enthusiasm for change from within", but he gives many examples of how the rise of the new universities in Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester exerted enormous pressure. Let me choose one of the more vivid illustrations. Cambridge medicine was underfunded and students were starved of practice, according to Cornford who sang:

"When students to Cadavers are
As eighteen is to one
The dividend’s inadequate,
The thing cannot be done!

. . . . .

At Owen’s and at Birmingham
‘One man, one leg’s the rule:
And students have a head a-piece
At happy Liverpool"

Whatever else, the antics of brash young competitors encourage the time-honoured universities to adapt, to re-invent themselves and thus to persist.

3. Influence

It is a core promise of university mission statements that we exert intellectual influence. Not only do we shape the minds of future leaders, we challenge and extend society with new ideas. In both cases doubters ask whether the university can lay claim to the achievements of individuals, and cynics argue that success comes despite the institution. Witness the words of Ortega in Mission of the University:

"…. the German university is, as an institution, a rather deplorable object. If German science had been dependent for its nourishment on the forces of the university, as an institution, that science would be of very small account. Fortunately an atmosphere of free inquiry has combined with the German’s natural talent and disposition for science to outweigh the glaring imperfections of the German university."

It may be of comfort to my colleagues, Rectors Heldrich and Siebke, that I reject this analysis.

Nevertheless Ortega’s comment is not without value for it serves to underline the distinction between the institution of the university and the idea of the university. Although one is impressed by the persistence of the time-honoured universities as institutions, I would argue that their enormous influence resides in the domain of ideas, in a shared commitment to free enquiry.

It would, of course, be possible to display a pot-pourri of quotations and anecdotes which, from the medieval universities on, demonstrates the institution attempting to stifle free enquiry. At the same time one can bring in evidence illustrations of the universities fostering new ideas and becoming the loci of intellectual ferment.

Luther issued his 95 theses in the spirit of academic disputation stating:

"Then, as a doctor in a general free university, I began, at the command of pope and emperor, to do what such a doctor is sworn to do, expounding the Scriptures for all the world and teaching everybody."

In many countries an intellectual virus was spread by the universities. In St. Andrews, for example, "to drink of St. Leonard’s well" was to become infected by heresy. The very water carried the bugs of Protestantism.

Today we often hear a complaint, not dissimilar to Ortega’s, that the influential public intellectuals thrive and work outside the stifling confines of the academic institutions. This may be true of trends in popular culture but does not, I believe, stand scrutiny when one seeks to trace the truly influential discoveries and shifts of paradigm.

To evaluate the influence on knowledge and understanding which can justly be attributed to the time-honoured universities is a subject in itself. Much easier and much more realistic in the time available to me here, is to consider the influence of these universities on the development of universities as a whole.

The obvious place to start is my own University. Established in 1850 when Oxford was in the throes of reform and Cambridge was not at a high point of its life cycle, at a time when many argued that what the colony really needed was a good solid grammar school, the University of Sydney set out to provide a liberal education for young gentlemen destined to become leaders in public life. The coat of arms adopted incorporated the book of learning from Oxford and the lion of Cambridge. The motto is sidere mens eadem mutato, loosely ‘the same intellectual spirit under different constellations’.

As it transpired, the transplantation of the ethos of Oxford and Cambridge to Australia was premature and the institution made little progress until the 1880’s when the substantial Challis bequest was received and professional studies with a practical component were added to the liberal arts curriculum. The influence of the old universities remained important, with many of the professors coming from Scottish institutions. In medicine, agriculture and so on they brought an intellectual tradition which combines practicality and pragmatism with a sense of moral purpose and culture of the mind. Thus the University grew under the influence of time-honoured institutions.

A similar story can be told in many countries and the common theme is that the guiding inspiration came from the ancient institutions of Europe. I will refrain from reciting examples, leaving rather the last words to Prince Rajani of Thailand. In 1931, in the early days of Chulalongkorn University, he set out its organisational goals. The paragraph which I now quote is fitting for the present occasion:

"A university should be conceived as a permanent institution capable of surviving all changes. Generations of men may pass; accepted notions may be cast aside in favour of new ideas; upheavals may take place in politics and religion: the university should outlive them all. The old Universities of Oxford and Cambridge may be cited as having lived through changes in the ideas of religion, the displacement of established moral codes, the rise and fall of ruling dynasties, and evolution in the form of government."

It is for this reason that, in celebrating our past, we can look to the future.