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"The Spike" and University Problems.

By Graduate.

There seems to be an inherent tendency in all College magazines to degenerate into a mere recital of the social and athletic doings of the particular institutions whose pleasures and recreations they rather vainly seek to perpetuate in an abstract of games played and functions past. That there there is a legitimate place in College magazines for racy comment on current affairs no one will deny, and The Spike, no doubt, compares more than favourably with the publications of other University Colleges. But it is bad policy to measure oneself by an inferior standard. An ideal is absolutely necessary to progress, and unless new fields are exploited by The Spike it must find itself gradually wandering into the old accustomed path. It is in the hope that future columns of The Spike will be devoted to some more serious questions that this short article is written.

Surely there are enough questions of vital interest to New Zealand University, and more particularly to Victoria College, that offer scope to those older students who have an interest in the future of their Alma Mater! And what better purpose could the columns of The Spike be put to than a consideration of those questions that are being raised in connection with our academic, political, and social institutions?

To raise one small point by way of illustration—the difficult question of the value of Home Examinations. As one who has but recently passed through the anguish of the struggle for a pass, and the long, dreary wait before the verdict can be given, I may be allowed to put the matter from the point of view of undergraduates. What the examination in England was meant to do—and what it accomplished in a more or less satisfactory manner—was to remove the granting of a degree from all local influence, and to submit the estimation of a candidate's work to well known English scholars. This was expected to give the degree a unique value. But since the precious document has come into my possession through the hands of the Vice-Chancellor, I have been rather concerned to find that the celebrated English scholars who have passed me as worthy have not appended their valuable signatures to the important document. Now, what better am I for the knowledge that someone—I know not whom—situated on the other side of the world, and who knows nothing of me except what page 16 my answers failed to conceal from him, has put his mark of approval upon me?

On the other hand, what have I paid for this—I mean outside the graduation fee that raises the righteous indignation of the law student. What are all undergraduates paying for it? They are endeavouring to put a year's work into six months, with the inevitable consequence—overstrain and ill-health; they gamble their three years' labour on a few examinations set by men who know nothing of the candidates' work during that period; they must perforce take the chance of losing a whole year by what is not an infrequent occurrence—an attack of illness at the critical examination time. This is bad enough in all cases, but when it is remembered that there are time limits in the case of Senior Scholarships and Honours, the matter becomes of increasing importance. The position can never be retrieved.

Nevertheless, most undergraduates, no doubt, hold the view, that as a freshman I did, that a degree given by English authorities must be far better than one granted from within the Dominion? But when one has been through the mill and gathered himself together; surveyed, perchance, his wrecked constitution and, certainly, a wrecked educational course, he begins to ask himself whether the so-called advantages of the Home system are worth the cost.

As far as a degree is concerned, the present system seems to offer decided inducements to cram, as the students' work during the year, except in so far as it bears on a few questions set for the degree, has no power to influence the granting or withholding of a "pass."

But not only does the system curtail the educational functions of the Colleges, it, to a large extent, prevents the social and physical development of its undergraduates. This is particularly the case when many students have to support themselves during their College course. The free hours are so few that any time not spent at grinding at text books or lectures are looked on as lost, and as every evening is fully occupied with lectures, if the prescribed work is to be covered, a student who wishes to qualify as quickly as possible is often tempted to neglect the needful physical exercise and the interchange of views with other students that have such an immense influence in developing character. The College has primarily, no doubt, to impart knowledge, but the student should be able to give a reason for the faith that is in him, and how can this possibly be accomplished if there be no spare hours that can be given to the interchange of opinions?

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To most undergraduates preparing for a degree the actual University course is distasteful, and principally because—in order to meet the requirements of the outside examination—they are driven along at a pace that gives no time for reflection, no time to digest the mass of material that must perforce be bolted. Mental dyspepsia inevitably follows, and, as with the stomach so with the mind, food becomes absolutely nauseous. The student who survives and, having obtained a degree, is able to continue more freely, finds an interest in the work that is in pleasing contrast to the lethargy to which his mental faculties succumbed under the examination discipline.

If this short article succeeds in arousing in graduates and undergraduates some serious thought on our University methods and the means for improving them, and if it awakens contributors and subscribers to the fact that The Spike should be an organ of power in the University world and in the larger world of life and endeavour, it will have rendered no small service to the University and to The Spike.

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