The composition of the said ‘young’ has of course undergone some considerable change over this span of thirty or so years, but certainly not a greater change, indeed arguably less, than has been the case with the foremost American universities. Women have become 40 per cent of the undergraduate body, although they account for a very much smaller proportion of the dons. None of the former male colleges remains single sex. Oriel, in 1986, was the last to change. Amongst the women’s colleges Somerville and St Hilda’s have remained exclusively female. One of their arguments, which undoubtedly has some force, is that this helps to keep open channels through which women can become dons. It is the case that in now mixed Lady Margaret Hall, for example, the rush to balance for a time almost closed up female teaching recruitment. In any event there is a widespread view that a university of thirty-five colleges ought to have room for a little variety.2
In addition, both the standards demanded for entry and the final examination performance have become higher. At the top end there has not been much change, but the intellectual passengers have, I suppose, been largely eliminated. This applies, I discovered rather to my surprise yesterday, even to the Oxford boat. In the ten years from 1976 to 1985, when Oxford won all ten races and beat the all-time record in 1984, five of its crew members got firsts and two-thirds of the rest got seconds. There were also five who later became D. Phils. The pass-degree blue is a dying species. On the other hand the school (and hence the social) provenance of undergraduates has not changed as much as might have been expected, or as perhaps ought to have happened. The independent (i.e. prep) school proportion in the university as a whole is now at about the same 50 per cent level as it was in Balliol (which was different from the average, but not uniquely or overwhelmingly so) in my day fifty years ago.
How does this picture, which is substantially that of a self-confident and successful university evolving quite fast but without breaking the shell of the more desirable parts of its ancient heritage, square with Oxford’s present urgent need for money? I will try to deal with this by answering three questions. First, from and for what does the need arise? Second, cannot the wealth of the colleges solve the problem? Third, what will the money, when raised, pay for, and what guarantee is there that it will not just be a form of concealed subsidy to the British Treasury?
Oxford, which was a wholly privately financed university until 1919 and largely so until 1939, had become by the mid-seventies like other British (and European) universities, overwhelmingly publicly financed. The University, as such, has very little endowment. In the past ten years the government grant in real terms has been steadily squeezed so that it is now down by over 10 per cent. As a result posts (including some of the most
famous ones) have to be left temporarily unfilled, research facilities, the cost of which inevitably escalate much faster than the rate of inflation, become inadequate to attract and retain the best people; and the great collections of the Bodleian, the Ashmolean and the other University museums cannot be maintained in the state they deserve. Oxford, if it is to remain amongst the handful of world-class universities (almost all the rest are American) needs to supplement its government income with an endowment which, while modest by the standards of Harvard or Stanford, is large by traditional European standards.
The thirty-five colleges vary greatly in their assets. Seven or eight are comparatively rich, although none of these has wealth comparable with that of Trinity College, Cambridge. These richer ones already subsidize to some quite considerable extent the poorer colleges. They are also currently helping the university and it is hoped will do more in response to the appeal. The colleges are responsible for housing their students and for much of their teaching, as well as for the often very expensive upkeep of their irreplaceable buildings. They have a great deal more to do than just maintaining their High Tables. It is a complete illusion that they could, if they were so minded, carry the needs of the University on their backs.
It is important to get the balance right. The colleges necessarily have more intimate contact with their members and therefore easier access to their generosity, but for the moment the needs of the University are still more urgent. Furthermore the University is essential to the colleges. It was there before them, and it provides an essential framework for their existence and justification. No college is an island. But nor in relation to the responsibilities are they treasure islands selfishly harbouring their wealth.
Oxford has received the most specific assurances from the government that success in fund-raising will not be used as a reason for providing less public money in the future. This is enshrined not merely in the promises of Cabinet ministers but in the statutory language of the Education Reform Act of 1988. Any alternative government is committed to a policy of somewhat greater generosity towards universities, although not sufficiently so, in my view, as to render the current appeal in any way unnecessary. The Labour Party has not traditionally been hostile to Oxford’s needs and private assets. Too many of its ministers have been educated there.