Why So Great?

            Only in the British Isles will you walk into the office of a college professor and come upon a hunk of cheese and two wine glasses just recently drained of their contents lying conspicuously on the table. The smell was insufferable and I was glad later on Tuesday (the day of arrival in Oxford) to notice that the cheese and glasses were gone. Instead, the table boasted a full cup of black tea. Even jetlag couldn’t prevent me from noticing that I was no longer within the boundaries of Providence, Rhode Island. At no American college will you behold the unbelievable sight of a couple of blokes playing a pleasant game of croquet on the immaculate green of Christ Church—nor will you find the schoolboys of Oxford playing a miniature cricket match. Indeed, Oxford is where college students casually assemble to bask at the Thames while cheering on their friends racing in a regatta. It’s where students blast past you while riding their bicycle to an exam—which they take donning their mandatory robes.

            As picturesque as all of this sounds, Oxford is not picturesque. That is, Oxford is beautiful, but its appeal does not consist in the stone composition of its halls nor the verdant pastures that border the Thames. A picture is a worthy memento, but its value diminishes as water smears ink and dust veils details. The picture of Oxford is no doubt less promising in the cold, rainy weather Oxfordians endured for the past five weeks until the sun shone again this week. So what makes Oxford the great center of wisdom and erudition that ranks it as one of the finest academic institutions that ever existed?

            Before defining what comprises a great school, let’s ask what makes a great man. Chesterton said that “the real great man is the man who makes every man feel great.” I believe that one can contend the same of a university: Oxford should make everyone feel great. Such a claim is outrageous, some may argue, since admission to such a prestigious school is extremely selective and most of the people who go to Oxford are tourists and not students. Surely non-students don’t feel fortunate, and certainly not great. But they should, and here’s why: the reason why institutions such as Oxford are of such repute is because they appeal to our greatest desires as human beings. We desire truth.

            Certainly, truth should be the standard for any academic establishment, but Oxford is so special because it has been pursuing the Truth for almost a thousand years. Through the stone walls of Oxford pulse the stories, discoveries, and hopes of our predecessors. Stepping into the gates of Blackfriars Hall, go through the door on the left-hand side, and up the stairs into the library, wherein you will find a rich deposit of theology and philosophy. Leave the same way that you came in and you’ll come upon another door on the right side of the way, which will take you into the Chapel of the Holy Spirit. Either way, you’ll be transported into the Middle Ages—and will thus appropriate all that those men and women held most precious.

            Such an archaic epoch and people can have nothing in common with us. Centuries ago, man still hoped and searched for fulfillment, which his heart told him rested with the Truth. Today, truth is an ideal or perhaps more accurately, it is a vapid term that is only momentarily convenient. Today, we prefer to recline in the park and hide behind our parasols from the luminous rays of the Truth. But the scholars of Oxford fought for what they knew to be true, and the streets of Oxfordshire remember the blood of Catholic and Protestant martyrs smeared on their pavement. Catholics were persecuted in Britain when Henry VIII declared independence from Rome and only in the early twentieth century were the Dominicans allowed to re-establish themselves in Oxford. Their motto was always veritas—truth. That’s why Oxford is great.