Examination Matters

I made it safely back to Blighty last night and have spent the day catching up on a few things. I wasn’t really planning to post anything today, but after looking through the comments on my previous item I thought it was probably a good idea to move on!

My trip to Copenhagen was carefully timed to miss the mammoth examiners’ meeting that took place yesterday in the Cardiff School of Physics & Astronomy, at which decisions were made about the degree classes of the graduating students. Final results have to be confirmed by the University but, following a longstanding tradition, provisional pass lists went up on the boards immediately after the meeting.

When I came in this morning I was delighted to hear that the meeting went off fairly smoothly and also delighted to see the pass lists had very good news for many of the students I know quite well personally. Particular congratulations to all the students who got First Class Honours, some of whom will be taking another step on the academic treadmill and going on to do PhDs here and there. I’m not really sorry I missed the examiners’ meeting, but I am sorry I wasn’t here to congratulate the soon-to-be-graduates in person.

I remember that when I finished my degree and got the result I didn’t actually feel much euphoria, only exhaustion. When I was younger, exams were always times of enormous stress for me. I guess that’s because, when I first went to School, I was very far behind everyone else and, as one of the “slow” kids, I was almost thrown in the educational wastebin. I gradually caught up but for a long time felt that I was still regarded as a bit of a dunderhead so, to prove I wasn’t a fake,  to myself as much as anyone else, I worked very hard at all the examinations I had to take. It was only when I got to University that I realised all the stress wasn’t worth it. It’s nice to pass but you shouldn’t become obsessed with grades and certificates. Examinations seem to have an almost overwhelming significance when they’re the only thing on your horizon, but years later you will look back on them as being of very little real importance (regardless of whether you did well or not).

My feelings about examinations agree pretty much with William Wordsworth, who studied at the same University as me, as expressed in this quotation from The Prelude:

Of College labours, of the Lecturer’s room
All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand,
With loyal students, faithful to their books,
Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants,
And honest dunces–of important days,
Examinations, when the man was weighed
As in a balance! of excessive hopes,
Tremblings withal and commendable fears,
Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad–
Let others that know more speak as they know.
Such glory was but little sought by me,
And little won.

It seems to me a great a pity that our system of education – both at School and University – places such a great emphasis on examination and assessment, to the detriment of real learning. The biggest bane of physics education is the way modular degrees have been implemented. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to modularisation in principle. I just think the way we teach modules in British university fails to develop any understanding of the interconnection between different aspects of the subject. That’s an educational disaster because what is most exciting and compelling about physics is its essential unity. Splitting it into little boxes, taught on their own with no relationship to the other boxes, provides us with no scope to nurture the kind of lateral thinking that is key to the way physicists attempt to solve problems. The small size of each module makes the syllabus very “bitty” and fragmented. No sooner have you started to explore something at a proper level than the module is over. More advanced modules, following perhaps the following year, have to recap a large fraction of the earlier modules so there isn’t time to go as deep as one would like even over the whole curriculum.

Our students take 120 “credits” in a year, split into two semesters. These are usually split into 10-credit modules with an examination at the end of each semester. Laboratories and other continuously-assessed work does not involve a written examination, but the system means that a typical  student will have 5 written examination papers in January and another 5 in May. Each paper is two hours.

These factors mean that the ratio of assessment to education has risen sharply over the last decades with the undeniable result that academic standards have fallen in physics. The system encourages students to think of modules as little bit-sized bits of education to be consumed and then forgotten. Instead of learning to rely on their brains to solve problems, students tend to approach learning by memorising chunks of their notes and regurgitating them in the exam. I find it very sad when students ask me what derivations they should memorize to prepare for examinations. A brain is much more than a memory device. What we should be doing is giving students the confidence to think for themselves.

You can contrast this diet of examinations with the regime when I was an undergraduate. My entire degree result was based on six three-hour written examinations taken at the end of my final year, rather than something like 30 examinations taken over 3 years. Moreover, my finals were all in a three-day period. Morning and afternoon exams for three consecutive days is an ordeal I wouldn’t wish on anyone so I’m not saying the old days were better, but I do think we’ve gone far too far to the opposite extreme. The one good thing about the system I went through was that there was no possibility of passing examinations on memory alone. Since they were so close together there was no way of mugging up anything in between them. I only got through  by figuring things out in the exam room.

I don’t want to denigrate the success of our high achievers. They have taken the course we have given them and done extremely well. They deserve admiration and praise. What I’m saying is that I don’t think the education we provide does justice to their talents. That’s our fault, not theirs…

25 Responses to “Examination Matters”

  1. Anton Garrett Says:

    About Wordsworth’s era in Cambridge: try the book “Masters of Theory” by Andrew Warwick. It shows how Cambridge physics, having been given a head start by Isaac Newton and losing it during the 18th century (ref Adam Smith’s tart contrast with lecturers in Scottish universities who were kept up to scratch because they got paid only by those attending), then got it back in the 19th century. The supervision system and, above all, the introduction of written rather than oral examinations, were key to restoring standards.


  2. Bryn Jones Says:

    I have to say, as someone who also went to university in the 1980s but who is very much outside the Oxbridge system, that basing degree assessment solely on performance in an intense set of examinations over a few days at the end of the degree course really seems bizarre. And it seemed so to my colleagues and me when we discussed the issue as undergraduates at UCL back in the 1980s. The system we had then is very similar to the one that you have at Cardiff University now (and the system we had at your predecessor institution at the University of Wales Cardiff when I tutored there in the 1990s). While you find a positive feature of the Oxbridge system, I am sure that many of us could produce a long list of negative consequences. That old Oxbridge system does seem very peculiar indeed to me, and potentially very unfair to many students.

  3. telescoper Says:


    If you read what I wrote I think I made it clear that I think the Oxbridge system is extreme and I wouldn’t want to advocate going back to it. The main virtue was that we spent much more time learning and much less time doing exams. The exams, when they came, were still a nightmare.


  4. Bryn Jones Says:


    Yes, absolutely. But you found one argument in favour of the bizarre Oxbridge system: that is one argument more than me. We would both agree with the long list of arguments against, I’m sure.

    For outsiders like me (excluded in my case by the class system), the system at the University of Oxbridge is beyond understanding.


  5. Anton Garrett Says:

    Exams are the surest and perhaps the only way to preclude cheating, though they suffer from all the disadvantages just mentioned.

    The strength of Oxbridge teaching is not in its lecturing but in its back-up: the supervision/tutorial system. This is personal tuition, essentially on a 1:1 basis.

    My mother got to Cambridge from one of the poorest parts of Sheffield soon after the war. She went on to teach in both State and private sectors and was saddened that Labour, which claims to be the party that cares about poor people, became the party whose policies consistently made her leap less possible for others. Today the government is using financial coercion to get Oxbridge to take inferior students who happen to be from poorer backgrounds. Oxbridge’s job, like any university, is to take the best that it can get and give them the best education it can, not be forced into failed social engineering schemes from careerist politicians with chips on their shoulders. Eventually Oxbridge will go private again. Being private doesn’t seem to have done Harvard much harm. But it is a pity.


  6. telescoper Says:


    I’m not denying that the class system still poses great barriers to Oxbridge entrance, but I should point out that I come from a working class background myself. Nobody in my family – however extended you want to make it – had ever been to University before I did, let alone Oxbridge. Come to think of it, nobody has since either.

    I won a scholarship to the Royal Grammar School, so the local authority paid the fees under the Direct Grant system. A year after I got in, the system was scrapped and the School became fully independent. The Council, however, decided to continue paying for those kids already in DG schools. If they had not done this I would have had to go the local comprehensive and, although it’s impossible to say for sure, I doubt I would have been able to go to Cambridge from there.

    The advantage was that the School I went to had a long tradition of sending boys to Oxbridge (about 30 per year) so they had a lot of contacts and experience. I was in the Oxbridge “stream” from the third year (age 14) onwards. I also stayed on for another term after A-levels to prepare for the scholarship examination. That undoubtedly gave me an edge over those who hadn’t had the opportunity to prepare as well as I did.

    When I got to University I had a full grant and no tuition fees to pay so for me the system was very generous. When I got there it was noticeable that there was a large number of rich layabouts who seemed to think they had a divine right to be at Cambridge, but at least there were some opportunities for people with my background to get in. I was one of the lucky ones.


  7. John Peacock Says:


    I agree with much of this. One of the great joys of my life (and I accept that this shows I need to get out more) was revising for finals, knowing that I had to get my head around everything from the past 3 years all at once. Perhaps I was delerious from overwork, but I really felt I was managing to do it: lots of pieces seemed to fall together, and past courses made sense in a way that they never had first time around. It took me the whole Easter vacation, and I’d have never made the effort without being forced to do it by the forthcoming exams, but it was of huge educational benefit.

    Like you, I was a Cambridge undergraduate (also thanks to the 11-plus, rather than my Father’s wallet), but I don’t remember the process as quite so compressed: 5 papers rather than 6 (I had done an experimental project previously, as was common), and these were spread over a whole week. As for everything standing or falling on finals, this is not true in Cambridge, where the different Parts of the Tripos are seen as distinct. In other Universities, even today, there is an averaging of results over several years (e.g. Edinburgh Physics BSc gives equal weight to final and penultimate-year exams). So if you get a poor degree, it really does mean you consistently can’t do exams.

    And I don’t buy the criticism of exams as unfair or unrepresentative of underlying ability. You have to perform on the spot under pressure, but that’s the real world. One might well improve the process by more open-book exams, since having to memorise everything is not representative of the way real physicists work. But then the students wouldn’t pick up the marks they currently get for bookwork, and would have to demonstrate real understanding of the material – I suspect we wouldn’t like what that did to the pass rate. In any case, any deficiencies of the exam system are easily a price worth paying to avoid the “we did that last term” mentality characteristic of continuous assessment.

    • telescoper Says:


      It is true we had Part 1A and 1B examinations before the final Part II – no 4-year degrees in my day! However, as far as I know, the classification of honours was based entirely on Part II. That is quite different to normal practice nowadays.


  8. Richard Says:

    I recently received my Cambridge degree and it doesn’t have any classification at all. As I understand it, using the final year’s class is just a convention.

    In case you’re interested, Physics Part III has exams spread throughout the year instead of all at the end. I found it more stressful because I felt like I had to revise all the time. That was probably influenced by the approach I had from the three everything-at-the-end years though. I would have probably had a different attitude if I was used to being continually assessed.

  9. John Peacock Says:


    Yes, I discovered a couple of years ago that Cambridge now examine immediately the optional courses taken in the first term of the final year. I do think this is a great shame: these courses are examined before there is enough time for the material to sink in, and then they can be forgotten about completely; there is no motivation for them to be used to illuminate understanding of the material for the courses examined in the summer.

    By the way, a further point on Peter’s anecdote of 6 papers in 3 days. We just had our exam board, where we had to handle an appeal from a student. The grounds? That there was one day with papers morning and afternoon (in a set of exams spread over almost a month). We all laughed – but the student probably felt they had a genuine grievance. I don’t know how we bridge this gap.

    What’s interesting is that the more we try to be “fair” to the students, the more dissatisfied they seem to be. When I look back at my own education, it now seems that frequently students of my generation were thrown in the deep end and expected to cope with material that was perhaps a bit on the hard side – but no-one told us this, so we just got on with it. This was a consistent approach right through school, and as a result we were able to reach a reasonable standard of technical competence by age 20 or so. But now we try so hard to avoid over-stretching students, and the result is that they get further behind where they might have been every year, and their expectations of themselves collapse in parallel. I’m lecturing Edinburgh’s physics maths methods course for 2nd year at the moment, and most of the class struggle with things like trig identities and Taylor series that were standard fare in addditional maths O-level when I was 16. Mastering mathematical material is much easier when you’re young: we need to be cruel to be kind, but the universal approach at all stages of the educational system is just the opposite.

  10. telescoper Says:


    Saddo that I am I still have my final examination papers and I can confirm there were six of them (I did theory, so no experimental project for me) and they were on three consecutive days.

    I remember when I was at Nottingham I attended a meeting of the Senate at which it was proposed that the University scrap mid-year examinations. Most schools – including Physics & Astronomy – were in favour, but the student representatives were vehemently opposed. I was perplexed because I thought students would much rather spend the Christmas break relaxing than preparing for January exams but the main logic was that one set of exams at the end of the year would make it harder to “retain information”. Sigh.


  11. Adrian Burd Says:

    Like Bryn, I was an undergrad at UCL in the early 80s, but then experienced something of the Cambridge system by doing the Part III of the Math Tripos. I’m not sure which was better. I do however recall the sloppiness with which the exams were set at Cambridge – most of them had typos in, and one of the qft exams had two questions that were impossible (not just hard, the lecturer – who shall remain nameless – came in half way during the exam to give us the new versions of the questions!).

    By far and away the best exam I took was in Mike Seaton’s quantum course at UCL. Each question was carefully crafted to minimize the memorization required. TO answer the questions successfully required a good understanding of the material. I have found (particularly here in the US) that few people take such care over the setting of their exams.


  12. telescoper Says:

    Just concerning Anton’s point about tutorials. In Natural Sciences, at least when I was there, tutorials were with groups of 3 or 4 rather than individually. In the first year, where we had to do 4 subjects simultaneously we did have 4 tutorials per week.

    I don’t want to flatter Anton’s ego – he was one of my tutors at Cambridge – but I learn a heck of a lot more from those sessions than from the lectures, most of which were truly dire. One of the definite improvements of university education over the last 25 years is that the standard of preparation and delivery of lectures has definitely gone up.

    At Cardiff we also do tutorials (in groups of a similar size) but only once per week. The students are following 6 modules (5 excluding the lab), so in an hour you can only spend about 10 minutes on each course. The tutorials help, I think, but we don’t have the staff numbers to support smaller groups or more tutorials.

    For my 1st year course I put on exercise classes in addition to lectures, with about 30 students in each. I think these are useful, and also more efficient than tutorials. As long as they are reasonably interactive they are almost as good, I think.

  13. Anton Garrett Says:


    Nobody gets an hour of 1:1 in Cambridge supervisons/tutorials, but extended personal attention is paid to the strengths and weaknesses of each undergraduate in that hour. Oxbridge is blessed in having the resources to do that more than once per week per student.

    On the arts side Oxbridge teaching revolves around your weekly essay, which is far more personal than on the science side where your answers are more close to simple right or wrong. The main way that people actually learn in science tutorials is by “post-mortem analysis” – understanding what they did wrong and being guided down the right path. The socratic system 2400 years on.

    I found empirically that the personal touch was maintained when I was giving a supervision to one or two or three undergraduates, but some kind of transition then occurred and with four it just didn’t work. I don’t know how universal an experience that is by supervisors, but an Engineering Fellow of the same college (Roger Morris) said the same.


  14. John Peacock Says:

    Agreed on the strength of the supervision system. Just about every one of these I underwent was a group of just 2 students. Equally important, however, was the homework: for each supervision (3 sessions per week, typically) I had to solve 2 problems of the sort of length that would take 30-45 minutes in exam conditions, and hand in solutions in advance. So I think there are 3 equal parts to the success of the Cambridge system:
    (1) Lectures (which I actually remember as being generally pretty good); (2) Many hours spent struggling to solve problems on your own; (3) Having your failures dissected and cured in the ‘no hiding place’ environment of the supervision.

    At Edinburgh, we try to get a flavour of the supervision system by means of ‘tutorial workshops’ where a class of 30 will split into small groups to work on problem sheets, with a lecturer and a few postgrads circulating to give a leavening of 1-to-1 interaction. This is successful as far as it goes, but what we miss is the homework element. It seems impossible to persuade the students that they need to invest the necessary time in self-study at home. We have done surveys, and almost everyone thinks they have discharged their obligations if they turn up to all lectures and tutorials. They can be persuaded to do problems out of class, but only by having these marked and graded and by having the marks count. There is a limit to how much of this you can do, since it takes tutor time and administrative effort, and also it turns into continuous assessment if you grade all problems. My generation did the problems, not to get marks, but because we wanted to be able to do the stuff. I don’t know how to create that attitude in the students I teach, and I wonder if it’s even there in present-day Cambridge students?

  15. Anton Garrett Says:


    You wrote ” My generation did the problems, not to get marks, but because we wanted to be able to do the stuff.” That is indeed the point. Inspiring teachers can strengthen motivation but cannot create it; the basic spark must come from within the student.

    Physics is not for fun or profit; it can generate both, but it is about learning how the material universe works by mastering certain specialised techniques. For the motivated that is reward in itself.


  16. telescoper Says:

    For me part of the thing about homework was that I can’t bring myself to leave a problem until I’ve solved it. I was like that with problems I was given at School and as a student. I’m also like that with crosswords…

    Our first-year and second-year coursework is marked and handed back for discussion in the tutorials. I think there’s more of it than I was ever asked to do, but it does count part of the module mark. I hand out problems for third year particle physics too, but they don’t count. Very few students bothered to do them.

    I think we have to teach our students to be more obsessive.

  17. John Peacock Says:


    “Physics is not for fun or profit; it can generate both, but it is about learning how the material universe works by mastering certain specialised techniques. For the motivated that is reward in itself.”

    Amen. But the modern aim to have 50% of youngsters in university means that most students lack this motivation. I benefited from an explicitly elitist approach, and was an undergraduate at a time when the participation rate was only 6%. Today, the unmotivated (and, I suspect, unmotivatable) dominate – and I suspect they drag down the ambitions of those who would have been in the old 6%.

    So what are the choices? We can carry on as we are: administering a system that leaves students and tutors alike deeply dissatisfied. We can admit that the expansion of numbers has been a failure and cut back – with the consequence that most of us lose our university jobs. If we had the intelligence that we claim to possess, we would design a better system. The majority of people who enter an undergraduate degree in physics lack the intrinsic ability to benefit from going all the way to BSc finals (never mind MPhys). We should be able to identify such students and guide them to a suitable early exit point. A 2-year ordinary degree should become the normal outcome of university education, with subsequent years reserved for those who have some genuine aptitude and motivation. But at the moment the ordinary degree has the stigma of failure, and we need to shift this. Maybe the stimulus will come from a move to 7,000 pound p.a. tuition fees. Of course, nothing is perfect: this would reduce the number of student-years going through universities, so academic jobs would still have to go. But surely we can’t just stagger on as we are?

  18. But by far the best educational experience I had was at the start of the fourth year, in the Advanced Quantum Mechanics course. It was different to most of the time at university, as it was not run concurrently with any other. This made it quite intense, as we were essentially spending all our time on the same material.

    There was a lecture every morning. We were also given a problem sheet four of the five weekdays, that was probably supposed to take us a few hours (I know it took myself and my friends much longer).

    Assessment took the form of two ‘class tests’ that were open book exams, and these took place half way through, and at the end, of the modules.

    I really, really enjoyed this approach. Keeping up with the problem sheets was tough (far tougher than any of the other modules I think I’d done), and I know a lot of students struggled to do so. There were a lot more than any other module, too. The open book exams were different to rote memorisation, and again a lot of students struggled. But I think I learned at a faster rate in that module than any other I took, and I can still remember a lot of it now (as opposed to modules I crammed for, and have since forgotten most of).

    I’d have been quite happy if the entire degree had been like that, including how it was assessed.

  19. Anton Garrett Says:


    We agree, deeply, that “physics is not for fun or profit; it can generate both, but it is about learning how the material universe works by mastering certain specialised techniques. For the motivated that is reward in itself.” This view does, however, raise the question of whether the taxpayer should pay for the satisfaction of academic physicists. The money involved is a drop in the ocean compared to government waste, but those who take it should nevertheless be able to justify it. What is your view of this, please?


  20. John Peacock Says:


    You raise a killer point, and I have never been entirely happy about the answers I have at my disposal. The minimum is to say that physics (and perhaps especially astronomy) is a cultural discipline that should be supported by any civilization worthy of the name. That implies a budget that is some fraction of that of the Arts Council. Google tells me that this is about £600M, so it’s easy to justify a few hundred Million for physics.

    The combined budget of STFC and EPSRC is about 1.4 Billion, so we are getting nearly 10 times as much as we should for a purely cultural activity (or, rather, musicians etc. are underfunded to this extent). Although we try hard to come up with examples of transferred technologies, the major economic reason for funding physicists in this way is the output of trained students. Probably 5000 physicists graduate every year; if we assume an average salary of 30k, that’s 150M of new economic activity added every year, which is roughly the same again as the cultural argument.

    We still seem to be short by a factor 5 of the actual spend by research councils. This leaves two arguments: one is that it’s a matter of international pride, where we have to live up to the standard set by the US. I’m OK with this at some level: look at what we spend to achieve the same end in sport. But the real point is that governments discovered via radar and the atom bomb that physicists were useful to the military. We have failed to lay such spectacular golden eggs in recent years, so our support has declined (at least as a fraction of GDP); it seems inevitable (and maybe even correct) that this will continue.

    • telescoper Says:


      You have raised an issue that I’ve thought about quite a lot recently. It’s not really why government spends so much on science, but why it spends so little on the arts.

      One explanation relates to the fact that the arts – especially the performing arts – do receive a significant amount of corporate sponsorship so the actual amount society spends on such cultural pursuits is probably much higher than the Arts Council receives.

      I’ve often thought that it is surprising that companies don’t also sponsor science in the same way, not because of the prospect immediate financial gain but to be associated with something regarded as important and high quality. What do companies get out of having their name in the programme for an Opera at Covent Garden?

      In any case I think you’re right that we have to try harder to justify our funding than by claiming to be cultural ornaments, but I think that will only happen if we manage to get more scientifically literate people into the corridors of power.


  21. Anton Garrett Says:


    I agree that science is a key part of a civilised culture. On the other hand if science is an end in itself then I see no reason for the taxpayer to subsidise the gratification of research scientists. (It is no argument that the amount is small compared to waste or to the Arts Council budget – a scientist should always be able to justify his budget to the people whose money he consumes.) So who will – or should – pay for science?

    Notice that science evolved in Western Civilisation from the 16th to the 19th century without great State support. There is an assumption in academe today that if the government doesn’t pay for it then nobody else will. Certainly if the government stopped paying for it overnight then nobody else would immediately step in with a comparable sum. But we got into the present situation over an extended period prior to which science was done yet government didn’t pay, and we should also consider solutions over an extended period. Oxbridge talks freely inside its own corridors of going private, and Harvard is private and gets world-class science done.

    A book that draws some lessons about science funding from history and looks at funding models other than government, with some surprising conclusions, is “Sex Science and Profits” by Terence Kealey, an ex-Cambridge biochemist who is now Vice Chancellor of the (private) University of Buckingham. Despite the crass title it is an update of his previous book “The Economic Laws of Scientific Research”. Kealey enjoys controversy and hostile critics have used minor errors to damn him, but it is a stimulating read.

    I think that there would be less science done under Kealey’s model, but when you look at the expansion of Physical Review from, say, 1930 to the present then it is clear that a pathological expansion has taken place. I suspect that the ratio of good research to not-even-wrong research has declined in this expansion.


  22. John Peacock Says:

    Peter, Anton,

    Some interesting points about private support for culture. Covent Garden indeed claims to raise 2/3 of its budget privately. But they must be an exception by virtue of being such a big name. No doubt the Arts Council trims their grant in the knowledge that they can fill the gap. But I bet the typical artistic enterprise in the UK has sponsorship as a subdominant element. I very much doubt that the total support for the Arts reaches a Billion – even if you add ticket sales to sponsorship and the Arts Council.

    But as for who should pay for science: of course it should be the taxpayer, and they are happy to do so. I’ve often got into discussion with people who come to my public astro talks and ended up been rather apologetic that e.g. HST is so expensive. The universal reaction seems to be “Oh well, it’s far less than they waste on the military”. This is an argument that scientists use, although we all feel a bit uneasy about deploying such a vehicle of last resort – but I think the paying public sees it as correct: they are happy to have astronomy done, and they see the cost as negligible in the context of society’s spend as a whole.

    This does of course assume that all the publicly supported science is worthy of such support, and Anton is probably correct in implying that it isn’t. We all know that there is a lot of dross out there, and we are still suffering the growing pains of the post-war expansion. Remember we must eventually reach a steady state, at which point academics will have just one PhD student during their entire career who continues in research; we’re a long way from that. The question is whether it’s worth supporting too many researchers, since you can’t be sure who is going to make the big breakthrough. Maybe it’s like the old way of climbing Everest: 2 guys get to the summit, but only because there are 50 porters doing the boring slog from base to camp 1.

    • telescoper Says:

      Another interesting difference is that Arts Council grants are funded from the money raised in the National Lottery.

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