Kirsty McHenry | As my bachelor nears completion, I feel more adrift than ever
As the end of her undergraduate degree approaches, a slight existential crisis lurks, writes columnist Kirsty McHenry. “Ironically, after almost three years of studying and countless hours of lectures and tutorials, I am more confused now than when I first enrolled.”
The start of the second and, for many of us, last semester has brought with it a pervading sense of dread among much of the student body. For those of us now entering the final stretch before graduation, existential crises have become something of an epidemic. Feelings of anxiety and uncertainty arise not only from a fear of what lies just beyond the thesis submission date, but also, a persistent sense of self-doubt with regards to our current knowledge and expertise. Ironically, after almost three years of study and countless hours spent sitting in lectures and tutorials, I, for one, am more confused now than I was when I first enrolled!
But why is it that so many of us are feeling progressively adrift as the end draws rapidly nearer? It could be that our three years feel all too brief. As I work to secure the last few ECTS course credits needed to graduate, the Aristotelian paradox ‘the more you know the less you know’ has become remarkably resonant. It seems that the moment I am about to unlock some hidden truth necessary to grasp it, a course will conclude, and it is time for the next elective. Most programmes are laid out in such a way as to give only a quick taste of the many different subjects within the field. I have found that the bitter reality of this is that, for most of those topics, the extent of my knowledge will likely only ever scratch the surface.
Another contributing factor is the educational structure of universities. Universities such as the UvA prioritise the consistent production of a high rate of graduates over fostering core academic values like creativity or self-reflection. This attitude contributes to a more efficiency-based approach to educating students, which has prompted the accusation that universities are steadily transforming into “degree factories”. For example, universities have adopted increasingly impersonal methods to process large numbers of students. These methods are partly the result of a shift in government funding, which has grown more market-orientated and performance-based as funds are now calculated according to measures such as graduation rates.
Besides changes to the public funding that universities receive, the universities themselves have switched to a more commercialised model of higher education in recent decades. Never does one feel more valued by the UvA than during its master’s week when already-enrolled students coincidentally become consumers once more. That said, (for those who can afford them) master’s degrees offer the promise of solving, temporarily at least, two of the most pervasive causes of student anxiety: self-doubt surrounding their expertise and uncertainty about life post-graduation. True to form, when the email for the master’s week arrived in my inbox, I jumped at the chance to register.
As our studies come to a close, many students may be questioning the utility of those thousands of euros in tuition and countless multiple-choice quizzes. However, the sense of insecurity that arises at the tail-end of our studies should not discount the privilege we had in going to university. Although the ever more market-oriented approach of the universities can leave students feeling frustrated, we cannot let ourselves be disillusioned. The discussions, materials, and people that student life gives us the opportunity to engage with are what define the university experience. The bittersweet melancholy at the prospect of leaving them behind after graduation might be the real cause of all my recent existential crises.
