Faith in the II.1 is misplaced by employers.
Some of the most impressive people I have ever met never received I or II.1 from Universities. To be frank, some of the most impressive people I have ever met have obtained a II.2. One person I know, who received a II.1 in the Final Honour School of Modern History at Oxford is now a lecturer in Modern History at that University, and I still feel perplexed how he failed to obtain a First in Finals. But actually – even in the world of academia – it doesn’t matter now as he is a renowned expert in a Conservative theorist. The most impressive people in life I have ever met never went to University at all, as it happens.
Law firms have a preoccupation with a II.1, although good recruiters will see past this, and look at the gestalt of an application. Lazy recruiters will use the II.1 as a ‘dividing line’, what is being called in tax circles these days as a ‘cliff edge’.
I think part of the reason why some people I know, who have succeeded in life, obtained a II.2 in finals is because they are actually on-the-whole an impressive range of people with a plethora of outside interests. That of course is the eternal paradox for law recruiters, applicants having to demonstrate an impressive range of extracurricular activities and positions of responsibilities, when the likelihood they need to be thick-skinned young enthusiastic people who are prepared to be subordinate and act as ‘grist to the mill’.
When I was assessing scripts for Finals at Cambridge, as a junior graduate student, I found as an examiner the magic behind the II.1 was not up-to-much. In fact, I felt it was a diagnosis effectively of exclusion, where you would award a I for scripts which were well evidenced and elegantly argued, and II.2 for individuals who essentially knew a lot but simply had not been taught about the importance of structuring this argument crisply. II.2 was for people were bright but lazy, and the not bright. My gut feeling for awarding a I was whether the candidate would be able to write an abstract for a scientific paper, with the evidence clearly presented, points succinctly explained, and appropriate conclusions reached, without being over-voluminous. Our marking guidelines reflected this to some degree.
The argument for using the II.1 as an indicator of ability is that the volume of applications is far too much for legal recruiters to have an alternative mechanism. However, one has to be mindful of the significant minority of good applicants who feel as if they are ‘written off’ or not given a chance, at let’s face an early stage, to be able to prove their value for a law firm. I also worry about the obsession from law firms, particularly in some firms in the City, to select a disproportionate number of Oxbridge graduates. Last time I checked, Cambridge awarded around 75% I and II.1 in certain subjects in Finals anyway, and there are some appalling students at Oxbridge should not be given preference in the jobs market purely on account of the fact they went to Oxbridge.
This post is though utterly pointless. I dare say it’ll be business as usual for law firms, and the counter-argument is that all these apprehensions become filtered out at interview stage. This is of course true, but the vast majority of friends never get invited for interview despite impressive application forms. Their standard response is then of course ‘Go and consult your Careers department’, in a tedious ‘pass the buck’ manner. And it’s back to selecting on the basis of the II.1..
I obtained at least a II.1 for the record in my Finals at Cambridge in 1996.
