everyone can be successful. That said, we are trying at the interview to get each candidate to
show themselves at their very best. We want to see how good they are, not how bad.
Sometimes this takes surprising forms, as with those odd questions. Everyone who conducts these interviews will tell you that
over-preparation is as damaging to a candidate’s chances as under-preparation. I have often sat and listened to some hopeful
reeling off, unstoppably, a prepared speech on the perfection of the Virgilian hexameter or why the Spartans won the Peloponnesian
War. Bowling them a googly (‘So what do you think the Romans wore under their togas?’) is sometimes the only way of throwing
them a lifeline – of giving them the opportunity to show that they can think independently, not from the prepared script.
So if I was giving one piece of advice to those preparing for an interview in my subject? Much cheaper than being professionally
‘groomed’ – I would go out and buy (or borrow) a book about any aspect of the ancient world that interests you and one that
is not a mainline part of your school syllabus, or takes you beyond it. Read it; know its title (you’d be surprised how many
interviewees can only remember the colour of the dust jacket of their favourite reading matter); and be prepared to talk about
it if you are asked – but no prepared speeches, remember.
Happily, this is not entirely inconsistent with another aspect of the interview survey that did not get so much media coverage.
Apparently almost 40% of the philosophy candidates who had read Mill’s Utilitarianism got a place ... as well as the impressive 75% of all candidates (for any subject, apparently) who regularly read the Economist .
By the way, I don’t think I shall be interviewing this year. So please don’t anyone go wasting their time trying to find out
what Romans did wear under their togas. Anyway, sorely tempted as I have been, I have never actually asked the question. In
fact, I don’t think we know the answer. But if I were to ask it, the point of the question (apart from stopping the unstoppable
prepared script) would be to see if the candidate could begin to think through the limits of our ignorance about antiquity,
as well as imagine how you might go about filling in the gaps. It wouldn’t be a ‘trick’ at all.
Comments
Wasn’t it a subligaculum , which my old school pocket dictionary defines as a ‘loin cloth’? Go on! Tell me I’m wrong!
DAVID KIRWAN
David – I couldn’t say you were wrong. But, as always with such things, the translation ‘loin cloth’ gets away with murder.
It sounds appropriately antique (we don’t wear them now, after all) ... but what do we think it actually looked like? Do we
ever hear about someone taking their ‘ sublig .’ off ...? There’s a challenge.
MARY
Cicero (if I translate him correctly) says that no actor would appear on stage without his subligaculum .
DAVID KIRWAN
Cicero seems to imply that actors without a subligaculum would be open to the mischance of accidental indecent exposure and that is why they wear it. Perhaps this doesn’t apply to
fine upstanding citizens like Cicero. Meanwhile, before someone else does, let me mention the ‘bikini pants’ worn by the girls
on the Piazza Armerina mosaics.
BINGLEY
Surely, if you rule the known world with an iron fist, you can wear whatever you damned well please underneath your toga.
BENJAMIN WARREN
Don’t you see, the question of what is worn under the toga is precisely what is unfair about the interview!
Having codified the actual line of inquiry (‘What are the limits of our knowledge about the antiquities and how can we overcome
them, to some extent?’) in an off-puttingly flippant remark, you leave it up to luck whether the candidate will dare to climb
down from their anxiety about the situation and engage with your very insensitive tone at complete ease.
How many clever,
show themselves at their very best. We want to see how good they are, not how bad.
Sometimes this takes surprising forms, as with those odd questions. Everyone who conducts these interviews will tell you that
over-preparation is as damaging to a candidate’s chances as under-preparation. I have often sat and listened to some hopeful
reeling off, unstoppably, a prepared speech on the perfection of the Virgilian hexameter or why the Spartans won the Peloponnesian
War. Bowling them a googly (‘So what do you think the Romans wore under their togas?’) is sometimes the only way of throwing
them a lifeline – of giving them the opportunity to show that they can think independently, not from the prepared script.
So if I was giving one piece of advice to those preparing for an interview in my subject? Much cheaper than being professionally
‘groomed’ – I would go out and buy (or borrow) a book about any aspect of the ancient world that interests you and one that
is not a mainline part of your school syllabus, or takes you beyond it. Read it; know its title (you’d be surprised how many
interviewees can only remember the colour of the dust jacket of their favourite reading matter); and be prepared to talk about
it if you are asked – but no prepared speeches, remember.
Happily, this is not entirely inconsistent with another aspect of the interview survey that did not get so much media coverage.
Apparently almost 40% of the philosophy candidates who had read Mill’s Utilitarianism got a place ... as well as the impressive 75% of all candidates (for any subject, apparently) who regularly read the Economist .
By the way, I don’t think I shall be interviewing this year. So please don’t anyone go wasting their time trying to find out
what Romans did wear under their togas. Anyway, sorely tempted as I have been, I have never actually asked the question. In
fact, I don’t think we know the answer. But if I were to ask it, the point of the question (apart from stopping the unstoppable
prepared script) would be to see if the candidate could begin to think through the limits of our ignorance about antiquity,
as well as imagine how you might go about filling in the gaps. It wouldn’t be a ‘trick’ at all.
Comments
Wasn’t it a subligaculum , which my old school pocket dictionary defines as a ‘loin cloth’? Go on! Tell me I’m wrong!
DAVID KIRWAN
David – I couldn’t say you were wrong. But, as always with such things, the translation ‘loin cloth’ gets away with murder.
It sounds appropriately antique (we don’t wear them now, after all) ... but what do we think it actually looked like? Do we
ever hear about someone taking their ‘ sublig .’ off ...? There’s a challenge.
MARY
Cicero (if I translate him correctly) says that no actor would appear on stage without his subligaculum .
DAVID KIRWAN
Cicero seems to imply that actors without a subligaculum would be open to the mischance of accidental indecent exposure and that is why they wear it. Perhaps this doesn’t apply to
fine upstanding citizens like Cicero. Meanwhile, before someone else does, let me mention the ‘bikini pants’ worn by the girls
on the Piazza Armerina mosaics.
BINGLEY
Surely, if you rule the known world with an iron fist, you can wear whatever you damned well please underneath your toga.
BENJAMIN WARREN
Don’t you see, the question of what is worn under the toga is precisely what is unfair about the interview!
Having codified the actual line of inquiry (‘What are the limits of our knowledge about the antiquities and how can we overcome
them, to some extent?’) in an off-puttingly flippant remark, you leave it up to luck whether the candidate will dare to climb
down from their anxiety about the situation and engage with your very insensitive tone at complete ease.
How many clever,
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