Allow me to set the scene: it’s 9:30 on a Sunday morning, and, unfortunately, I am awake. Not only am I awake, but I am standing shuddering in a pink bikini purchased for a summer beach holiday that could not feel more distant, ready to lower myself into the frigid waters of Jesus Green Lido. The air is a balmy nine degrees celsius, the leaves are thoroughly orange, yet the pool is extremely busy. Following our icy swim, my friend jokes that our weekend activity was thoroughly Protestant. This is a characteristically-humanities student reference to the Protestant work ethic, a phrase first coined by the sociologist Max Weber. He used the term to describe the emphasis on industriousness and asceticism associated with Protestant values, which he credited for the rise of capitalism. But, following a little more than a year at Cambridge, I cannot help but feel that the Protestant work ethic that got me here is fracturing.

This may sound like a ridiculously perfectionistic hyperbole. After all, where do students work harder than at Oxbridge? While the Protestant work ethic is ever-present in the demands of our degrees, manifesting itself in expectations of reading notoriously weighty texts in a matter of days and churning out essays on an industrial scale, this does not mean that it is instilled into us. The expectations so high and the consequences of not meeting them so humbling (think humiliation in a one-on-one discussion with an esteemed academic who may well have written the text that you scarcely skimmed). There is little room for the personal flourishes of motivation that may have set many of us apart just enough to win us our places here.

“Often the lesson that prevails is how best to do the bare minimum”

Often the lesson that prevails is how best to do the bare minimum. Cambridge students twist the cleverness that earned them their places at the university to hone ingenious schemes of not working. And we take pride in these. Stories of shockingly last-minute essays are recited as tales of triumph. In some circles, it seems that working hard is regarded as very unimpressive indeed, as a distinction is drawn between those who have succeeded through intrinsic, effortless intelligence and the somewhat duller grafters. It’s a sentiment reminiscent of that espoused by my classmates who branded me a ‘try-hard’ at thirteen, albeit with an elitist twist, which I did not expect to re-emerge at one of the world’s most academically prestigious institutions.

But the guilt remains. Cambridge’s severe issues around student mental health are often attributed to its extreme workload, and I agree with this. However, there is a distinction, albeit a subtle one, between being overworked and overwhelmed, and I believe that many students at this university suffer from the latter issue. Rather than literally working ourselves into crisis, we stare at the behemoth of unwritten essays and endless reading lists looming before us and cannot face its enormity. Then the Protestant work ethic does reveal itself: not as a provider of motivation but as one of shame, of a Biblical intensity. Quite unlike Weber’s spirited early capitalists, in the case of many burnt-out Cambridge students it renders itself profoundly unproductive.

“Then the Protestant work ethic does reveal itself; not as a provider of motivation but as one of shame, of a Biblical intensity”

I personally honed my Protestant work ethic not at Cambridge, but rather at my comprehensive state school. Expectations were low, fixed homework was a rarity, and constructive criticism was restricted to a sentence or two at best. So, I learned to motivate myself - because I had to. When I was thirteen, I returned from school each day and typed out a novel on my iPad within the space of a few months. Booker Prize winner it was not, but it was the product of a great many hours, and motivation that was truly mine alone. Now, as a Cambridge student, I recently baulked at the thought of having to redraft a poem, before returning to a total absence of creative writing, a once-favoured pastime that has become impossible during term-time.

Sure, I understand the Protestant work ethic on a theoretical level, and the feelings of guilt at my sins of sloth both real and psychosomatic remain a nagging presence on even my laziest of days. In an environment where the bare minimum becomes too much all too often, and diligence is motivated by looming deadlines and the terror of embarrassment rather than an innate sense of moral duty, our work ethics are enforced rather than embraced. A phenomenon that was once a source of success has become one of shame.

Just as with my Sunday morning swim, the Protestant work ethic is deeply embedded in the life of a Cambridge student. To reclaim the motivation that enabled me to read enough books and put in enough extra hours of study to earn my place here, though, I think I would have to go back to school.