Last May I sat for nearly an hour and watched a mother robin feeding her three babies. Spending an hour this way seemed uncharacteristically frivolous and self-indulgent at the time, but I realize today that I witnessed a metaphor for teaching. Teaching is the acquisition, assimilation, and articulation of knowledge. Just as the mother robin hunted food, chewed it up, then spit it into the mouths of her young, teachers search for knowledge, synthesize it, then present it to students in more palatable form. All factors in this tripartite equation carry equal weight, and we are fortunate to find ourselves in a college environment that encourages and rewards all of these elements crucial to the enterprise of good teaching.

The acquisition of knowledge is sometimes referred to as scholarship. All teachers begin as scholars, but often the fulfillment of classroom responsibilities leaves little energy for active research projects. A good teacher recognizes the importance of active scholarly pursuits, even those that yield no immediate application. A scholar finds joy in knowing; knowledge becomes its own reward.

Trust, humility, and discipline function significantly in a scholar's work. Because all knowledge may not seem immediately relevant, a scholar must trust that discoveries will someday find application. A scholar must momentarily set aside the individual ego when confronting the works of masters. Such humility encourages the thorough mastery of others' ideas before the scholar affixes his personal stamp upon them. A scholar must relish the discipline of his endeavor. In the following excerpt from Science and The Modern World, Alfred North Whitehead discusses discipline within the context of great art. His words can be applied just as easily to the idea of scholarship.

"Great art is the arrangement of the environment so as to provide for the soul vivid values. Human beings require something which absorbs them for a time, something out of the routine which they can stare at. Great art is more than a transient refreshment. It is something which adds to the permanent richness of the soul's self-attainment. It justifies itself both by its immediate enjoyment, and also by its discipline of the inmost being. Its discipline is not distinct from enjoyment, but by reason of it. It transforms the soul into the permanent realization of values extending beyond its former self."

Whitehead's words not only address the importance of discipline, but the final sentence gives a powerful answer to the question, "Why bother?" Discipline is perhaps the most under-rated of scholarly attributes, talent and intelligence the most over-rated. Discipline can be taught and learned, and disciplined scholars are more credibly prepared to teach this quality to their students.

I see myself as an active scholar. I find that not only does such work hone intellectual muscle, but the doing of it sets an important example for students to follow. The mother robin's trips to find food functioned in the same way. Not only did she return with nourishment for her young, but in observing their mother at work, the young robins learned the process by which to acquire their own food.

In the assimilation of knowledge a scholar/teacher makes ideas his own. Forming relationships and connections between ideas gives a teacher the opportunity to place an individual fingerprint on a body of work. For example, the study of a Beethoven sonata begins with an examination of the score. Further research includes reading critical writings and listening to recordings. Assimilation begins in the practice studio when ideas are contemplated, worked out, and adopted or discarded. Technical and intellectual assimilation proceed simultaneously. The culminating public performance of the sonata transcends the notes in the printed score because the performer's fingerprint is impressed upon them. No better justification for continuing to study works of the masters exists than the realization that individuals have the capacity to color these works in a unique way. We can keep them fresh--in some way new. Doing this is essential if the work is to maintain its original vitality and power to excite its subject. These tenets apply equally to a Beethoven sonata, a Shakespeare play, or an essay by Thoreau.

Thorough assimilation leads to creative and understandable articulation--the essence of good teaching. Every performance of Beethoven's sonata will be slightly different if a variety of viable choices regarding its interpretation have been assimilated. In the same way, every presentation of Renaissance music to my Introduction to Listening class differs slightly, colored by the unique chemistry each classroom of students provides. Good teachers constantly look for new ways to present old material, and creative ideas often come from unexpected sources. For example, last summer I read a book in which the author told his story using the first person to speak as a figure in a painting. This literary device intrigued me, and I created an assignment for students in my aesthetic communication class where they wrote the story of a work of art in a similar way. Thus, a creative approach to teaching the interpretation of works of art resulted from a casual summer trip to Prince's book store.

Effective, creative teaching happens in the museum, concert hall, library, and studio, as well as in the classroom. Good teachers are active scholars and sharp intellects on campus and off. I begin this teaching year with no smaller goal than to change my students' lives. I will achieve this goal by remembering the joy and rewards my work gives me, by working to duplicate the energy of my subject in my teaching, and by creating an atmosphere in the classroom where infectious enthusiasm prevails.