The Music of Learning
Harold T. Shapiro
Professor of Economics and Public Affairs and
President, Princeton UniversityDelivered at Opening Exercises
Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey
September 15, 1999
The Princeton University Chapel is one of the special buildings on our campus. To me, this structure and the many activities that give it life are symbolic of our own never-ending attempts to give meaning to the world we experience, to define our place in nature, and to develop a sense of purpose and value. Since the search for understanding, discovery and meaning is so central to the life of a university, this Chapel has always struck me as an appropriate venue to begin the academic year. The title of my remarks this afternoon is "The Music of Learning."
The music that you heard as you entered the Chapel included Bach's Prelude and Fugue in C Major, known as "the fanfare," and a more contemporary piece entitled the "Fanfare for Organ" by John Cook, which makes spectacular use of the organ's trumpet stops. These fanfares from the Western repertoire were followed by a special fanfare of African drums that accompanied the formal academic procession. Let me say a word or two, however, about musical fanfares and why they also are appropriate for occasions such as this.
A fanfare often consists of a flourish of trumpets or other brass instruments, sometimes accompanied by percussion, and is usually designed to mark special occasions, especially moments of celebration. The usual purpose of a fanfare is to herald the arrival of a special person, or the appearance of a special group or the marking of a special event. As you may recall, even in the Bible the blare of "trumpets," or horns of various types, is often associated with an awesome event or the coming of a new and special era.
The rhythms of the wonderful drums we heard as we entered the Chapel have their roots in African religious ceremonies. In the African tradition the sound and rhythms of such drums are a projection of the human voice; they summon spiritual entities, and in this sense the drummer is the link between the material and spiritual worlds. The purpose of the drumming is to capture the attention and to focus the energy of the listener. These drums and the rhythms created by the drummers are drawn from the oral traditions of a society and culture quite different from our own. Nevertheless, they are particularly appropriate for us this afternoon as we are gathered to mark the beginning of the academic year and, as the third millennium approaches, to dedicate and focus our energies on the academic and non-academic challenges now ahead of us. We have a great deal both to celebrate and to anticipate.
The beginning of a new academic year is always a special event for a university as we look forward not only to the learning, the scholarship and the discoveries of the coming year but the many experiences of all kinds that we will share and the warm friendships that will result.
We also celebrate the arrival of an extraordinary group of new students and faculty to the Princeton community of learners and scholars. With such a treasure of intellectual and personal resources being added to our academic community, we have every reason to look to the future with optimism and hope.
This year's entering students and faculty are the last to enter Princeton in the 1900s. As the twentieth century draws to an end and a new millennium approaches, I hope we are approaching a time of thoughtful social and cultural innovation aimed at forging a common destiny in an even better world.
The twentieth century has been an extraordinary era, characterized by both spectacular accomplishment and devastating tragedy. As we approach the next century, I would like to take this moment to celebrate in advance a commitment by all of us gathered here to those social, technological and cultural innovations that will benefit all humankind and to a century characterized by a renewed determination to bolster human kindness, human bonds and human empathy everywhere.
I hope that a hundred years from now, in 2099, students entering Princeton will be able to look back on a century in which all humankind made measurable progress toward living together more peacefully, sharing resources more equitably, and defining moral and ethical values that enabled people of all cultures to treat each other with understanding and dignity.
For all these reasons, and with the hope and optimism that can provide the creative energy to forge a worthy common destiny for ourselves, for Princeton, for our nation and all nations, I believe it is entirely fitting that we should begin this academic year and mark this moment in our history with some fanfare.
Usually, in the month of August, my family and I return to our country home at the northern end of Lake Michigan. This is a quiet and relatively remote spot, and I spend much of my time reading and writing. I also immerse myself in listening as intently as I can to music, which is always a learning and sometimes an inspirational experience. Aside from the pure enjoyment of it, one of the wonderful things about listening intently to music is that listeners open themselves to new experiences and, therefore, to learning.
This August, in thinking about the approaching academic year and the unique historical period in which we are living, my thoughts turned to the American composer Aaron Copland for two reasons: his remarkable body of music and the manner in which he described the creative act of listening to music. In particular, his thoughts about the nature of true listening seemed to mirror my own thoughts regarding the most effective way for a student to approach the challenges of learning and discovery.
As many of you know, Aaron Copland was not only a distinctively American composer who experimented with many different musical styles, but an artist whose life and work reflected many of the passions of the twentieth century, including the movies. He was the winner of both a Pulitzer Prize and an Academy Award. During this coming year, we will be celebrating the 100th anniversary of Copland's birth.
Since I have already declared this afternoon an auspicious moment of celebration that should be marked by fanfare, let us listen for a moment to an excerpt from Copland's "Fanfare for the Common Man," which was first performed in 1942 as an acknowledgment of the efforts and sacrifices of Americans involved in World War II.
[pause for music]
You may be the first class of undergraduate and graduate students to be welcomed to our campus by such a rousing and inspiring greeting. And while the power of this fanfare certainly reflects the pleasure we take in your arrival on campus, I must admit that the main reason I chose this music is because I have always been moved by Copland's astute observations on the role of the listener with respect to a particular piece of music. As I have already noted, I have always been struck by how apt those observations were for the way in which students or any learners should approach the new ideas they encounter in their classes, in the library, in the laboratory and in many informal settings with their fellow students or with faculty.
With respect to music, Copland stressed three things. The first was that the listener had to take a very active role. It was not sufficient to simply listen and react in an idle or off-handed fashion. The responses of the idle listener, Copland felt, never contributed to an increased understanding or longer-term appreciation of the work.
Second, Copland felt that it was necessary for active listeners to listen intently, making sure that they heard everything that was incorporated into the melody.
The third responsibility of the active and intense listener was to understand what came before a particular musical moment and what would follow from it.
Finally, Copland was also fond of pointing out that in musical composition one waits in vain for inspiration to arrive unbidden. Rather one finds inspiration through active and continuing exploration of ideas new and old, themes contemporary and handed down, and all of life's moving experiences, both actual and contemplated.
The principles that lie behind Copland's active, intense, comprehensive, thoughtful, and successful listener are the same ones that lie behind the successful learner in the broader world of ideas that you will encounter at Princeton.
To be a successful learner here, it is not enough simply to "take in" whatever you somehow manage to hear in the classroom or read in the library. Nor is it enough simply to carry out an assignment in routine fashion, whether in the library or elsewhere.
To be truly successful and to get the most out of your experience here, you must be an engaged, active and intense participant in the exploration of those new territories of thought and analysis that will be open to you. Moreover, just like Copland's successful listener you must be constantly engaged in trying to understand where particular ideas come from and where they may take you.
Not all music is good music, and even a very intense, thoughtful and responsive listener cannot turn bad music into good music. Similarly, not all ideas one encounters, whether at Princeton or elsewhere, will be good ideas. Your first important task as active and intense learners, therefore, is to separate out thoughtful ideas from idle assertions.
Your second important task is to decide which of the thoughtful ideas you are exposed to are more likely to enrich your humanity and understanding and to support the kind of society you believe we should all be working to achieve. It is primarily through this active and thoughtful exploration of alternative ideas, experiences and themes that you will become inspired to make the most of your time at the University as well as to help others understand their own humanity more fully and better realize their objectives.
You may be able to survive your journey from this moment to graduation without such a dedicated approach to learning, but you will probably spend many later years regretting that you missed such a unique opportunity. The chance to engage in such an intense learning experience does not come often in one's lifetime.
Here at Princeton we have assembled extraordinary resources to help you on your journey as an active and independent-minded learner. You can pursue your interests in some of the finest laboratories and libraries and with some of the most distinguished faculty in the world. In addition, you have each other. Each of you brings something special to this community of learning, and each of you can help your fellow students on their journey. Connect with each other in friendship and in learning, and you will recall your experiences here at Princeton as a special time indeed.
Perhaps the best watchword for your journey here at Princeton is DISCOVERY. You will, of course, discover new friends. You are certain to discover important ideas that you had not considered before. Most importantly, you may take part in a scholarly enterprise that focuses on the development or discovery of entirely new interpretations of humankind's experiences, or new understandings of human biology or other aspects of the natural world that we inhabit.
In this latter respect, you may have heard of the intriguing discovery made by Professor Tsien (a member of Princeton's Molecular Biology Department) and his colleagues that received international attention a few weeks ago. As I understand it, Professor Tsien demonstrated that one could, through genetic engineering -- in this case by adding a specific gene -- create a mouse with improved memory and learning skills.
Unfortunately, we are unable to pass out any such genes to this year's entering class (you will have to do your learning the good old fashioned way), but the excitement of this discovery, which raises both important scientific and ethical questions, is but one example of the new insights being gained every day in the classrooms, libraries and laboratories of this campus.
In conclusion, I would like you to remember that the act of learning never ceases. You will learn a lot in your classes, but this will not be enough. You will learn a lot in the laboratory and library, but this will not be enough. You will learn a lot from each other, but this too will not be enough. We hope that your time at Princeton will give you both a permanent thirst for learning and a determination to use your understanding to help build an even better world for us all.
Returning for a moment to Professor Tsien's mice, I would observe that the extra genes did not change the overall level of motivation or curiosity among these animals. It simply improved their memory. With respect to your experience at Princeton, it will be your curiosity and motivation above all that will enable you to take best advantage of the resources all about you.
Finally, while genuine learning is always to be honored, so are good deeds. The world needs thoughtful new ideas, but the world also needs genuine change, and it is my own belief that one's learning is most likely to endure and make a difference if one's good deeds are also notable. At Princeton learning is your first task, good deeds your moral obligation, and life-long friendships can be the result of both activities. In other words, I would like you to take seriously Princeton's informal motto, ". . . in the nation's service and in the service of all nations."
Once again, I would like to welcome you all to Princeton and to the work we will do together. I look forward also to meeting many of you and to celebrating the many friendships that will grow among you. Good luck to you all.
Harold T. Shapiro
September 15, 1999