June 13, 2006

Dear Colleague,

    I've got a couple of DVDs of Leonard Bernstein conducting the Mahler symphonies with the Vienna Philharmonic in the mid-70s. I wonder how his body manages to carry him through the symphony without a heart attack, and I also wonder whether Bernstein does not in fact hope to collapse and die at the end of a performance, his face--as the music reaches a rousing climax--glowing with sweat and exaltation, as though he has seen God, or, should I say, as though he has attained the ultimate in sexual orgasm.

    Here is Bernstein's philosophy of conducting. "The conductor must not only make his orchestra play, he must make them want to play. He must exalt them, lift them, start their adrenaline pouring, either through cajoling or demanding or raging. But however he does it, he must make the orchestra love the music as he loves it. It is not so much imposing his will on them like a dictator; it more like projecting his feelings around him so that they reach the last man in the second violin section. And when this happens--when one hundred men share his feelings, exactly, simultaneously, responding as one to each rise and fall of the music, to each point of arrival and departure, to each litter inner pulse--then there is a human identity of feeling that has no equal elsewhere. It is the closest thing I know to love itself."

    Well, as I read this, I think how different conducting is from teaching. Here I am, in from of the classroom as the conductor is in front of his orchestra, waving my arms as the conductor waves his arms. But there the similarity ends. Student just sit there. In sharp contrast to the crazy sawing of the second violins as Bernstein nods in their direction, students barely bother to lift their ball-point pens as I gesture frantically to make a point; and, of course, a few students in the back row don't even pretend to listen, being engaged in arranging a date after class or catching up on the news in The Daily Cardinal. As the end of a disappointing session, I am far from being able to say, "It is the closest thing I know to love itself." No wonder music conductors never want to retire, whereas professors retire at the earliest opportunity.

    If this sounds a little bitter, it is because conducting and teaching do have certain commonalities. Consider the fact that I can use Bernstein's view on conducting and change just a few words to make it fit with a plausible view on teaching. "The teacher must not only make his class learn, he must make them want to learn. He must exalt them, lift them, start their brain cells humming, either through cajoling or demanding or raging. But however he does it, he must make the class love learning as he loves it. It is not so much imposing his will on them like a dictator; it is more like projecting his thoughts around him so that they reach the student in the back row. And when this happens--when one hundred students share his love of his subject--there is a human marriage of minds that has no equal elsewhere. It is the closest thing I know to love itself."

    A teacher--a true teacher as distinct from a mere purveyor of information or technique--is a lover, Socrates tells us. Hence rejection--or just indifference--is so painful.

Best wishes,

Yi-Fu