One of the advantages to the instructor of a course dependent upon weekly guest lecturers is that, upon its completion, he or she can without appearing immodest declare it a grand achievement. He can also delight in recommending to others the versions of the three course lectures that follow in this newsletter.
Last spring, I emerged from retirement to offer a
new course, "Mind and Memory Explorations of Creativity in
the Arts and Sciences." I knew that its success would depend
upon the willingness of my colleagues in the various disciplines
to speak about their research and artistic activities - about
their creative processes, their motivations and goals. Nearly
everybody I contacted agreed at once to participate. Their fields
were so varied, their specific topics so interesting, that I decided
to make the lectures and demonstrations open to the community
at large, while holding a separate discussion session for the
enrolled undergraduates.
Enrollment was open to juniors and seniors who were
engaged either in scientific studies and research or in creative
work in the arts, and I quickly reached the largest number of
students - about fifty - that I thought I could feasibly work
with. From the first public lecture onward, Hollis Cornell auditorium,
which seats 225, was filled to capacity, sometimes with late arrivals
standing at the back. (The front rows were reserved for the enrolled
students, but they soon learned that they needed to arrive early
or their seats would be occupied.)
The course attracted so much interest for a couple
of related reasons, I think. The first is that the lecturers were
superb, with scientists and artists alike showing their ability
to convey crucial aspects of their creative processes - indeed,
of what mattered most to them, both intellectually and emotionally
- in a lucid manner to nonspecialists. The second reason - here
I may be guilty of imputing my own subjective response to the
larger audience - is that the auditors were fascinated by the
insight they were gaining into the spirit - the heart - of a large
and diverse university: into the creative impulse so central to
the mission of education itself as well as to the goals and aspirations
of individual artists and scientists. Whatever the obvious differences
between, say, a physicist and a poet, the lecture series soon
made apparent that much connects them - the search for analogies
and other likenesses, for the connections that lead to a greater
understanding of both physical phenomena and subjective values.
In any event, the course seemed to be meeting a long-standing
need.
Most
of the lecturers were able to attend the discussion meeting for
the students, to answer specific questions, and to discuss the
nature of their work, including its problems and unique pleasures.
The students kept journals, in which they summarized their understanding
of and personal response to each week's lecture as well as to
the readings (some of the latter assigned by the lecturers, but
the majority of them assigned by me, from my just-published Oxford
University Press anthology, The Anatomy of Memory). They
also submitted term papers in which they discussed those lectures
and readings that had the most important implications for them,
in reference to their own scientific or artistic studies and proposed
goals. (The major purpose of the extensive writing was to make
the students into active participants of the course: true learning,
as I understand it, requires creative involvement, and the students
were encouraged to seek out viable connections among the lectures
and reading assignments as well as differences.)
Judging from the assessments I've received from the
public audience as well as from the students, almost everybody
in attendance would like a course like this to continue, and the
subject matter expanded to include other disciplines; I have several
pages of names of suggested lecturers. As part of her assessment
of the course, one graduating senior wrote, "This course
has helped me focus on my own internal process of creation and
has shown me other ways of working that are more intelligent than
my own. . . . It felt as if I were finally experiencing what I
had always longed for as a student. I was in the company of many
outstanding people and I had the opportunity to ask questions,
ponder their thoughts and grow! . . . [M]y stereotypes about different
disciplines were shattered. Prior to taking this course, I could
think of nothing more repulsive or perhaps boring than fields
like chemical ecology or aerospace engineering. Yet now, I feel
a sense of curiosity and understanding when faced with students
and professors in these fields. My ideas about career choices
and the assessment of my own abilities grew and changed, and now
I feel a stronger sense of myself."
Though I'm nearly seventy-five, the course had a
somewhat analogous effect upon me. Before undertaking it, I felt
my own creative explorations might be ending, the necessary juices
drying up; but the enthusiasm and sense of creative possibility
communicated by a semester-long series of guest lecturers, abetted
by the perceptive responses of the many dedicated students, have
renewed my own self-confidence and vigor to such an extent that
I think I may have yet one more book that will give me happiness
to write.
James McConkey, Goldwin Smith Professor of English Literature Emeritus, is the author of thirteen books.
This article is Copyright © 1996 James McConkey. All Rights Reserved.