"And that would be an uninvited visitor," Georgia Whidden said, pointing to a Daddy Long Legs spider hanging onto the door frame of the entrance to Fuld Hall, the main building of the Institute for Advanced Study.
Even for curious insects, it's tough to gain entry into the secluded think-tank known as "The Institute," located on Einstein Drive just beyond the Graduate College here in Princeton. Since it was founded in 1930, the Institute has always been a retreat for top scholars in various disciplines — including historical studies, mathematics, natural and social sciences and the arts — to come and pursue their research "free of any distractions" found at typical universities and conservatories.
Whidden, who serves as the Institute's spokeswoman, said that a common misconception is that the Institute is a part of Princeton University, though it has always been entirely separate. However, the close ties — which include shared library privileges, cosponsored lectures and reciprocal scholarly dialogues — make the Institute one of several educational havens that supplement the intellectual life of the University.
The Institute has been the home office of some of the most renowned thinkers. Among them was Albert Einstein, a member of the faculty from 1933 until his death in 1955.
While Einstein may have been refining some of his most famous scientific theories at the Institute, not all of the academics are working on projects that will make them popular icons. Institute researchers spend months and years toiling on projects that range from the obscure to the profane.
A scholar
Take Caroline Walker Bynum who arrived at the Institute last January, a historian recently retired from Columbia University studying a phenomenon called "blood piety," the 15th century practice of attaching religious significance to dead people's blood.
"Blood was revered,'' Bynum said. When religious figures such as priests, cardinals and candidates for sainthood died, their blood was drained and stored for pilgrims to view, touch, drink and hold. The practice, she said, goes beyond a Christian tradition of Eucharist, in which the blood of Christ — symbolized by wine — is drunk during mass.
"Blood needs to be put in a social context of an emphasis on blood as redemptive and blood as sacrificial," Bynum said.
Bynum is working on a book to sum up all of her research in the field, but hasn't signed a contract to sell it yet.
"I try to avoid deadlines," Bynum said. "You have to keep on working on something until you get it right."
Like many of the Institute researchers, Bynum, who recently returned from a four-month stay in Berlin, has a travel budget and takes frequent trips to Europe to conduct her studies.
The Institute has 169 apartments to house scholars and their families. There is also a nursery school adjacent to Institute grounds.

Bynum, who commutes to-and-from New York to meet with Columbia graduate students and her family, has more contact with the world outside the Institute than many of the Institute's other scholars.
Earning a seat at the Institute is no small accomplishment. Those offered a spot are either in their 50s or 60s who have a history of accomplishment in their fields or the rare young Ph.D.s thought to be working on breakthrough projects, Whidden explained.
Tucked away on 800 acres of private property where deer dominate the population, the Institute has an intentionally serene atmosphere.
While students and visitors commonly cross the University campus and are encouraged to drop by the offices of well-known professors, visits to the Institute are restricted. All press inquiries go through Whidden's office, and visitors must be escorted around campus.
"We're creating an environment free of any distractions. People come here so they can focus completely on their work," Whidden said.
But that doesn't mean the researchers here are lacking of human contact. After all, they have each other. Researchers are encouraged to work together and share ideas.
Pure scholarship
Bynum said the isolation of the Institute embodies its appeal to scholars. Lunches at the Institute consist of conversations about "our work" instead of "department business."
"Committees are the curse of academic existence," Bynum said. "We want to come to a place like this to get away from it."
Bynum has most enjoyed lunches where she is sandwiched between scholars from other disciplines. "Just take your food, join where there's a gap in the table and compare phenomena," she said. "That's fun."
"Whatever your research interests are, it has to connect with what other people are working on," Whidden said. "This is not isolated study."
Disciplines mingle
In 1994, the Institute began an artist-in-residence program. Composer Jon Magnussen serves as the musical presence on the Institute's campus. As Magnussen sees it, his presence epitomizes the Institute's mission.
"The artist-in-residence program is by design a catalyst for all the other disciplines," Magnussen said. "I'm the only one of my kind here, and I am free to speak with mathematicians, physicists or historians. There is something I have in common with all of them. Music is something human."
Magnussen finds inspiration in the contact with scholars in other fields.
"I'm stimulated just being here among non-musicians," he said. Magnussen compared the Institute to the conservatory atmosphere of The Juilliard School, where he has studied extensively.
Magnussen recently composed the score to a story ballet, "Dorian," based on Oscar Wilde's "The Portrait of Dorian Gray." Dancers from the American Ballet Theatre in New York will perform the piece at the end of the month.
Both Magnussen and Bynum take advantage of the closeness to the University.
Magnussen said he wished there were more hours in the day that he could use to confer with music faculty at Princeton.
Bynum gave a lecture on Sept. 15 for a series sponsored by the Program in Medieval Studies. She presented her work on blood piety to a full audience in McCormick 101.
Bynum also enjoys attending poetry readings and concerts on campus, comparing the vibrant Princeton campus culture to the off-campus culture of Columbia.
Bynum also expressed interest in teaching undergraduates here — or at Barnard and Columbia — because "that's just fun," she said.
Bynum would spend more time up-campus, but cited parking shortages in town as a "handicap" for closer Institute-University relations.
The Institute seems to be best suited for the abstract scientist or the master of letters. There are no science labs. Every office is sparsely furnished. Those few tools of discovery include a blackboard, desk, chair, computer and phone.
Blackboards also line the walls of hallways at the Institute to accommodate spur-of-the-moment thoughts that might arise during a trip to the bathroom or through conversation with colleagues. To preserve such fleeting thoughts, placards with the words "Do Not Erase" mark these public workspaces.
Several years ago, in honor of the ubiquitous placard, Whidden explained, several of the younger IAS scholars formed a rock band with the name "Do Not Erase." The band performed at several IAS barbeques.
For Bynum, and many scholars like her, being at the Institute is an opportunity to tackle those subjects that have always piqued her curiosity.
"You have a lot of projects by the time you're in your early 60s, sitting in the bottom of your drawers,'' she said.