Personal Recollection: Bob Solomon
Unfortunately, there is a second piece of bad news today: the University of Texas community is mourning the loss of long-time philosophy professor Robert Solomon. Solomon died Jan. 2 in an airport in Switzerland. The Statesman reports that he died suddenly, in the middle of changing planes, from pulmonary hypertension, likely the result of a lifelong congenital heart defect.
Solomon taught the only two philosophy classes I ever took at UT, as part of a Plan II seminar. Below the jump are a couple personal recollections of the man.
After the news broke, I emailed some friends from the class with the news, asking for their memories of the man, and my friend Clare wrote back,
It's hard to believe he's gone, just like that.I don't really know what to say, except to describe his classes. On the first day of the semester, every desk in his "Existentialism" class was filled and students hoping to talk their way in were sitting on tables and standing in the back of the room. He was one of the best lecturers I had at UT -- that man could have read the dictionary out loud and I would have taken notes. He maintained his warmth and enthusiasm outside of the classroom, too, having students over to discuss philosophy and life over Shiner and Indian food.
The mustache, the cartoon character ties... He will be missed.
I’d forgotten about the ties. As a reflection of himself, at least as far as his students could know him, Solomon couldn’t have chosen a better accessory.
Solomon was a small, seemingly serious man, but he had a quick smile. His features pinched in toward the middle of his face and were often obscured by a flourish of red facial hair. I could never decide if it was a face made for consternation or if it had simply been shaped that way after years of thought.
Maybe what I remember best, though, is his voice. Deep and seeming to exude patience, it was made for radio, or maybe the therapist’s chair. Often staring at the ground, his eyebrows drawn together and his moustache twitching in concetration, he delivered lectures in slow, measured words — which could have narcoleptic effects on students fresh off all-nighters — while sitting on a table, legs dangling a few inches off the ground. Then suddenly, his thought completed, he’d relax, look up, and crack or joke or open the floor for discussion.
In his give and take with his students Solomon showed an amazing tolerance for bullshit. Long after I had stopped paying attention to the few know-it-alls arguing in circles, Solomon would listen and offer carefully worded rejoinders. It was the mark of his professionalism that even though he was a world-renowned expert in his field, year after year you could find him sitting cross-legged on a table discussing with college sophomores what it means to be alive.
Image from the University of San Diego.
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