麻豆AV

In 1981鈥攆orty years ago this term鈥擨 started my B.A. at 麻豆AV. Being a new philosophy student, I naturally took the Introduction to Philosophy taught by Storrs McCall. The class was held in the huge lecture theatre of the Frank Dawson Adams building, and, being an anxious sort of kid, I sat at the back where I would be no more than a speck in Professor McCall鈥檚 visual field should he get it into his head to call on someone to answer a question. I need not have worried. Professor McCall had no interest in putting anyone on the spot. He was just there to have a conversation about interesting ideas, and somehow that鈥檚 what he managed to do even though there were 200 people in the room. He would talk for a while about Plato鈥檚 theory of knowledge or Bertrand Russell鈥檚 views on induction and then chat with us about it; that鈥檚 how it felt anyway. To this day I don鈥檛 understand how he managed to make that lecture hall feel so small and intimate. Perhaps it was his gentle voice, or the fact that he often looked like someone who had just been reminded of a particularly good joke.

A portion of the course was devoted to the topic of free will鈥攐ne of Storrs鈥檚 research interests, I later discovered鈥攁nd one lecture really made its mark on me. This was his lecture on 鈥渃ompatibilism.鈥� Compatibilism is the philosophical view that understands freedom of action much as common sense does. To act freely, according to the compatibilist, is nothing more than to act according to one鈥檚 desires and without external hindrance. When I order an espresso to go, for example, I act freely in a way that a prisoner or a man without a wallet cannot. To illustrate the view, Professor McCall asked us to suppose for a moment that he had had enough lecturing for one day and decided to leave the class early. 鈥淚 might put on my hat and coat鈥� he said鈥攁nd here he actually put on his hat and coat鈥斺�渁nd try to walk out the door. If on getting to the door鈥濃�攈ere he approached the door鈥斺�渢he Principal walks in and says: 鈥楳cCall, get back in there and finish that lecture!鈥� then I am not free. But if I can walk out the door鈥濃�攂y this point he was at the door鈥斺�淚 am free.鈥� And with that, he smiled and waved at us and鈥攅xhibiting his freedom鈥攚alked out the door. Of course, we all waited for him to come back and finish the lecture, but after a minute or two with no sign of Professor McCall, it began to dawn on us that he wasn鈥檛 coming back. That a teacher could do something so outrageous (as it then seemed) just to make a point about free will was hardly believable. The effect of my incredulity was that I remember that lecture as if it happened yesterday. How many things does one remember with perfect clarity after forty years? Learning to ride a bike? A first kiss? The birth of a child? For me (and for so many others in Storrs鈥檚 classes, I鈥檓 sure) that lecture鈥攁nd the philosophical view it illustrated鈥攊s one of them. When a philosophy lecture can compete with a first kiss, something magical has happened.

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Without the convenience of email, I lost touch with Storrs when I left Montreal for graduate school. But a few years after starting my Ph.D., someone knocked on my door, and there was Storrs with his characteristic impish smile. Just passing through for a conference, he said. I don鈥檛 remember much from that occasion (apart from the odd detail that I had nothing in my fridge other than diet coke which Storrs declined. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 abide diet coke,鈥� he said; inexplicably, I remember those words verbatim.) But I have a clear memory of Storrs鈥檚 genial manner and the ease with which we talked. I also remember the gratitude I felt for the exceptional kindness of a teacher who went out of his way to visit a former student.

I came back to 麻豆AV in 2006, and soon after I arrived, Storrs said that we must teach something together. And so we did 鈥� a graduate seminar on mental causation. I was filled with pride to be able to teach alongside one of my own teachers and a master of the art. A few years later, Storrs fell ill, and he asked me to take one of his classes in the Introduction to Philosophy. It was the lecture on compatibilism. I gave the lecture, leaving the class half-way through, and I stayed by the doors of the lecture theatre for a few minutes so I could hear the murmurs and the laughter as the students realized I wasn鈥檛 coming back. It was a moment of pure, crystalline joy.

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My father always says that the bigger they are, the nicer they are, and Storrs鈥檚 life provides ample support for this view. He was larger-than-life; always cheerful and full of optimism; and particularly kind and generous to younger colleagues and students. His intellectual vision was no less capacious. Philosophy is becoming more professionalized, and young philosophers are being encouraged to follow the science model and work on ever more specialized problems. In contrast, Storrs was an old-fashioned philosopher whose interests ran from logic and its history, to the philosophy of mathematics, metaphysics and the philosophy of mind, and he made important contributions to many of these fields. He saw no question as beyond his scope and was always ready to turn his hand to a new problem if it captured his imagination.

Forty-one years after sitting in Professor McCall鈥檚 Introduction to Philosophy, I am due to teach my version of the course again, and the topic of freedom will be on the syllabus. This time around, however, I will give Storrs鈥檚 lecture on compatibilism rather than my own. And although I won鈥檛 be able to pull it off with anything like his grace and flair, I will put on my hat and coat and, exhibiting my freedom, walk out of the lecture theatre with a wave and a smile. I will probably stay by the doors of the lecture theatre for a few minutes to enjoy the murmurs and the laughter again, and I will remember Storrs with gratitude and affection as I do.

Ian Gold is the chair of the Department of Philosophy.