I was so sad to hear of this today. As pure happenstance, during my first year as an undergrad at Tufts University in 1994, I was placed into a small honors Intro to Philosophy course of Dan's. I went to college with few clear passions, thinking I might major in English, Psychology, or Political Science, but found myself in a tiny classroom with 12 other first-years when the spitting image of Socrates walked in the door. That class was an incredibly special and formative experience in my life. No one in my family had ever gone to graduate school, but I knew that first semester that philosophy was "it" for me, and Dan was a prime reason why.
We covered five classic texts in that class, had five term-papers, and Dan would let us turn in as many rewrites as we wanted. He was a meticulous and demanding grader (the class's highest grade on the first paper was a B-), so naturally I rewrote my first paper five times, a couple of other papers three times, etc.--and each time Dan provided detailed comments and corrections. I found it stunning that he would teach a course like that to first-years, not to mention give that level of individual attention to each of us. It seemed to me then, and always has since, a model to emulate. The meetings themselves were spectacular. We'd alternate between close textual analysis/debate and wide-ranging digressions into cognitive science, computer science, etc. From the very beginning, Dan was explicit that he regarded each of us as no less capable of doing philosophy than he, and he made a point to treat us as argumentative peers. Of course, he didn't suffer fools, and if he thought we were mistaken, he'd less us know. But he clearly loved to argue, and to be taken seriously in classroom was so cool, especially coming from high school where teachers were more like stern authority figures. I remember some of us asking him why he wasn't at a big research university--as it seemed to all of us like he clearly should have been--and he said that he wasn't interested in those professional trappings. He loved being at Tufts, and teaching undergrads, and was always inviting and available to talk shop during office hours. He even invited us all to his house at the end of the semester, and if I remember correctly (I hope I'm not confabulating, but I do remember it) had Quine (!) guest-lecture one day in a course a few years later.
Dan truly did change my life, inspiring me down a path that I never would have imagined for myself. He didn't try to, though. In fact, he told me explicitly as an undergrad (and I paraphrase), "Don't go to graduate school in philosophy--there are no jobs." I appreciated the candor, and although there were many times in my career when I wished I'd actually followed that (perfectly sound) advice, I'd like to think that he'd appreciate my stubbornness in rebuffing it. Dan always did enjoy being argued against.
There are many other things that I could say, but above all I will always be profoundly grateful to Dan--for helping a 17-year-old boy understand for the first time the joys and importance of doing philosophy and science, what a teacher and mentor should be like, and for his personal encouragement (which meant the world to me, as I'd had precious few people--particularly teachers--ever give any encouragement). Although I know Dan was not a religious man, I myself hope he was wrong about all that, and that somewhere in the vast reaches of eternity I'll hear that hearty laugh of his in a seminar room again. My first term-paper for him was on Socrates's Argument from Opposites for the immortality of the soul. Obviously, we were both skeptical of the argument if I recall, but it seems to me it would be a befitting outcome for two contrarians who shared a love of philosophy and science if we both turn out to be wrong.
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