There will be others who will talk about his scholarship and his unrelenting intelligence; he knew everything, had read everything, was willing to think deeply and seriously about everything he read and wrote about. So this will be a far more self-centred tribute.
He was a good teacher. He tried to teach by example, to show us how it was done. What it meant to read these texts and excavate the layers of meanings in them, with care and attention and humility, and to think about what it might mean for us today. Because history was here with us, could show us what we had forgotten in our headlong rush towards a future. Writing papers under his supervision taught me more about research than these two years of classes and papers have. I still read texts with his lessons in mind, trying to read them - not as he would, but as close as I can get to that. I was ecstatic when he thought an idea was not terrible; I saved up every vaguely approving comment he gave me.
And he was kind to me, far beyond what I deserved. I arrived in Cambridge with no idea what I was doing there and only a vague memory of political philosophy classes yay many years ago. He was - terrifying, and awkward, and immensely generous with his time and knowledge and patience. I remember his tiny broom-closet of an office; later I realized there was a larger room annexed to it, completely filled with books. I remember him trying to beat away a bird (or perhaps this is embellished in my mind). I remember his Adam Smith seminar - still the most intimidating and instructive seminar I have taken - and his lectures. Later, when we were a little more used to one another, he talked to me a little about the English, mocked them a little, gently. We were both foreigners in this land and among these people that fascinated us. I wouldn't be, couldn't be, here without his help. I wish I had kept in touch more. I meant to write, when I had something to write about, to show him what I had done. I hadn't written to him in over a year, and I hadn't known him in his personal life, and so I don't feel I have a right to grief, but I do feel strangely bereft. I hope he died as Hume did, in good cheer towards the end, clear in his mind and strong in his own, irreligious faith. Rest in peace.
