Richard Rorty: Memories

It was in 1984, I think, or perhaps 1985. At the end of a doctoral seminar held by my great teacher, Professor Jerzy Kmita, at Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań, Poland, a small group of us stood chatting about this and that. Among us was Slawek Magala, at that time an assistant professor in the Department of Philosophy and today professor of international relations at Erasmus University in Rotterdam. He has always impressed me with his wide reading, which includes acquaintance with all the latest literature in philosophy and sociology. I recall that on this particular day he expressed enthusiasm for a book, and a philosopher, up to that time unknown to me—Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature by a certain Richard Rorty.

I remembered the name and the title. Then, in 1987, thanks to Profesor Zbigniew Pełczyński from Oxford University and his organization, the Oxford Hospitality Scheme for Polish Scholars, I received a grant to study at Oxford. While there, I made my way to London to seek out an odd bookshop that I had already contacted by post. I no longer recall the name of this emporium, only that in those days it used to send to Poland free shipments of books on the subjects of contemporary philosophy and political science. (I imagine that behind its activities lurked a foundation—or something—set up to promote freedom movements in the Soviet Bloc countries.) This shop occupied a hole-in-the-wall somewhere near St. Paul's Cathedral, and it was there that I found a copy of Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature. I remember that my reaction on first reading it was mixed. The first part of the work seemed to me quite tangled, but I was captivated by the second part, dealing with "edifying philosophy" and hermeneutics. I had the impression that the author was expressing ideas that were original, bold, and inspiring. I also felt that his approach was close to my own. Having received, thanks to Jerzy Kmita, a thorough schooling in thinking about philosophy in cultural and historical categories, I regarded Rorty's views as related to those I held myself on philosophy and the humanities as a whole. And when, in 1989, I found myself at St. John's College, Cambridge, as a visiting fellow, I was eager to get better acquainted with the work of my new philosophical hero.

The opportunity soon occurred, for in conversation with Susan James—at that time, I think, the only lecturer at Cambridge who specialized in continental philosophy (especially Marx and Hegel)—it turned out that Rorty's latest book, Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, had just appeared and Susan recommended it highly. I borrowed a copy from her and read it in one sitting. Here was really something! I had a sense at once both of admiration and of revelation. The author expressed views and ideas that seemed to me like my very own, yet brought to light in them things that I had only dimly perceived, and he did it, moreover, in a masterful way. As striking as the originality of this work was its subtle, philosophical-literary form. Both Rorty's ideas, and the style in which he expressed them, filled me with an urge to become acquainted with his entire output. My admiration for him increased still further when I had the good fortune to be present at a remarkable gathering, namely a lecture delivered at Cambridge by Umberto Eco in March, 1990. The show he put on was extraordinary; never before had I seen someone who could turn a lecture into such a performance. (Many years later, I saw Eco surpassed in this direction by Bruno Latour, when he lectured at Stanford in 2003.) Still, an even greater impression was made by the discussion that took place after the lecture, at Robinson College, in which Eco himself participated, along with Rorty, Christine Brooke Rose, Jonathan Culler, and Frank Kermode. The discussion was devoted to the question of interpretation (a synopsis is included in Interpretation and Overinterpretation¹), and, surprisingly, the star of this occasion turned out not to be...