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The first few years of my philosophical life were so entangled with learning from Karel Lambert that I can scarcely separate the two. In the fall of 1959 I entered my first philosophy class at the University of Alberta, a class of about seventy students with Lambert as instructor. He told us firmly that he had no intention of discussing ethics or morals, told us to read something about the pre-Socratics for next time, and dismissed the class. It became clear quite soon that he expected us to learn philosophy by doing: despite the size of the class, there was a great deal of discussion and we were constantly challenged. His response was always measured. People who were struggling found sympathy, and he would turn their questions into something significant for discussion. But students who were catching on would immediately find themselves made to face greater difficulties. It was also, I can think of no other way to put it, a lot of fun. Twice, I remember, he put me down, to everyone's amusement. The first time I wouldn't back down from a point when I was clearly losing, and Lambert ended the discussion with "Van Fraassen, you are logical, but you are not reasonable." The second time we had gotten into that subject he did not want to do at all, and I brought up Sartre's famous example of the moral dilemma of the young Frenchman, who had to choose between care for his aging mother and joining the Free French. Lambert listened patiently, then retorted: "Van Fraassen, there comes a time when a boy has to leave his mother."

DOI: 10.1007/978-94-011-3244-2_1

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