The final scream: in memory of my mentor, Professor Philip McShane
"Never settle down, always settle up."
These were words Phil said to me when I was sixteen while we were having coffee at the Waves on Commercial Drive. Phil was trying to encourage me to go beyond what is expected of me and beyond the expectations of conventional education after he explained to me the basics of Differentiation and Integration by drawing out the allied invasion of Italy. A very unconventional teacher.
Sometimes, it seemed like Phil was trivializing the education I was taking part in. Not because he did not respect me, but because he thought that curious young minds deserved better. At the time, Phil was partaking in some sort of initiative to change the way mathematics is taught in BC because, he claimed, my math textbook was "pure horse manure." Whenever I told him what I was thinking of doing in my future, he wanted me to strive for something better. He didn't just want me to partake in the system my whole life, but to eventually strive to recreate it. "We have barely come down from the trees!" Phil used to say.
I met Phil at the height of my teen angst. I spent some time lingering around at my mom's workplace - a small family print shop run by her, her brother, and my grandfather. Phil had come in to print a book he wrote on critical thinking. He chatted with my mom about his book, and she told him I was interested in math and critical thinking but didn't really hit it off with my teachers (I'm telling you: height of teen angst). He suggested that he teach me through his unconventional ways and see what I think. He also refused payment.
The first time I actually met and talked to Phil, we went to Britannia Park. This was just to gauge my abilities and chat about things. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote this down:
A E F H I K L M N T V W X Y Z
B C D G J O P Q R S U
At the time, I thought: what the hell, this doesn't look like math. Phil asked me to explain the pattern to him. This must be some advanced code, I thought. What could it be?
"Think about it." said Phil.
I did, and I just couldn't get it. He started talking to me about something called "puzzling": a process that describes the "aha!" moment when we critically think; going from ? to !
I could tell Phil was dynamic. He was interested in the process of knowing and reasoning, and taught me math and philosophy as one. I began to become more curious about philosophy; particularly the Greeks and Thomas Aquinas, which Phil talked about frequently. I also learned a bit of philosophy of science and he would tell me stories about his famous supervisor, Gilbert Ryle.
If you're wondering, the answer to the puzzle is this: the top letters have sharp edges, and the bottom letters are rounded. That's it. Phil laughed when I finally got it. "Isn't it so simple?!" he said. "You just have to think not through you're official training; it's just common sense."
Throughout my last two years of high school, I regularly met with Phil on commercial drive. He also made friends with my grandfather and went for lunch with him. They would talk philosophy and religion as well. While my grandfather had no formal university education, Phil treated him as an intellectual equal. It warmed my heart to see them together. My grandfather would teach him some Arabic. Phil would joke and explain our philosophy references to him. When my grandfather had a stroke, Phil was there for him to "keep his mind sharp" and be his friend.
In high school, I was very moody. Phil used to tell me to email him when I needed to scream. At first, I was skeptical. What would this guy know about my problems? I just met the dude! I also wondered how much I could tell him, though he assured me he would keep it between us. And he was right; he definitely took things to his grave. There were things I told him that I haven't discussed with anyone. He was there when I was questioning my own sanity, when I had a difficult paper to write, and when I broke up with my high school boyfriend.
"What do you mean, scream?" I had said. "It's an email."
"Just type 'fuck' over and over, I promise it helps." He would say.
So we had regular email exchanges like this:
----
Subject: scream #2 or so
Mila Ghorayeb
Sep 18, 2012, 10:33 PM
everything sucks (that sounds so non literary and not articulately artistic at all but that's ok)
thinking of Fetyukovich's speech near the end of the Brothers Karamazov (A Judicial Error ch. 13), it literally is the most accurate representation of life and family and other things
Mila
funny side note- I was reading James Joyce at school today and my service teacher frowned and said "he's extremely anti catholic" and walked away.
Philip McShane
Sep 19, 2012, 12:39 AM
to me
Ha Ha yes ….. life sucks at the breasts of convention!
And poor Jimmy Joyce … isn’t he extremely catholic in the bestest sense!!!
But the real judicial error is not noticing and understandeing that
the judicial process contradicts conventions
when accurately represented ….
But now there is a topic we need leisure over!
Convention refuses you the leisure
: (
Phil
----
Phil did a great job of taking my concerns seriously, but also making his delivery light enough to not make me sink too far into my angst. I emailed Phil when I was ready to be real. Not only realistic, but genuinely myself. This is something Phil always emphasized: something he called "becoming." He wanted me to grow into myself and be me.
Phil and I had our birthdays right next to each other - mine February 17th, his February 18th. One year, my mom had a family birthday dinner for me (I think it was my 17th?), and invited Phil and his wife, Sally. I played piano for everyone. Because I knew Phil was from Ireland, I played some music by the Pogues and the Dubliners, which really excited him; he sang along and informed me that he also played music. He also told me about how he used to sing with the Dubliners in his local pub. It was great for me to have a mentor that also felt one of my deepest, non-academic passions. I think we reached a new level of understanding then and there.
As I began studying philosophy in university, I was excited to tell Phil about the work I was doing. Phil was very supportive of my interests, though I sometimes felt neurotic while he slammed my curriculum and the methods of teaching. Phil had a cynicism about education that I had previously mentioned, but it was endearing. He really wanted me to think beyond cookie-cutter schooling and do real work on my mind. When I'd come home, I'd go for lunch with Phil. I saw him less frequently than I had in high school, to be sure, but we still had that understanding. And I still told him what was on my mind. I almost regret not working harder to keep our close contact as the years went by. He still regularly saw my grandfather, but he and I saw each other far less than we had used to.
Nonetheless, the day I got into grad school, Phil was one of the first people I excitedly told. I felt like he had been training me for that moment, even despite his cynicism. But he still encouraged me to look for me in my work and to find my own voice amidst the noise. When I struggled through my thesis, Phil offered insights and teased out my own ideas. I guess no matter what - no matter how distant I grew - Phil was always there if I needed him, and that's what made him special.
The last time I saw Phil was shamefully long ago - I think in January 2019. I was finishing up my Master's thesis, and went for lunch with him to discuss it. The air was so much more mature. It felt like a new era. I was up to speed with much more philosophy than I had been when I first talked to Phil. After, he sent me an email noting I looked "darkly well" and sent me some of his recent work. I wish I engaged more with it, and I wish I saw him more since then. I let my busy life take me over, I suppose. Those emails were our last exchange until I found out Phil was dying. When I did, I contemplated whether I should send him an email or not given the amount of time that had passed. I think January 2019 to July 2020 was the longest we had went without talking. I feel a lump in my throat when I remember the last words he wrote to me, which still remained cheerful despite the circumstances.
"And now, you are ready to soar!" he ended his email with this.
Now I am heading to law school and am sad Phil is not around to see the fruits of his labour; namely, the way I have grown into myself. I don't think I really got to articulate how influential he was in my life or how much he has done for me intellectually and personally. There's so many things I regret not asking him as I grew more and learned more. But a eulogy is not a place for expressing regret, nor is that really helpful.
I will miss Phil very deeply. But I am consoled knowing he lived a very full life, and knowing how much he has done for me and for my family.
One thing Phil and I never really debated was our difference in theological belief. I have been an atheist since I was 12, while Phil is a believer. I never really tried to refute him, and he seemed pretty accommodating to my atheism; even criticizing religious institutions along with me. I have to say this: if there was any time I wished I believed in an afterlife, it would be now. The idea that I will never see him again or ask him any more questions, or update him about my crazy life, really kills me.
But I would like to toast to Phil: an extraordinary philosopher, mentor, and human being. I miss him already. And if there is an afterlife, he are probably chuckling at all this sappiness and wishing I'd go back to looking for myself - or what he called "A Milastone in History". I would also like to send my love to Phil's family going through this difficult time.
Thank you, Phil, for changing my life. Rest in power and peace.
image from philipmcshane.org and this youtube video