THE TEACHER AND HIS STUDENTS
95
1950s. As a student of poli tical science [ found Milosz's description of
totalitaniarism and the rationalizations individuals used to survive within
such a sys tem fascinating, but beyond that there was an authentici ty in the
work that struck me in such a way that I sought and was granted a mid–
year admission to Berkeley. That quarter, spring 1979, Milosz was teaching
a seminar on the Grand Inquisitor in Dostoyevsky's
The Brothers
Karamazov.
I went to the first meeting and fled, never to return. I spent that
sunm1er in Washington, D.C ., working for the government, and every
evening at the Library of Congress I read about
The Brothers Karamazov.
Now [ was ready. He never taught that course again; a course on
Dostoyevsky, yes, but not
The Brothers Karamazov.
In the fall of 1979, [ enrolled in Milosz's Contemporary Polish Poetry
and Fiction. The course had no more than ten students, and I began
to
take
copious notes as if my life depended on it; I wrote down every word.
Clearly, I'm unable to do justice to Milosz's thoughts as expressed through
his lectures. The best [ can do is express what it was like to be a student in
these courses and comment briefly on three recurrent themes that ran
through each of them: history; the role of the artist in relation to history and
society (in Adam Zagajewski's term, "solidarity solitude"); and the philo–
sophical constructs of Pure Form in the case of Witkiewicz, in the case of
Gombrowicz, and in the work of Dostoyevsky according to Milosz.
A few general notes on the classroom scene. We met in dirty rooms, with
paper towels littered on the tables that he would often scribble on during lec–
tures. As classroom administrator, Milosz called roll only once, in the last
course I took, and halfWay through the semester. The course grade was based
on a final essay examination, ei ther take-home or in-class. This caused a great
deal of nervousness among some of the more grade-conscious students.
Toward the end of the course on Dostoyevsky, a couple of students from the
seminar approached me with their concerns about what the final exam would
cover. After al I, how were they to prepare, given the nature of the lectures?
All I could do was repeat what Milosz had said: "My ambition is to teach you
something." And that he expected the final exam to be "well-written." I
recalled, but didn't tell them, that he had said, while looking at me when I was
starting my third seminar, ''I'm not very severe in grading; you know that."
Milosz's lectures were in what I imagine to be the style of a European
master professor of the old school, yet turning that same act directly on its
head. For example, in the course of a brilliant lecture on Dostoyevsky's
The
Double,
and how the voices of others can become so intense that they
become their own being, he commented, "You push a button, and like a box
I can start talking." And on oppressive power in the form of Gombrowicz,
the constant pressure created between people: "The professor should appear
behind a beard and moustache, giving a serious mask." His comments were
