“Both keeping past teachings alive and understanding the present—someone able to do this is worthy of being a teacher.” – Confucius
This ancient passage from the Analects—penned over two thousand years ago in northern China—captures well my mentor, teacher, and friend, David Solomon, who passed away on the morning of February 26, 2025. David not only drew deeply on the wisdom of the ancients, regularly revisiting the insights of Plato, Aristotle, and Aquinas, but he also stayed attuned to the challenges of our time, addressing contemporary issues with courage and hope.
In the following tribute, I reflect on the many ways I benefited from his guidance during my years as a graduate student at Notre Dame, knowing that no words can ever fully repay the tremendous debt I owe him.
I arrived at Notre Dame in the early summer of 2006 to begin a PhD program in philosophy. Prior to that, I spent two years working at my parents’ Mexican market in Long Beach and managing a struggling pool hall in Koreatown, Los Angeles. I was eager to leave behind my life as a check-cashier and pool hall manager and immerse myself in the study of philosophy. Yet, while the prospect of a long intellectual journey thrilled me, the idea of living in South Bend did not. Having spent most of my life in sunny Southern California—with its beaches, In-N-Out, and excellent Korean BBQ—I only applied to Notre Dame because I was Catholic and was encouraged by my undergraduate mentor, Calvin Normore. Had I known about the brutal winters and scarcity of good Asian grocery stores, I might have reconsidered.
My first year of graduate school—perhaps like most—was difficult. I felt lonely and isolated, and like so many graduate students experienced impostor syndrome. (Christopher Kaczor offers some good advice on dealing with impostor syndrome here.) My first-year class included many terrific philosophers—like Andrew Bailey, Eric Hagedorn, and Matthew Lee—who were incredibly sharp and already seemed to possess an encyclopedic knowledge of philosophy.
I had always been a bit of a slacker—as David would come to find out—and I quickly realized that these fellow students were fired up by an intense love of learning that I had never possessed. While I enjoyed reading philosophy and reflecting on certain arguments, they reveled in the discipline and the pursuit of knowledge. It was, to them, a calling and a vocation. On the other hand, and perhaps not unusual for children of immigrants, I was too caught up in an instrumentalizing mindset: Do A for the sake of B. Study hard, so that you can get into a good college. Go to a good college, so that you can get a good job. Get a good job, so that you can make good money. And so on.
It took me many years to develop an adequate understanding of philosophy and the intellectual life—not merely as a means to an end, but as something valuable in itself, akin to beauty, friendship, and prayer.
My first memory of meeting David was right after the first colloquia talk in my first year in graduate school. The talk was by Robert Audi, a distinguished faculty member at Notre Dame, who gave a talk on the fine distinction between using someone merely as a means and using someone as a mere means.
After Robert’s talk, we had the ritual gathering outside of the room with snacks and beverages. I was likely walking around in the awkward manner of many graduate students, scared to death of saying something stupid, and trying hard to be noticed. A heavyset middle-aged man came up to me and introduced himself in a warm Southern accent: “Hi, I’m David Solomon.” I shook his hand, and we began a quick chat. I noted where I was from and what I was studying. I told him I had graduated from UCLA and was interested in ancient Greek philosophy and ethics. He told me that he worked on virtue and character. I recall responding by mentioning an article by one of my teachers at UCLA, Barbara Herman, who believed that Kant and Aristotle could be reconciled, a view that at that time I was sympathetic toward.
I will not forget David’s reply: “Ah, I see you’ve been enchanted by Barbara. She’s wicked smart, that’s for sure, and is very good at selling snake oil.” I remember chuckling; it was such an unvarnished, spontaneous response. I don’t recall much else in this conversation, but the following year I took his course on virtue ethics and loved it.
After a few more years in graduate school, I asked David to be my dissertation advisor. He generously accepted. I did not know at the time that he was among the most popular dissertation advisors at Notre Dame—ultimately directing over 40 dissertations—and I suspect most people today don’t realize it either. For those who knew him the explanation is easy. First and foremost, he was unfailingly respectful to all his students whether or not they were one of the “stars.” It is no secret that certain students harbor greater potential than others due to a combination of talent, accomplishments, and personal qualities, and therefore attract greater attention from faculty members. One can readily observe the differentiated treatment of students by faculty members. But this was something I never saw in David. Even if he may have preferred some students over others, he didn’t show favoritism. To this day, even in private conversations, I have never heard him speak a bad word about any of his students.
Secondly, David is an excellent philosopher. He is among the most broadly read scholars that I have ever met and—like his colleague, the eminent philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre—understood that doing philosophy, especially moral philosophy, is not just about crafting technical arguments or raising objections through ingenious counterexamples, but requires an integrated understanding of human life, culture, and action. The study of ethics should not be detached from our understanding of human practices since moral concepts, as MacIntyre argued, are socially embodied. We need to learn from a broad range of moral thought and talk, through reflection not only by studying the works of moral philosophers but also from artists, poets, writers, psychologists, sociologists, anthropologists, and theologians.
Treating ethics as if it’s a technical discipline akin to mathematics or physics distorts its nature as a practical, humanistic inquiry rooted in the understanding and achievement of the human good. This is another important lesson I’ve received from David: that I should keep up with contemporary research while also being immersed in the writings of Dostoyevsky, Austen, and especially, Trollope. Reading such writers deepens our understanding of human nature and broadens our grasp of moral possibilities. David also championed cross-cultural learning, recognizing the value of engaging with diverse traditions. In this regard, he was remarkably prescient—he encouraged me to study Confucianism and classical Chinese philosophy, an influence that would later become pivotal in my professional life. Doing moral philosophy in the vision of Solomon is refreshing, liberating, and humanizing.
Finally, David possessed a natural combination of charm, wit, and gregariousness that made him so fun to be around. You wanted to run into him because you knew that the conversation would quickly lead to something interesting. A master storyteller, he had a gift for transforming even the most ordinary moments into something extraordinary—woven with humor, intrigue, and a sense of adventure. To David, the world was an exciting place, alive with marvelous characters and unfolding stories. There was always something to discover, someone to meet, or a story waiting to be told.
What David will undoubtedly be most remembered for—and for which we should all be profoundly grateful—is his founding of the Center for Ethics and Culture at Notre Dame. Under his leadership, the Center became a premier institution for the serious exploration of Catholic thought and culture, illuminating the beauty and depth of the Catholic worldview. It welcomed renowned scholars such as Alasdair MacIntyre, John Finnis, and Mary Ann Glendon, while also providing a vital forum for serious-minded thinkers to engage with the most pressing issues of the day.
During my graduate student years, I attended and presented at the annual Fall Conference which shaped and enriched my own Catholic faith. Along with the South Bend Catholic Worker, I must credit the Ethics and Culture Center for helping me sustain my Catholic faith during some very lonely and dark years. I am delighted that the Center, now the de Nicola Center for Ethics and Culture, remains a strong and vital part of Notre Dame, and we should all be very grateful to Carter Snead for his outstanding leadership. We are now very fortunate to have Jenny Martin as the Center’s director and I’m confident that the Center will continue to thrive under her direction.
If there is one thing that puzzled many people about David, it’s why someone who has done so much to advance the Catholic intellectual tradition, who hung pictures of both St. John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI in his office, and served heroically in the pro-life movement, was not himself Catholic. I was never too bothered by this, and I just assumed that he must have had his own personal reasons. I can happily say now that the puzzle has dissolved since I had the great honor and pleasure to attend David’s first Mass, in which he—along with his lovely wife Lou (who deserves a tribute of her own)—became full members of the Roman Catholic Church. At the Mass, celebrated by Fr. Bill Miscamble, C.S.C. and Fr. Kevin Flannery, S.J. (with the Polaniecki’s and O’Callaghan’s in attendance), I could feel the presence of David’s best friend, the late great Ralph McInerny, who I’m sure was beaming with joy.
Words cannot adequately express how grateful I am to David, a man who truly embodies what it means to be a teacher. I will miss him dearly.
Richard Kim is an associate professor of philosophy at Loyola University Chicago. He graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2012 with a PhD in philosophy under the direction of David Solomon. He is happily married and has four beautiful children. You can reach him at rkim@alumni.nd.edu.
Photo Credit: Matthew Rice
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