“If you teach a man to fish”: Three hours with my late professor, Dr. Stephen Daniel by Lillian Haynes
I first reached out to Professor Stephen H. Daniel for a project I was working on regarding the history of the Department of Philosophy. As one of the department’s most tenured professors, I felt assured that he would have the ‘inside scoop’ of more than 60 years of treasured history.
While I was definitely correct — he had a treasure trove of philosophic knowledge — what I learned from him went beyond funny anecdotes of beloved professors or dates and times. He talked to me about my future, what it means to be an engaged learner, and what truly matters in life: nature, family and — while cliché — the pursuit of knowledge. I avidly took down notes, prepared to write an article that encompassed both him and the Department of Philosophy as perfectly as possible.
Time passed by, and as I spent my days exploring the streets of Oaxaca, Mexico during my study abroad trip, the article took the backburner in my mind. However, among the family and friends I kept updated about my excursions sat Professor Daniel, who encouraged me to soak up every moment of my experience and to live life to the fullest. Sadly, at some point, and without me realizing, there was a lapse in our correspondence.
When his wife, Sheryl Breaux, reached out to me following his passing on June 27, I, like many other students and colleagues, felt every emotion, from shock to utter denial. How is it that a professor I had spoken to just a few weeks prior, would now suddenly never respond to my emails, laugh at my jokes, or serve as my mentor ever again?
After my tears dried, the reality I contained almost three hours of interview notes about my mentor set in: his life, his stories, his voice, echoed back at me. I couldn’t look at the notes for weeks: it was as though by not touching them, he was not really gone; that I put off writing this article, I could conserve the precious hours when he was still alive.
Maybe what I am about to recount is ordinary; simple facts about the Department of Philosophy’s legacy, about what it means to shine in a world that wants nothing more than to overshadow you. But, I personally think that even in the rudimentary; even when something is simple and straightforward, there is much to learn from it.
Although not how I imagined this article would go, here is my recounting of Professor Daniel’s words:
Against popular consensus, Daniel did not originally anticipate his path leading to philosophy. In fact, when he originally began his undergraduate studies, he was pursuing a degree in the sciences.
“I wanted to be a chemistry major,” Daniel said. “But then I took a political science course and the professor was teaching it from a historical perspective rather than one from current issues … and we made these arguments about how human beings are good by their very nature, and I just thought, ‘wow’”.
Daniel smiled as he recalled the memory, explaining how his professor had talked about the difference between John Cruso — a writer on military affairs who believed humans were good intrinsically — and Edmund Bird, who thought humans were mean spirited and could only grow to be good.
“What I got as a freshman from his course was that there are intellectuals who come up with these ideas, and I had never heard of them before in my life,” Daniel said. “And there I am, freshman year, and I become curious about the philosophy of these people; the theory behind all of these questions and ideas.”
Daniel recounted his favorite parts of his time as an undergraduate, including the logic component of philosophy, and the teachings of Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche: a German, classical philosopher, who questioned the ethics of human morality.
“After learning about Nietzsche, I just realized ‘wow, this is what I was bound to do’,” Daniel said. “I need to become more and more bound to this and I need to teach philosophy.”
Daniel looked wistfully outside the window of his home office, before expressing to me how, only 10 days after graduating from St. Joseph Seminary College in St. Benedict, Louisiana, he married the love of his life, Sheryl Breaux. He was nothing short of ecstatic when expressing his adoration for his wife, saying that although it was during a tremulous time in history, it was meaningful and important to him that he made the promise to spend the rest of his life with her that day.
He went on to illustrate the times during his childhood where he explored the outdoors alongside his sister and parents, how supported he always felt loved by his family, and how he always had a fascination with the relationship between human nature and the preservation of the natural world.
And, similar to the love Daniel expressed towards his family and the great outdoors, the philosophy professor also spoke proudly of Texas A&M, taking me back to his initial arrival at the college.
“After graduating with my PhD, the … Department of Philosophy at Texas A&M happened to be looking to hire someone in early modern philosophy,” Daniel said. “So when John McDermott came, we got to chatting and he said I should look to apply for a job. And … a month or two later they hired me!”
As one of the most tenured members of the Department of Philosophy, Daniel had the unique experience to work alongside Manuel “Manny” Davenport, otherwise known as the first Dean and founder of the Department of Philosophy. Manny made many contributions to the Department, and is accredited with helping it grow to have the strong, distinguished academic presence it has today.
“Manny had been doing this from the beginning,” Daniel said. “Starting in the early 70s people knew about him and his work, and how much he cared about the department. He was always interested in developing contacts and his interests in military ethics. We had some familiarity since we both specialized in 19th century philosophy, and there were times where I would even pick up his classes. He had one of those personalities that engaged a lot of different people, and therefore he could speak to different people and always seemed to be fixing people’s problems.”
He went on to say Davenport was the kind of person everyone seemed to get along with, and that he was always willing to listen to others and get their opinions.
“Originally, Texas A&M didn’t even have a Department of Philosophy,” Daniel said. “But when the New York Times ran an article about Texas A&M being the largest university and yet still lacking in philosophers, President Earl Rudder came in and worked with Davenport to get things started … he wanted to make a name for this place.”
Circling back to his own experiences at the Department of Philosophy, Daniel spoke about the importance of his field and its relevancy, and how he always tried to present this in his teachings: both as a professor and also in his post-doctoral research.
“There are people who have doubts or suspicions about philosophy,” Daniel said. “Do we really need it? What’s the point? … I want to give my students a taste of the questions it raises.”
Here, he paused, and with renowned vigor, began to speak about his unorthodox and engaged manner of teaching; how instead of lecturing, he asked his students questions and talked; making it seem more like a personalized mentorship meeting than a class.
“I’m not just a pure lecturer,” Daniel said. “I come in and summarize everything I need to say in three powerpoint slides, 24-point font. And there’s not a lot you can say in three slides, but it’s worked for the last 20 years … to engage the students, like, did you get this idea, did you understand?”
He then went into detail about what he liked to call his ‘little dog and pony show’ on the stage of his classrooms, expressing how at one point he moved from smaller classes to classrooms with almost 320 students.
“I really blew them away,” he said. “I didn’t even look at the screen! I would have a clicker in my hand, and the next line would show up, just like that! It really lended itself to bigger classes, and I must have seen thousands of students … for the most part, I didn’t think it was too bad.”
He took a big breath, and with that, launched into the final portion of his storytelling: his long-anticipated end of year excursions with his students at the end of each semester.
“For my upper division classes, I would always invite them out at the end of the semester,” Daniel said. “We live out here, west of the airport, and we have a nice spread: 11-acres of woods, no neighbors and a big pond. We would always have them out for lunch and BBQ, and that applied to every upper-level course I taught, alongside any smaller classes.”
He became expressive and excited, as he painted vivid pictures of those days in the woods and nature with his students; it really was philosophy applied to every-day life.
“Everyone came out and had a good time,” Daniel said. “We went out on the pond to go fishing, and I had a bunch of students who had never fished in their lives! And so I told them: if you’ve never caught a fish in your life, you’re gonna catch one today! And they would come out and catch themselves some fish. … They were just astonished, the thrill of having it out on the line, on how to unhook it and what not.”
It made quite the picture: this esteemed philosophy professor, surrounded by stacks of papers and books he promised me were somewhat organized, talking about the great outdoors. It was clear to me that teaching was not just a job for Professor Daniel; it was a passion that took root in the very core of who he was.
“It was always a lot of fun,” Daniel said. “They all had little stories about what they had discovered, and we would come by and paddle around in kayaks and boats.”
After finishing his retelling of his days on the pond with his students, he encouraged me to pursue what you love.
“Life brings you back one way or another,” he said. “Whatever you wanna do, do it, because the facts are that 50% of all students, five years out from the time they get their undergraduate degree, will not be working in the field they studied.
“Someone, someday, will have a need for you, and without you realizing, everything you’ve gone through was to prepare you for that moment, and you’ve just gotta go for it. I know you can do it all.”
From there, he pivoted to the future, and reflected about his own life. This part, beyond anything else, left me at a loss of words when writing; although incapable of having any idea of what awaited him only a few months later, he spoke proudly about his life, about what it meant to live, and the things he was most thankful for.
“My wife has stuck with me the whole time, no matter what,” Daniel said. “And that goes for anyone. There comes a time where you’re gonna think ‘this is the right one, I’m gonna put everything into it’, and for me that was her.”
He went on to apply that same philosophy to life.
“You’re gonna think ‘it’s gonna be amazing, whatever it is that you end up doing’,” he said. “And that is what I hope for. I want to be able to say, ‘my life was amazing’, not only great or good, but … amazing.”
“And I think that I actually live that way and have lived that life,” he went on to reflect. “That I can say I came in and put in my time and everyone knows me as X, whatever that is they know me as. And you can be that person too, be that person people go to when they need an answer to a question.”
He turned the philosophy back to me, and began to speak about my own uncertainty about the future: an insecurity I’m sure many other young professionals at Texas A&M also share.
“You can be that person too,” he said. “And someday you'll like her; it’ll take awhile to find her, but someday you’ll be her.”
“I hope to be who you talk about,” I responded to him, tears in my voice.
“You will be; you’ll know it someday,” he replied. “Enjoy the process while you can.”
He then spoke broadly about all the people that guided him, and how thankful he is to be surrounded by so many loved ones. He looked forward to the years ahead, and how now that he is retiring, he would have more time to spend outside doing what he loves.
“Anytime I’m getting closer and closer to making that serious decision, I just tell myself, ‘no matter what, man, it [won’t be] the wrong decision, your fate is determined by you’,” he said. “And if you’re not listening to your own version of that voice, it's because you’re not watching.”
At the end, he brought it all back to the beginning of his undergraduate degree, when he thought to himself “I’ve got to be in that philosophy class”, and it snowballed into a life full of questions, love and all-encompassing joy.
He encouraged me — and by extension, all of us — to make decisions to open doors. And if we ever find a closed door, to be unafraid to go up and knock.
“And if someone doubts you, just say, ‘watch me’, and knock anyways,” he finalized. “Then, something behind that door will grab you and change you. And as long as it is a somewhat neat place, hang around long enough, and you’ll change it back.”
After this remarkable statement, we went into usual pleasantries, before saying goodbye. We agreed to stay in touch, and I promised to keep him posted on my excursions into the mountains of Mexico later that year.
Sitting back in my chair, I replayed Dr. Daniel’s words, and was instantly reminded of a well-known proverb that all of us can live by: Give a man a fish, and he will be hungry again to-morrow; teach a man to catch a fish, and he will be richer all his life. Dr. Stephen Daniel taught his students and all of us to fish — whether it be knowledge, love towards community or even actual fish during those pond-day excursions with his students.
I urge each of us to not only let the world change us, but to change the world; to teach others to fish, to learn new things, and knock on doors.
You never know what new version of yourself you’ll discover.
Although originally born in Dallas, Texas, Lillian O. Haynes has lived across the globe, in places such as: Lima, Peru; San Juan, Puerto Rico; Nassau, The Bahamas, and El Paso, Texas. Through her international upbringing, she developed a strong passion for both cultural connection and creative writing, aspiring to tell stories that matter.
Bilingual in Spanish and English, Lillian seeks to bridge communication and accessibility gaps between communities through her words. Beyond her non-fiction interview projects, Lillian is a published author whose debut biographical poetry collection, dear Kiara was released this past spring. She works as a supporting editor and writer for Gargoyle Magazine, and received a Silver Honorable Mention in L. Ron Hubbard’s Writers of the Future Contest for her short story, “The Girl with Rainbow Eyes”. In 2023, she earned the Round Square King Constantine Medal, an international recognition of her ongoing dedication to environmentalism and selfless service.
Lillian currently studies International Affairs and Hispanic Studies through The Bush School of Government and Public Service at Texas A&M University, where she works for her school’s newspaper, The Battalion, as a Life & Arts columnist, and publishes pieces through The Eckleburg Project, Texas A&M’s literary journal. She previously graduated with honors from Lyford Cay International School: a college preparatory school in Nassau, The Bahamas, earning the International Baccalaureate Diploma. In her free time, Lillian can be found exploring national parks, playing soccer or cozying up with her kindle.
