On Paul Goodman–and Goodmanism

One does not live forever?maybe that was something Goodman did not under stand. When he spoke of death, it was purely statistically, in a manner that nonplussed me, as if, when it came to nature, he considered himself merely another number: death would seize him at the average age, sixty-five or sixty seven. Yet in some distorted fashion statistics represent an acknowledgment of nature. In the late fifties, steaming at the neglect of his work, he said, holding out his hands in a gesture of futility?which wished to appear simply helpless? so that they appeared suddenly twisted about themselves: "How much longer have I got to live? Ten, fifteen years." There would not be much more time now, almost as if looking at his watch. In this he hit the mark almost to the year. For me too his disappearance amounted to a statistic, I noted almost with relief. For he added greatly to the confusion and I knew his influence in the political sphere to be largely destructive, especially since he feared the conse quences of his ideas and the responsibility they entailed?and moreover asked questions and stirred up problems he had no intention of dealing with.