About a soirée at Surrey University in 1977

It was a soirée to mark the start of the new academic year. There were glasses of wine and cheese on sticks—all the usual accompaniments for that day and age—and yet in such a genteel atmosphere something quite shocking occurred.

Before I go into detail, I should point out that I wasn’t at the particular soirée in question. But while I didn’t start until autumn 1978, what had happened in 1977 was still resonating. Two members of the academic staff jointly hosted a get-together for new and returning students. It was much the same every year. It had been an easy and relaxed way for new and returning students to get to know each other. However, in the idle chat something was said—or rather a question was asked—that was deemed so shocking that the whole event soon ended as students decided to leave. (Something serious had to be going on if students were willing to turn down free drink!)

I was intrigued to know what had happened in 1977. Initially, those present would not divulge anything. Indeed, it took me well over a year to get to the bottom of it. It is something that even today would be described as ‘indelicate’, and as such, I cannot bring myself to describe it in detail. (Suffice it to say that it involves female anatomy.) Indeed, I suspect that people would find it more objectionable today than we did then.

Personally, I do not find what was said the least bit shocking—although I do understand the sensibilities of others (hence my lack of detail). The question asked was one that anybody ignorant of (female) anatomy might at least wonder about to themselves. (This is a roundabout way of saying that it is a question males might wonder about.)

Importantly, I want to raise the question of questions that can and cannot be asked out loud in polite company. It is my contention that we should not limit ourselves—especially when it comes to questions. We must be as free as possible when asking questions. That is not to say that we are at liberty to ask any question we like on every occasion. Also we must ask in such a way as to give the context and the reasons for asking certain questions lest they be deemed improper.

Nearly fifty years on, we can now ask whatever impertinent question we like, impersonally, of an AI chatbot. In fact, I did just that for the question asked at that 1977 soirée. It gave the factual response that I had expected. Importantly, it didn’t refuse to respond or query my motives. However, it turns out that there is a medical/well-being dimension to the question about which I was previously unaware, and that is worth knowing about. It transpires that the question was a valid one after all—albeit one asked in the wrong setting.

A person... In search of meaning…

I have come across the following quotation on more than one occasion. Attributed to Plato, it describes humankind (Man) stating, “Man – a being in search of meaning.”

I have not been able to find a source for this quotation. Instead, an online search suggests that while this quote is widely attributed to him and reflects a core Platonic idea about self-examination and the pursuit of wisdom and truth, the phrase itself appears to be a summary or popular adaptation rather than a direct quote from his original writings. Nevertheless, as a ‘summary or popular adaptation’ of at least some aspects of Plato’s thinking, does it describe us nevertheless?

I don’t know how often people ask the question, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ However, I don’t think people ask this question as often—or as deeply—as they should.

Nevertheless, I find it a strange question. I asked an AI chatbot (Gemini), 'As a question in and of itself, does the question "What is the meaning of life?" have any objective meaning?'

The response I got was:

That's a fascinating question because it turns the focus from the meaning of life itself to the meaning of the question. The question "What is the meaning of life?" does not have an objective meaning in the same way that a scientific question like "What is the boiling point of water?" has. The latter has a single, verifiable answer that is independent of human opinion or perspective.

The question about the meaning of life, however, is a subjective and philosophical inquiry. Its meaning isn't found in a definitive answer but in the act of asking it and the personal exploration it prompts. The meaning of this question is tied to human consciousness, purpose, and values. It is a way for people to seek transcendence, connection, or understanding in a complex world. The meaning isn't in a factual statement but in the personal journey and the diverse answers that have been offered throughout history, from religion and philosophy to art and science.

(The emphases—in bold—are its.)

If its meaning isn't found in a definitive answer but in the act of asking it and the personal exploration prompted, our study of life as a physical phenomenon should, I believe, make a contribution. Here we can ask a related question and get a direct answer. We can ask, ‘What is the purpose of life?’ to which the answer is ‘to survive and reproduce.’ Life as a phenomenon and life as expressed in individual organisms share the goal of surviving—at least long enough to reproduce. (There being, of course, creatures that die in the process of going about reproduction.)

When we consider humankind with its ability to ask with a metaphysical or existential nuance, I think that we must couch the question in more conscious or cognitive terms. What is the purpose of a brain that has gone well beyond doing things that are simply directed at surviving and reproducing? We are able to be introspective in ways that other creatures are not. That is not to say that they are not ‘self-aware’ in some sense. But we are able to go further. If we are to ask about the meaning or purpose of life, it is not to be asked objectively but subjectively, calling upon our introspective capabilities.

In answering the question of a purpose of life, the best I think I can come up with is

‘The purpose of life is to ask whether there is a purpose to life.’

From this starting point, one can take a ‘personal journey’, calling upon religion, philosophy, art, science, etc., as one sees fit.

What good is a person…?

‘What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? A beast no more.’ - Hamlet. Act IV, Scene iv. (line 35ff)

Or to paraphrase this into more modern terms - ‘What good is a person if the best they do with their time is just to eat and sleep? They're no better than an animal.’

I’m posting this as an hors d'oeuvre; something to think about before I go further in my next post.

Remember: My aim is to think about ourselves primarily in physical terms. While there are other (non-physical) ways of thinking about this quote, in the next post I hope to be true to my intentions.

Einstein’s biggest puzzle?

I found this quote attributed to Albert Einstein (1879-1955):

“The eternal mystery of the world is its comprehensibility.”

In describing the comprehensibility of the world as an eternal mystery, Einstein implies that it is a mystery that will persist forever and cannot be something he or his successors would ever explain. While the stuff in the universe can be described and explained in a material sense, that cannot be described as a complete comprehension. Comprehensibility is also inherently partial.

Making sense of the world, understanding it at a deeper level than the merely descriptive, is something most people overlook. A lot of our experiences in daily life are simply taken for granted or glossed over. People just get on with getting on. In this quote, Einstein has gone, I think, another step deeper still when he asks why it is that we can make sense of things at all. Is this a question for the physicist or the neuroscientist – or for a philosopher with interest in both camps? I think it is a question we all should stop to consider. We are often aware of what we do not or cannot know. We miss the fact that we are even able to know anything in the first place. Why is that?

What do you say to a new set of students? (3)

There were a number of occasions when I forgot to tell the students who I was. I don’t remember many of my lecturers (in the late 1970s/early 1980s) ever giving their name, let alone contact details. I remember an intrepid student putting her hand up at an opportune moment about 10-15 minutes after I’d started and asking, “Excuse me, who are you?” The message is more important than the messenger.

If students on that course wanted names, I thought I’d try something on them. The first time I met another group of students on that course, I said that my name was ‘Doctor Love’. This I pronounced with an exaggerated American drawl so that it sounded like ‘Lurve’. Surely I could not be taken seriously. There had been records with the title 'Dr Love' out about that time. Would anybody write this fictitious name down? A few did. I'm glad to say that most were not.

Again, there was a moral: don’t take what I say at face value. My name – fictitious or otherwise – was not important. We can play about with that; no harm would be done. But there was a need to read and find things out for oneself. It was important not to rely on just what I might say. My words might always be misunderstood.

I remember a colleague who confided in me that what he had been teaching that morning was all rubbish. Somehow he had just got into some sort of a ramble, making up plausible nonsense as he went along. When first pointed out to me, this colleague was described as one of the top men in Europe in his field. If this can happen to the likes of him – usually an excellent lecturer – it can happen to any of us.

What do you say to a new set of students? (2)

With one group of new students, I also had a set of mottos. This was a group of students who did not have a science background, apart from what they may have endured at school. They were on a vocational course leading to one of the caring professions and were not wanting an academic science education per se. The mottos I used were meant to make the prospect of what they were about to embark upon feel much less daunting.

I flashed up four mottos in turn, each with the bits in brackets added after a few seconds of pondering:

Motto 1: Science is fun (once you've left school)

Motto 2: Anything goes (within the law)

Motto 3: Above all, if it's there, question it (Against this there is no law)

Motto: 4 Dogma is anathema

Each motto was expanded upon as they were revealed.

Motto 1 was meant to depict science in a new light, as something that was enjoyable and not necessarily like what was encountered at school. For those who found school science onerous for some reason, that could be put behind them; this could be a fresh start.

Motto 2 was meant to echo and introduce the philosophy of science espoused by Paul Feyerabend (1924-1994). This has variously been referred to as philosophical anarchy and ‘having imported Cole Porter into philosophy.’ This is a quip taken from Jim Hankinson’s Bluff Your Way in Philosophy (available at Internet Archive—see p. 41). Login required). The comment ‘within the law’ was meant to indicate that there are moral limits to science, in particular scientific research.

Motto 3 was meant to raise the prospect that everything could be open to questioning. The idea of an ‘it’ being ‘there’ makes the act of questioning include material objects. Those material objects included biological objects. The mention of there being no law against that was meant to introduce the idea that thought could stray beyond the practical moral bounds accepted by Motto 2.

Motto 4 was meant to sound complicated but proved to be quite simple. In a sense this motto extends the sentiments introduced in the first three. It extols free thinking by condemning rigid ways of thinking via language more commonly associated with an ecclesiastical curse.

What do you say to a new set of students? (1)

A new academic year is about to begin, and students will be bombarded with a plethora of information about all manner of things. Some of it may even be useful. A lot of it could have been left out and picked up as they went along. (Indeed, a lot of information gets given ‘just in case’ so as to avoid potential liability.) Much of this information will be unloaded upon them in Freshers' Week*. And it does not end there. The first week or two of teaching includes further sets of preliminary information. For example, a lecture plan giving what is to be covered, in what order and when, is often provided. I've never been concerned about knowing in advance what’s coming up, but some students have used it to their advantage. One chap a year above me at university only ever went to one biochemistry lecture in the entire two years the course ran. And that was the very first lecture. On that occasion, he was given a list of lecture topics to be covered each week and so decided to go away and study it for himself.

Not being concerned about knowing what is coming up in advance, I was more interested in hearing what might be called the ethos behind the subjects being studied. Each discipline has its own way of thinking about things. Thus, I wanted to know what that was. The chap I mentioned above went away and studied biochemistry in a rather mechanical way. As he described it to me, his approach was that of mere rote learning. Biochemistry was not something that he wanted to pursue. It was just a subject forming part of a much broader degree syllabus. There were other areas that were of greater interest to him.

When beginning a course with new students – especially 'freshers' – I often used to flash up on the screen some pithy statements. These were meant to grab the students' attention, raise a smile (if not a laugh – although these were rather rare) and be thought-provoking. The thought provocation was what was most important.

My favourite opening statement came in two parts. (PointPoint cleverly allowed fades from a simple, initial statement into a much fuller one.)

The statement began:

Believe nothing this man tells you

Then…

Check everything he says by reading about it for yourself

…faded in.

It was not that I was not believable or going to tell them anything false – although that might have been inferred from the opening statement if left on its own. It was that I wanted the students to engage with the subject outside of the lecture theatre by reading about it and thereby engaging in the subject on their terms.

* Many institutions now use the term 'Introductory Week' instead. It’s not a term I ever liked and never will.