The Searle Chair

John Searle died a couple weeks ago. Since people are sharing stories, I'll share one of my own.

In the 1990s, as a philosopher of science studying developmental psychology, my dissertation committee initially consisted of Elisabeth Lloyd, Martin Jones, and Alison Gopnik. The topic led me toward philosophy of mind, and Martin graciously suggested that if John Searle was willing to join, I might consider swapping him in.

So I approached Searle, mentioning that Lisa and Alison were the other members. He said, "Alison Gopnik?! Well, I guess it's okay, as long as I don't have to sit in the same room with her."

I thought, wow, he must really hate Alison! But Berkeley dissertations didn't require an oral defense, so indeed he wouldn't have to sit in the same room with her. I took his answer as a yes. Only later did I realize that his comment had a very specific meaning.

To understand this specific meaning, you need to know about the Searle Chair. At the time, the main seminar and meeting room in the Philosophy Department -- the Dennes Room -- had a peculiar and inconvenient layout. There was no seminar table. Up front by the chalkboard was a chair for the person leading the meeting. (I seem to remember it as a little folding chair with a card table, but it might not have been quite as informal as that.) Two elegant but uncomfortable antique couches lined the walls, and the remaining wall featured two large cozy armchairs, separated by a few smaller seats.

One armchair sat awkwardly near the front, angled partly away from the chalkboard. The other occupied the corner by the window, with a commanding view of the room. This corner armchair was plainly the best seat in the house. Everyone called it the Searle Chair, because whenever Searle attended a meeting, that's where he sat. Even if he arrived late, no one dared claim it.

My girlfriend Kim, briefly the graduate student representative at faculty meetings, once saw Barry Stroud make a play for the Searle Chair. Searle was late, so Barry sat in the chair. According to Kim, Searle arrived and practically sat on Barry, then mumbled something grumpy.

Barry, feigning innocence, said "Well, no one was sitting here."

Searle replied that he needed that chair because of his back -- something like "If my back starts hurting too much, I guess I'll just leave." (Indeed, he did have back troubles.)

Barry relented. "Well, if it's about your back...." He relocated to one of the bench couches. Searle settled into the Searle Chair. Order restored!

Later I shared this story with Alison. She said, "Oh, that's very interesting! One time I was at this meeting in the Dennes Room and there was this obviously best chair and no one was sitting in it. I thought, that's weird, so I just sat in it. And then John came in and said something about his back. I said, John, if your back starts hurting, just let me know."

And that, it turns out, is why John Searle didn't want to sit in the same room with Alison Gopnik.

[The Dennes Room as it looks now, with John Searle's photo in the corner that used to house the Searle Chair. Images sources: here and here]