There is an inclination in the public mind to believe that being specialised in an academic discipline goes hand in hand with eccentricity of behaviour - the absent-minded professor syndrome.
In my experience, this correlation does not hold true in general, but I would not deny that there is a grain of truth in the idea. There are plenty of examples of unusual behaviour displayed by a selection of famous scientists.
Paul Dirac (1902-1984), English physicist, is a father figure of quantum mechanics, the physics which describes the behaviour of the atomic and sub-atomic world. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for physics in 1933, sharing it with Erwin Schrodinger.
Dirac led an austere life in a long search for what he called "beautiful equations" to describe the physical world. He was socially awkward and would not appear friendly on casual acquaintance, but those who knew him well testify to his purity of vision, humility and very genuine basic decency.
The quintessential Dirac story describes the aftermath of a demanding lecture in which he had described his latest work. Someone stood up at the end of the talk and said he had not understood how Professor Dirac had derived a certain equation.
A long silence followed, and eventually the chairman asked: "Are you not going to answer Dr X's question, Professor Dirac?" Dirac replied logically: "That was a statement, not a question."
The physicist Jagdish Mehra described dining with Dirac at Cambridge. Mehra decided to begin his chat with the very acceptable subject of the weather, saying: "It is very windy, Professor." Dirac did not reply. Mehra was mortified, feeling he had somehow offended the great man. After a minute Dirac got up, went to the door, opened it, looked out, returned to the table and said: "Yes."
Isaac Newton (1642-1727) is often described as the greatest scientist who every lived, but in many ways he was a very strange man. He pursued his work with an incandescent single-mindedness, trenchantly advocated the uniqueness of his discoveries and fought fiercely with perceived scientific rivals.
Newton was Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University and was obliged to give one term of lectures to students each year. Apparently his lectures were beyond the ability of the students and for 17 years no student attended the lectures. Nevertheless Newton dutifully turned up in the empty lecture hall at the appointed times, picked a spot on the wall and delivered his lecture to it before hurrying back to his experiments in his rooms.
Leonhard Euler (17071783) was perhaps the most productive mathematician of all time. He was an incredibly hard worker and it is said he once laboured so intensively over a few days that he went blind in one eye. He had the reputation of being able to solve any problem put to him - a reputation he was prepared to defend even for problems away beyond science.
Euler spend a period as mathematician at the Court of Catherine the Great, where he encountered the French philosopher Denis Diderot. Diderot was an atheist and he amused himself by converting the Russian courtiers to atheism.
Catherine was enraged at this and asked Euler to "put a stop to Diderot's gallop". Euler called Diderot to a meeting. He set up a blackboard and wrote: "?????(a+b)(ab)=as2]b- therefore God exists. Reply."
The Frenchman knew little or no algebra, but his ego prevented him from admitting this, so he saved face as best he could by nodding sagely and silently walking away.
Albert Einstein (18971955) was undoubtedly the greatest physicist of the 20th century. He was awarded the 1921 Nobel Prize for physics for his study of the photoelectric effect, but he is most celebrated for developing the Special Theory of Relatively and the General Theory of Relativity.
He did the most concentrated work of his life in the last few days before completing the general theory. This is vividly described by his wife, Elsa, as recounted in the book My Autobiography by Charles Chaplin (Bodley Head, London 1964). The Doctor came down in his dressing gown as usual for breakfast, but he hardly touched a thing. I thought something was wrong, so I asked what was troubling him. "Darling", he said, "I have a wonderful idea." And, after drinking his coffee, he went to the piano and started playing.
Now and again he would stop, making a few notes, then repeat: "I've got a wonderful idea, a marvellous idea!". I said: "Then, for goodness sake, tell me what it is, don't keep me in suspense." He said: `It's difficult, I still have to work it out."
She told me he continued playing the piano and making notes for about half an hour, then went upstairs to his study, telling her he did not want to be disturbed, and remained there for two weeks. "Each day I sent him up his meals", she said, "and in the evening he would walk a little for exercise, then return to his work again. Eventually, she said, he came down from his study, looking very pale. "That's it', he told me wearily, putting two sheets of paper on the table. And that was his theory of relativity."
William Reville is a Senior Lecturer in Biochemistry and Director of Microscopy at UCC.