May Week of 2023 was the most amusing of my life thus far. The catastrophic implosions of both the Titan submersible and a Union presidency provided ample entertainment for us sadists on Cambridge Twitter.

Of course, it has been quite usual for politicians to have ignominious downfalls. But explorers have avoided this treatment, at least until recently. Earhart, Mallory, Shackleton, Livingstone, and Captain Cook were all viewed as heroes in the traditional canon despite their untimely deaths. It would suffice to say that the five aboard the Titan were not canonised in this tradition, despite the insistence of OceanGate – the company which made the Titan – that all aboard were “true explorers”. Twitter’s reaction seemed to be one of overwhelming derision rather than respectful mourning. My suggestion to replace Pembroke’s nautilus-themed May Ball with a six-hour candlelit vigil was not taken seriously by anyone but the Daily Mail, whose hunt for actual outrage left them clutching at straws.

Today’s explorers are viewed at best as quixotic playboys and at worst as opulent narcissists. Hamish Harding, a Pembroke alumni, billionaire, and unfortunate occupant of the Titan, certainly fits within the former category. Having made his fortune in both IT consulting and trading private jets, Harding’s achievements include a trip to space on Jeff Bezos’s “Blue Origin” rocket, a dive to the Mariana Trench (the deepest point on Earth), and establishing the first regular private jet service to Antarctica.

“Some may argue that today’s explorers contribute little to science compared to their forebears, and they would be right”

Caviar and blinis (I imagine) aboard a Gulfstream jet make a contrast to Roald Amundsen and his desperate entourage eating their sleigh dogs, it is true, but it is interesting to consider how modern-day exploration came to be such a farce. It is not as if the exploration of the past was immune from the extravagant class privilege we see today. Ernest Shackleton came from a wealthy, landowning, Anglo-Irish background. His arch-rival, Robert Scott, was born a member of the naval aristocracy. George Mallory was privately educated at Winchester and an acquaintance of the Bloomsbury group. Going back further, Alexander von Humboldt was the son of a Prussian court chamberlain. Though there have been notable exceptions, exploration has largely been a rich man’s game, even through its golden age in the public imagination.

Some may argue that today’s explorers contribute little to science compared to their forebears, and they would be right. It goes without saying that a first can only ever happen once. Achieving ever-more obscure “firsts” or beating records by ever-diminishing amounts can only contribute so much. In OceanGate’s case, we’ve learned (not that it was even necessary) that the “first deep-sea submersible to use a carbon fibre construction” should almost certainly be the last. Stockton Rush, the CEO of OceanGate and captain of the Titan during the ill-fated voyage, was warned numerous times that the safety of his submersible was dubious. Alas, he did not listen.

It is, of course, all too easy to take pot-shots at Rush. He certainly deserves it, but it has already been done so many times before it would be lazy to indulge in it. His bullheadedness could have been considered bravery – rather than a terminal flaw – if only he were born a century or two earlier. Where would we all be if everyone had just listened to the received wisdom for all eternity? Most likely cowering at the sight of an eclipse in some squalid hole.

“And so there was a sixth fatality aboard the Titan: that of the general concept of an ‘explorer’”

My more controversial contention here is that Rush, Harding and the other crewmates were indeed the “true explorers” that OceanGate insisted they were. They, bar the tragic inclusion of 19-year-old Suleman Dawood, fit very much within the stereotypical profile of historical explorers as largely wealthy and almost entirely male. Their lack of common sense and glut of irresponsibility are shared with many of the greats.

And so there was a sixth fatality aboard the Titan: that of the general concept of an “explorer”. The practical, romantic necessity of exploration has been emphatically obsoleted by modern science. There was absolutely no need for Rush to test whether a carbon fibre hull was viable. Our mastery of the laws of nature meant that material scientists and engineers knew long in advance it was not safe at the pressures demanded. The very desire to become something which cannot exist in the modern-day killed the crew of the Titan.

The intrepid explorer seems to have died twice: the first time as farce, the second as tragedy. The farce is obvious, the tragedy maybe less so. Is it not, after all, something to be celebrated that we have reached a point where science need not be put to the test by those who are too headstrong for their own good? Quite possibly. But exploration captured the public imagination in a way that modern science never can. And if anything will kill the modern scientist, it will not be their own brave stupidity but sheer boredom.