The story
As you walk along the bustling stretch of Gower Street, surrounded by the grand neoclassical architecture and the scholarly hum of University College London, you are walking in the shadow of a man who quite literally never left. Step inside the Student Centre, and tucked away in a quiet, glass-fronted case, you will find one of the most eccentric residents in all of London. This is the Auto-Icon of Jeremy Bentham.
Bentham was a nineteenth-century philosopher and the radical mind behind Utilitarianism—the idea that the best action is the one that produces the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. He was a champion of individual legal rights, animal welfare, and the separation of church and state. But Bentham did not just want his ideas to live on; he wanted his physical body to remain a useful object of study and reflection for future generations.
Take a moment to look at the figure inside the wooden cabinet. He sits comfortably in his favorite chair, wearing his original nineteenth-century suit, thick wool socks, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. In his hand, he grasps his beloved walking stick, which he affectionately named Dapple.
At first glance, you might think you are looking at a high-quality waxwork, but beneath those clothes is Bentham’s actual skeleton, carefully padded with straw and held together by wire to maintain his seated posture. There is, however, a bit of a macabre secret regarding his face. If you look closely at the head, you will notice it looks remarkably lifelike, but it is actually a wax replica.
Bentham’s original plan was to have his own head mummified using ancient Maori techniques. Unfortunately, the process went horribly wrong, leaving his features looking rather ghoulish and leathery. For years, the real, withered head sat on the floor of the case between his feet, but after it became a favorite target for student pranks—including a legendary story about it being kidnapped and used for football practice—it was moved to a high-security, climate-controlled vault elsewhere in the university.
The most enduring story of the Auto-Icon is its role in university governance. For decades, it has been whispered that Bentham is wheeled into the inner sanctum of the UCL Council to mark important anniversaries. The meeting minutes formally record him with the phrase, Jeremy Bentham, present but not voting.
It is a fitting tribute to his status as the spiritual father of this institution, a place founded on secular principles that he so dearly championed. As you continue your journey through Bloomsbury, think of Bentham not just as a curiosity in a box, but as a man who believed that even in death, one should serve a purpose. He remains here, a silent, straw-stuffed observer of the modern world he helped to shape.