Mr Blottisham had wheeled in a small whiteboard and was drawing an elaborate dial upon it. The dial contained a sweeping needle and a sequence of labelled segments ranging from Dim to Genius.
Miss Elowen Stray watched with interest.
“What is it?” she asked.
Blottisham stepped back proudly.
“The Intelligence Meter.”
At that moment Professor Quillibrace entered, carrying his usual teacup.
He regarded the board thoughtfully.
“How very impressive,” he said. “Does it measure gravitational waves as well?”
Blottisham frowned.
“Of course not.”
“Ah.”
“It measures intelligence.”
Quillibrace set down his cup.
“And how does it accomplish that?”
Blottisham tapped the dial.
“Simple. You give the subject a set of tasks. The better it performs, the higher the needle goes.”
Elowen leaned forward.
“So if something performs very well, the meter says it’s intelligent?”
“Exactly.”
Quillibrace nodded slowly.
“I see.”
Blottisham brightened.
“We’ve already tested it on several artificial intelligence systems. They perform extremely well.”
“And therefore?”
Blottisham gestured triumphantly at the dial.
“Highly intelligent.”
Quillibrace considered this for a moment.
“My dear Blottisham,” he said gently, “may I ask a small question?”
“Of course.”
“Who chose the tasks?”
Blottisham blinked.
“Well… we did.”
“And who designed the meter?”
“We did.”
“And who interprets the results?”
“We do.”
Quillibrace folded his hands.
“Then it appears that the meter measures something rather specific.”
Elowen tilted her head.
“What does it measure?”
Quillibrace gestured lightly toward the board.
“It measures how well a system performs the tasks selected by the designers of the meter.”
Blottisham frowned.
“Well yes.”
“And that,” Quillibrace continued mildly, “is what you are calling intelligence.”
Blottisham crossed his arms.
“What else would you call it?”
Elowen spoke thoughtfully.
“Performance on a particular set of tasks.”
Blottisham sighed.
“That’s just a complicated way of saying intelligence.”
Quillibrace smiled faintly.
“Is it?”
Blottisham looked at him suspiciously.
“You’re about to ruin this, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” said Quillibrace. “I merely wish to clarify the structure of the inference.”
Elowen leaned forward with interest.
“What structure?”
Quillibrace picked up a marker and wrote on the board beneath the dial:
Performance → Competence → Intelligence → Mind
Blottisham squinted at it.
“That seems reasonable.”
“Perhaps,” said Quillibrace. “But notice how much work the arrow is doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Each step quietly transforms the meaning of the previous one.”
Elowen nodded slowly.
“So success at tasks becomes evidence of competence.”
“Yes.”
“And competence becomes evidence of intelligence.”
“Quite.”
“And intelligence becomes evidence of a mind.”
Quillibrace placed the marker down.
Blottisham looked at the chain again.
“Well… yes.”
Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.
“Yet the only thing we have actually observed is the first term.”
Elowen glanced at the dial.
“Performance.”
“Exactly.”
Blottisham stared at the whiteboard.
“So the meter doesn’t really measure intelligence.”
“It measures performance.”
Blottisham slumped slightly.
“That’s less exciting.”
Quillibrace lifted his teacup.
“On the contrary,” he said. “It is considerably more precise.”
Elowen smiled.
“But people like saying machines are intelligent.”
“Indeed,” said Quillibrace.
“Why?”
Quillibrace gestured toward the dial.
“Because it allows a simple measurement to appear as a profound discovery.”
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
“So when someone says an AI is intelligent…”
“Yes?”
“They might simply mean it performs certain tasks very well.”
“Precisely.”
Elowen glanced again at the dial.
“And the meaning of intelligence depends on which tasks we choose.”
Quillibrace inclined his head.
“A subtle but crucial observation.”
Blottisham suddenly brightened.
“Well in that case,” he said, “we could make the meter even better.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
Blottisham picked up the marker.
“We add more tasks.”
Quillibrace watched him carefully.
“And when will the meter finally measure intelligence itself?”
Blottisham paused.
He looked at the dial.
Then at the chain of arrows on the board.
Finally he sighed.
“When we decide what intelligence actually means.”
Quillibrace smiled.
“My dear Blottisham,” he said, “that would be a most excellent place to begin.”
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