5. The Brain That Wouldn't Think

The fire was already burning when Mr Blottisham entered the Senior Common Room.

He paused in the doorway.

Quillibrace looked over the rim of his spectacles.

"You seem unusually cautious."

"I've been thinking."

"Have you?"

Blottisham smiled.

"I nearly didn't say that."

Quillibrace laughed quietly.

"Progress."

Miss Elowen Stray glanced up from a volume of medieval music.

"I suspect today's discussion has already begun."

Blottisham sat down carefully.

"I've decided to choose my words with greater precision."

"A commendable ambition."

"I no longer believe neurons contain nouns."

"Excellent."

"Nor that genes literally contain information."

"Splendid."

"And I now think models are... well..."

He searched for the phrase.

"...ways of seeing rather than mirrors."

Miss Stray smiled.

"I rather liked that."

Blottisham nodded.

"So today I have selected an example that cannot possibly suffer from the same difficulty."

Quillibrace leaned back.

"I admire your optimism."

"The brain thinks."

The Professor was silent for a moment.

"Does it?"

"Certainly."

"We have overwhelming evidence."

"I agree."

Blottisham blinked.

"You do?"

"Brains are indispensable for human thinking."

"Exactly."

"So..."

Quillibrace folded his hands.

"...what exactly is your claim?"

Blottisham frowned.

"I've just made it."

"You've used the verb think."

"Yes."

"What sort of activity is thinking?"

Blottisham sighed.

"There it is again."

"My favourite question?"

"Your only question."

Miss Stray laughed.

"It does seem remarkably versatile."

Blottisham considered.

"Thinking is what brains do."

Quillibrace nodded gently.

"And breathing?"

"What about it?"

"What breathes?"

"Lungs."

"Do they?"

Blottisham looked puzzled.

"They certainly do."

Quillibrace took a slow sip of tea.

"Suppose the lungs are removed from the body."

"They stop."

"So the lungs no longer breathe?"

"Obviously."

"Has breathing disappeared?"

Blottisham looked uncertain.

"Well..."

Miss Stray spoke softly.

"The organism breathes."

Quillibrace inclined his head.

"The lungs participate."

Blottisham rubbed his forehead.

"I don't like where this is going."

"Neither do the lungs."

Miss Stray laughed aloud.

Even Blottisham smiled.

The Professor continued.

"Consider a conversation."

"Very well."

"Where is the conversation?"

"In the room."

"Is it?"

"Between us."

"Interesting."

"If I record only your voice..."

"Yes?"

"...have I captured the conversation?"

"No."

"If I record only yours, Miss Stray?"

"No."

"If I scan Mr Blottisham's brain?"

Blottisham looked alarmed.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Quite."

"But suppose I did."

"You would find..."

He stopped.

"What?"

"Brain activity."

"And the conversation?"

Blottisham hesitated.

"You wouldn't find that."

Quillibrace smiled.

"No?"

"It exists..."

He looked around the room.

"...between us."

Miss Stray closed her book.

"Or perhaps..."

She spoke carefully.

"...the conversation isn't located anywhere."

Blottisham looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"It happens."

The room became unusually still.

Quillibrace said nothing.

Miss Stray continued.

"We can point to speakers."

"Yes."

"We can point to listeners."

"Yes."

"We can point to brains."

"Certainly."

"But the conversation itself seems to be..."

She searched for the right word.

"...an event."

Blottisham was staring into the fire.

"Good Lord."

Quillibrace looked up.

"Yes?"

"I've been making the same mistake again."

"Oh?"

"I've been asking where thinking is."

The Professor waited.

"As though it had to be somewhere."

"And now?"

Blottisham looked thoughtful.

"I'm beginning to wonder whether thinking is more like the conversation."

"In what respect?"

"It isn't hidden inside any one participant."

Miss Stray smiled.

"It is actualised through their coordination."

Quillibrace looked at her with evident satisfaction.

"A beautifully economical sentence."

Blottisham frowned.

"But brains still matter."

"Immensely."

"If I damage the brain..."

"Thinking changes."

"Exactly."

"So doesn't that prove the brain thinks?"

Quillibrace shook his head.

"It proves something slightly different."

"What?"

"That participation is indispensable."

He gestured towards the piano standing quietly in the corner.

"If I remove every key..."

"There will be no music."

"Quite."

"So the piano makes the music."

"Does it?"

Blottisham smiled despite himself.

"No."

"What then?"

"It participates."

"Precisely."

Miss Stray looked towards the instrument.

"And the music..."

She smiled.

"...is never found inside the piano."

Outside, the college bell marked the hour.

For several moments no one spoke.

Finally Blottisham looked up.

"You know what's odd?"

"What?"

"I've stopped feeling that things are disappearing."

Quillibrace's eyebrows rose.

"No?"

"No."

"What are you feeling instead?"

Blottisham looked around the room.

"I feel as though the world is becoming..."

He hesitated.

"...busier."

Miss Stray looked delighted.

"Busier?"

"There seem to be more relations than I used to notice."

Quillibrace leaned back slowly.

"My dear Blottisham..."

"Yes?"

"I believe you've just discovered why relational ontologies often seem so empty to their critics."

"They aren't empty?"

"No."

"They're crowded."

The three sat quietly for a while.

Outside, students crossed the quadrangle, talking animatedly.

Miss Stray watched them through the old leaded windows.

"I wonder..."

"What is it?"

"If we've spent centuries looking for the place where thinking lives..."

She smiled faintly.

"...perhaps we've overlooked the remarkable places where thinking happens."

The fire settled with a gentle sigh.

No one felt the need to improve upon the thought.