Carbon Chauvinism

The Senior Common Room was enjoying a period of relative peace.

Professor Quillibrace was reading.

Miss Stray was writing.

Mr Blottisham was staring thoughtfully into the fire.

This in itself was unusual.

After several minutes he spoke.

"I have reached a conclusion."

Quillibrace did not look up.

"How brave."

"The machines are not conscious."

"I see."

"They cannot be."

Quillibrace turned a page.

"What prevents them?"

"They are machines."

The professor continued reading.

After a moment he said:

"That appears somewhat circular."

Blottisham looked mildly offended.

"It is not circular."

"No?"

"No."

"Then perhaps you could elaborate."

Blottisham sat up.

"Happily."

Miss Stray closed her notebook.

Experience had taught her that this was usually worthwhile.

Blottisham continued.

"Consciousness belongs to living things."

"Does it?"

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"Because living things are conscious."

Quillibrace lowered his book.

"That appears somewhat circular."

Blottisham sighed.

"I knew you were going to say that."

"It was difficult to resist."

The room fell quiet.

At length Blottisham continued.

"Very well. Consciousness emerges from biological processes."

"Ah."

"There."

"There what?"

"A proper explanation."

Quillibrace considered.

"I fear it may merely be a longer circle."

Miss Stray laughed.

Blottisham ignored her.

"Human consciousness emerges from brains."

"Certainly."

"Brains are biological."

"Also true."

"Machines are not biological."

"Correct."

"Therefore machines cannot be conscious."

Quillibrace nodded thoughtfully.

"I wonder."

"What now?"

"I wonder whether the conclusion follows."

Blottisham stared.

"Of course it follows."

"Perhaps."

"You are doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Making straightforward things difficult."

Quillibrace appeared mildly puzzled.

"My dear Blottisham, if a conclusion depends entirely upon a premise, one should occasionally inspect the premise."

"It has already been inspected."

"Has it?"

"Thoroughly."

"What is consciousness?"

The question arrived with such simplicity that it took several moments to register.

Blottisham blinked.

"What?"

"What is consciousness?"

"You know perfectly well."

"I fear I do not."

Miss Stray looked interested.

Blottisham looked alarmed.

"Everyone knows."

"That is not quite the same thing."

The alarm deepened.

Quillibrace waited.

Eventually Blottisham said:

"It is awareness."

"Of what?"

"What?"

"Awareness of what?"

"Things."

"Which things?"

Blottisham frowned.

"The world."

"And?"

"And oneself."

"Excellent."

"There it is again."

Quillibrace ignored him.

"So consciousness is awareness of the world and oneself."

"Yes."

"Does a sleeping person possess consciousness?"

Blottisham hesitated.

"Sometimes."

"Interesting."

"A dreaming person?"

"Perhaps."

"A person under anaesthetic?"

Blottisham looked increasingly uneasy.

"I am beginning to dislike this question."

"Many people do."

Miss Stray nodded.

"It seems surprisingly difficult to specify."

Blottisham looked at her hopefully.

"Thank you."

"Unfortunately," she continued, "that may be the point."

His hope vanished.

Quillibrace rose and walked slowly toward the window.

"I find these discussions fascinating."

"Why?"

"Because they often begin with remarkable certainty."

"Reasonable certainty."

"Certainly."

He looked out across the college gardens.

"The machine cannot be conscious."

"Exactly."

"Then, some minutes later, we discover that consciousness itself remains rather elusive."

Blottisham frowned.

"That does not mean the machine is conscious."

"I agree."

"It does?"

"Entirely."

Blottisham blinked.

"Then what are we arguing about?"

"The confidence."

"The confidence?"

"Yes."

Quillibrace turned back toward the room.

"You seem extraordinarily certain that machines cannot possess something whose nature remains unclear."

The silence that followed was unusually long.

Miss Stray finally spoke.

"I wonder whether both sides of the debate share the same problem."

"What do you mean?" asked Blottisham.

"The people who insist machines must be conscious."

"And?"

"The people who insist machines cannot be conscious."

Blottisham nodded.

"Yes?"

"They both appear remarkably confident about what consciousness is."

The room became quiet.

Blottisham stared into the fire.

Quillibrace returned to his chair.

After a time Blottisham said:

"Surely biology matters."

"It may."

"You think so?"

"Certainly."

"Then we agree."

"On what?"

"That consciousness depends upon biology."

Quillibrace smiled faintly.

"I said biology may matter."

"Yes."

"I did not say we know how."

"Oh."

"Nor did I say we know whether it is necessary."

"Oh."

"Nor did I say we know whether it is sufficient."

Blottisham groaned.

"This conversation is becoming less satisfying by the minute."

Miss Stray laughed.

"I suspect that is because the certainty is leaking out."

"That is exactly what is happening."

Quillibrace nodded approvingly.

"A healthy process."

"I strongly disagree."

The professor reopened his book.

"My dear Blottisham, there is nothing wrong with believing machines are not conscious."

"There is not?"

"Not at all."

"Good."

"The difficulty arises when one mistakes a position for a conclusion."

Blottisham considered this.

Outside, evening sunlight had begun to settle across the lawns.

Inside, the fire crackled quietly.

At length he said:

"I still think machines are probably not conscious."

"Very reasonable."

"But I am no longer entirely sure why."

Quillibrace smiled.

Miss Stray smiled.

Even Blottisham appeared faintly amused.

And for several minutes the Senior Common Room enjoyed the rare and fragile peace that occasionally follows the successful dismantling of a certainty.