On Whether Improvement Is Occurring — A Conversation in the Senior Common Room at St Anselm's

The Senior Common Room was unusually quiet.

Professor Quillibrace was reading.

Miss Stray was making notes.

Mr Blottisham entered carrying three newspapers, two magazines, and an expression of triumph.

This combination rarely boded well.

"I have been reading about artificial intelligence."

Quillibrace did not look up.

"My sympathies."

"It is improving itself."

"Is it?"

"Rapidly."

"How rapid?"

Blottisham placed the newspapers on the table.

"Quite rapid."

"I see."

"The evidence is overwhelming."

Quillibrace turned a page.

"I am relieved."

Blottisham sat down.

"The machines are becoming more intelligent."

"Excellent."

"Thank you."

"It was not praise."

Blottisham ignored this.

"The important point is that improvement is occurring."

Quillibrace nodded.

"Improvement of what?"

"The machine."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Quillibrace closed his book.

"What has improved?"

Blottisham frowned.

"The machine."

"You have already said that."

"Because it is true."

"I do not doubt your sincerity."

The room became quiet.

Miss Stray looked up from her notes.

"What sort of improvement are they reporting?"

Blottisham brightened.

"A great many sorts."

"Such as?"

"Reasoning."

"Good."

"Problem-solving."

"Excellent."

"Programming."

"Useful."

"Language."

"Indeed."

Miss Stray nodded.

"Those sound like distinct things."

Blottisham hesitated.

"Perhaps."

"And do they all improve in the same way?"

"Of course not."

"Do they all improve at the same rate?"

"Certainly not."

"Do they all require the same criteria?"

Blottisham paused.

The pause lingered.

"No."

"Then what exactly is improving?"

Blottisham looked annoyed.

"The system."

Quillibrace smiled faintly.

"The singular noun is doing rather a lot of work."

Blottisham sighed.

"You academics always complicate things."

"We do."

"Why?"

Quillibrace considered this.

"To determine whether the thing being simplified exists."

Miss Stray laughed softly.

Blottisham remained unconvinced.

"The broader point remains."

"Which is?"

"The machine is getting better."

Quillibrace nodded.

"Better at what?"

"There you go again."

"Indeed."

Blottisham waved a hand.

"At everything."

The professor became thoughtful.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Chess?"

"Yes."

"Language?"

"Yes."

"Scientific analysis?"

"Yes."

"Writing poetry?"

"Apparently."

"Managing a university budget?"

Blottisham hesitated.

"I imagine so."

Quillibrace looked impressed.

"That would be remarkable."

"Why?"

"Because nobody has managed it thus far."

Miss Stray covered her smile with a teacup.

The room settled briefly.

Then Quillibrace asked:

"Suppose I become better at chess."

"Very good."

"And worse at conversation."

"Unfortunate."

"And better at mathematics."

"Excellent."

"And worse at recognising when people are annoyed with me."

Blottisham looked suspicious.

"Where is this leading?"

"I am improving in some respects and declining in others."

"Possibly."

"Would you describe this as improvement?"

Blottisham frowned.

"It depends."

"On what?"

The room became quiet.

Blottisham opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Finally he said:

"What I value."

"Exactly."

The silence lasted several seconds.

Miss Stray spoke.

"I wonder whether improvement is less like height than people imagine."

"What do you mean?" asked Blottisham.

"We often speak as though it were a single dimension."

"Naturally."

"But many things are not."

She gestured toward the books lining the walls.

"A library can contain more books."

"Yes."

"More disciplines."

"Yes."

"More students."

"Yes."

"More arguments."

"Regrettably."

"More confusion."

"Certainly."

She smiled.

"Whether it has improved depends on what one is trying to achieve."

Blottisham stared into the middle distance.

This was often a sign that an idea had entered the room and was looking for somewhere to sit.

After a moment he rallied.

"Nevertheless, the machine is clearly improving."

Quillibrace nodded.

"I agree."

Blottisham blinked.

"You do?"

"Certainly."

A look of triumph returned.

"I knew it."

"Improvement is occurring."

"I said so."

"Yes."

The professor reopened his book.

Blottisham waited.

Eventually he asked:

"Is there a qualification coming?"

"There usually is."

"What is it?"

Quillibrace looked up.

"Improvement is occurring."

"Exactly."

"The question is whether the word 'improvement' is describing a destination..."

He paused.

"...or merely movement."

The room became very quiet.

Miss Stray looked down at her notes.

Blottisham stared at the professor.

Outside, evening sunlight fell across the college lawns.

Inside, nobody spoke for a while.

At length Blottisham said:

"I am not entirely sure I understand."

Quillibrace smiled.

"Then we have made excellent progress."