Mr Blottisham entered the Senior Common Room carrying a substantial document.
Professor Quillibrace looked up.
Miss Stray looked concerned.
"Good heavens," said Quillibrace.
"What?"
"You appear to have written something."
Blottisham placed the document on the table.
"It was unavoidable."
Miss Stray examined the stack.
"How long is it?"
"Only one hundred and twelve pages."
The room became quiet.
"Only?" asked Quillibrace.
"One must be thorough."
"I see."
Blottisham smiled.
"I've solved the instruction problem."
"Excellent."
"This time genuinely."
Quillibrace nodded.
"I am delighted."
"You should be."
Blottisham tapped the document.
"A constitution."
Miss Stray raised an eyebrow.
"For the machine?"
"Exactly."
"A complete constitution?"
"A comprehensive one."
Quillibrace leaned forward.
"I should very much like to hear more."
Blottisham opened the document.
"The machine shall be helpful."
"Good."
"It shall be honest."
"Excellent."
"It shall be fair."
"Wonderful."
"It shall avoid causing harm."
"Very sensible."
Blottisham looked pleased.
"There you are."
"There we are?"
"The principles."
Quillibrace nodded thoughtfully.
"An admirable collection."
"Thank you."
"May I ask a question?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"I suspect you will regardless."
"Probably."
The professor folded his hands.
"What should the machine do when honesty causes harm?"
The room became quiet.
Blottisham frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Suppose honesty would cause distress."
"Then it should be tactful."
"I see."
Quillibrace made a small note on a piece of paper.
Blottisham watched nervously.
"What are you doing?"
"Adding tactfulness."
"Fine."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Excellent."
"There it is again."
The professor continued.
"What should the machine do if tactfulness conflicts with honesty?"
Blottisham stared.
Miss Stray quietly opened her notebook.
Blottisham pointed at her.
"She's enjoying this."
"A little."
"I knew it."
Miss Stray smiled.
"It is an interesting constitution."
"It was."
Quillibrace continued.
"Suppose fairness conflicts with helpfulness."
"Then fairness takes precedence."
"Excellent."
The professor made another note.
"What now?"
"We must specify the hierarchy."
"The hierarchy?"
"Which principles override which other principles."
Blottisham sighed.
"Very well."
For the next ten minutes they revised the constitution.
Principles acquired priorities.
Priorities acquired exceptions.
Exceptions acquired qualifications.
Qualifications acquired explanatory notes.
The document grew steadily.
At one point Miss Stray observed:
"You may need a section explaining the exceptions."
"A sensible suggestion."
A new section was added.
Twenty minutes later Quillibrace asked:
"What should happen when two exceptions conflict?"
Blottisham closed his eyes.
The room waited.
Eventually he spoke.
"Why does everything conflict with everything else?"
Quillibrace appeared thoughtful.
"Life."
"That's not an answer."
"It is surprisingly close to one."
Miss Stray looked at the constitution.
"It is becoming larger."
"It is becoming complete."
"I wonder."
Blottisham frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She turned a few pages.
"Every time we discover an ambiguity, we add text."
"Naturally."
"And every time we add text, we create new possibilities for interpretation."
Blottisham stared.
"What interpretation?"
Miss Stray handed him the document.
"Read this sentence."
He did.
"What about it?"
"What does it mean?"
"It means exactly what it says."
"To whom?"
Blottisham paused.
The pause lasted longer than he would have liked.
Quillibrace watched quietly.
Eventually Blottisham said:
"I am beginning to dislike that question."
"A healthy sign," said Quillibrace.
The professor stood and walked to the window.
Outside, students crossed the lawn.
Some were carrying books.
Others appeared to be carrying opinions.
The distinction was not always obvious.
After a moment Quillibrace turned back.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Yes?"
"Suppose the machine reads your constitution."
"Good."
"Suppose it encounters a difficult case."
"Very good."
"Suppose it must decide what the constitution means."
Blottisham looked uncertain.
"Yes?"
Quillibrace smiled faintly.
"Who interprets the constitution?"
The room became very quiet.
Miss Stray lowered her notebook.
Blottisham looked at the document.
Then at Quillibrace.
Then back at the document.
A visible suspicion was beginning to form.
"Are you suggesting..."
"Yes."
"...that the constitution has not eliminated interpretation?"
"Indeed."
Blottisham looked genuinely distressed.
"But that was the entire purpose of writing it."
Quillibrace nodded sympathetically.
"Historically speaking, that often is."
For a while nobody spoke.
The constitution sat in the centre of the table.
One hundred and twelve pages.
Carefully drafted.
Thoughtfully organised.
Filled with principles.
Filled with exceptions.
Filled with clarifications.
And, somehow, still awaiting interpretation.
At length Blottisham sighed.
"I have the strangest feeling."
"What feeling?" asked Miss Stray.
"That writing things down does not make them as definite as I thought."
Quillibrace smiled.
The smile was almost invisible.
"Now," he said, "you are ready for law school."
No comments:
Post a Comment