Mr Blottisham entered the Senior Common Room carrying a laptop beneath one arm and a notebook beneath the other.
Professor Quillibrace glanced over his spectacles.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Professor."
"You appear to have brought both the problem and the evidence."
"I have."
Miss Stray looked up from the window.
"Which is which?"
"I'm not entirely certain."
She smiled.
"Then this promises to be a productive afternoon."
Blottisham placed the laptop on the table.
"I've been testing artificial intelligence."
"And?"
"It isn't nearly as intelligent as people claim."
Quillibrace poured three cups of tea.
"How disappointing."
"I asked it a question."
"And?"
"It gave me a perfectly ordinary answer."
"How inconsiderate of it."
Miss Stray sat down.
"What did you ask?"
Blottisham opened his notebook.
"I asked, 'What are the main arguments about artificial intelligence?'"
"And what did it say?"
"It listed them."
"Accurately?"
"So far as I could tell."
"Comprehensively?"
"Reasonably."
She looked puzzled.
"Then where was the disappointment?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"It never became interesting."
Quillibrace looked up.
"Ah."
After a moment he asked,
"Did you ask an interesting question?"
Blottisham frowned.
"I thought I had."
The Professor stirred his tea.
"My dear Blottisham, there is a difference between a question that requests information and a question that changes the conversation."
Blottisham blinked.
"I wasn't aware there were different species."
"Oh yes."
"They look remarkably similar until one observes them in their natural habitat."
Miss Stray laughed.
"Questions are rather like keys."
Blottisham looked at her.
"Keys?"
"They don't simply open doors."
"No?"
"They determine which rooms you can enter."
Blottisham considered this.
"So if I choose the wrong key..."
"...you may spend the afternoon examining an entirely different room."
He looked slowly at the laptop.
"So the machine answered the room I walked into."
Quillibrace smiled.
"An excellent way of putting it."
Blottisham brightened.
"Then why didn't it point me towards the better room?"
Neither of the others answered immediately.
Finally Miss Stray asked,
"How would it know there was one?"
"But it's intelligent."
"So are you."
Blottisham looked rather pleased.
"Thank you."
"And yet you didn't know there was another question waiting to be asked."
His expression changed.
"I suppose I didn't."
Quillibrace nodded.
"We often imagine that intelligence consists in producing answers."
"It doesn't?"
"Sometimes."
"And the rest of the time?"
"It consists in discovering that the question itself is too small."
Blottisham leaned back.
"I've always thought answers were the difficult part."
"So does everyone," said Miss Stray.
"Until they encounter a really good question."
The afternoon settled comfortably around them.
Outside, students crossed the quadrangle with the determined pace peculiar to people who believed they knew where they were going.
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
"I wonder..."
Quillibrace waited.
"When scientists ask whether AI is intelligent..."
"Yes?"
"...is that already one of the rooms?"
The Professor's smile widened.
"What do you think?"
"I'm beginning to wonder whether the real question is what we mean by 'intelligent'."
"Excellent."
"And perhaps after that..."
"Yes?"
"...whether intelligence is even the right place to begin."
Miss Stray nodded.
"Now you're opening doors."
Blottisham looked delighted.
"So the machine helped after all."
"It may have."
"By giving me an unsatisfactory answer?"
"Precisely."
Blottisham looked unconvinced.
"That seems rather indirect."
Quillibrace chuckled.
"My dear Blottisham, the history of ideas is surprisingly indirect."
Miss Stray reached for the teapot.
"I wonder whether we've misunderstood what these systems are for."
"How do you mean?"
"We speak as though they exist to answer questions."
"They don't?"
"Perhaps they exist to help us discover which questions we ought to have been asking all along."
Blottisham looked at the laptop again.
"I've been using it rather like an encyclopaedia."
"And has it behaved like one?"
"Exceptionally well."
"Then perhaps the difficulty lies elsewhere."
"Where?"
Quillibrace answered gently.
"An encyclopaedia cannot ask you why you chose one question instead of another."
"No."
"Nor can it notice the assumption hidden inside your question."
Blottisham's eyes widened.
"Questions can hide assumptions?"
Miss Stray smiled.
"They're one of their favourite hiding places."
A thoughtful silence followed.
At length Blottisham spoke again.
"I think I've been expecting the machine to do the thinking."
Quillibrace shook his head.
"No."
"What, then?"
"The machine can accompany thought."
"It can challenge thought."
"It can extend thought."
"But it cannot relieve you of the responsibility for deciding where thought ought to begin."
Blottisham slowly closed the laptop.
"I've been blaming it for my own question."
"No," said Miss Stray.
"You've been discovering that asking is a skill."
The college clock struck four.
No one moved.
After a while Blottisham smiled.
"I believe I know what I'd like to ask it next."
Quillibrace lifted his cup.
"What will you ask?"
Blottisham thought for a moment.
Then he closed the notebook without answering.
The Professor nodded with quiet approval.
"Better."
Miss Stray looked from one to the other.
"You haven't asked it yet."
"No."
"Why not?"
Blottisham smiled.
"For the first time..."
He paused.
"...I'm not in a hurry."
Outside, the afternoon carried on exactly as before.
Inside, three cups of tea gradually grew cold.
No one seemed to mind.
For they had discovered that the most interesting conversations sometimes begin before the first question is asked.
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