Mr Blottisham arrived in the Senior Common Room carrying a newspaper, a tea towel, and an expression of philosophical determination.
Professor Quillibrace regarded the collection with professional caution.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Professor."
"I can account for the newspaper."
"Excellent."
"The tea towel, however, remains unexplained."
Blottisham laid it carefully upon the table.
"I've been thinking about automation."
Quillibrace closed his eyes briefly.
"I feared as much."
Miss Stray entered carrying the teapot.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"You may be preventing something."
Blottisham unfolded the newspaper.
"People keep saying that AI should do all the boring jobs."
"A familiar opinion."
"But then they immediately explain that the interesting parts of their own work must remain entirely human."
Quillibrace smiled.
"Ah."
"You've noticed."
Blottisham began reading aloud.
"One scientist wants AI to analyse data but not write papers."
"Very well."
"Another wants AI to write code but not design experiments."
"Entirely understandable."
"Another wants AI to analyse images but not talk to patients."
"Also reasonable."
He looked up.
"But everyone seems to define 'essentially human' rather differently."
Miss Stray laughed.
"Perhaps because different people love different things."
Blottisham nodded.
"Exactly."
A pause.
"So I tried an experiment."
Quillibrace looked apprehensive.
"They usually involve plumbing."
"I wrote down all the jobs people were happy to automate."
"And?"
"Washing dishes."
"Naturally."
"Filing paperwork."
"Predictable."
"Finding duplicate references."
"Entirely sensible."
"Completing expense claims."
"A noble ambition."
Blottisham turned the page.
"Then I listed the jobs people wanted to keep."
"Go on."
"Teaching."
"Excellent."
"Discovering."
"Good."
"Writing."
"Indeed."
"Mentoring."
"Quite."
"Conversation."
"Splendid."
"Creativity."
"Naturally."
He looked thoughtfully at his notes.
"It occurred to me..."
"Yes?"
"...that nobody wanted the robot to do the washing-up."
Miss Stray smiled.
"That's hardly surprising."
"No?"
"We're rather happy to surrender chores."
Blottisham frowned.
"But then I realised something odd."
Quillibrace waited patiently.
"We aren't really dividing jobs into 'human' and 'machine'."
"No?"
"We're dividing them into..."
He searched for the phrase.
"...jobs that nourish us..."
"And?"
"...and jobs we'd rather not do before breakfast."
The Professor laughed.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I suspect many civilisations have been organised upon precisely that principle."
For a while they enjoyed their tea.
Eventually Miss Stray spoke.
"I wonder whether we ask the wrong question."
Blottisham looked interested.
"We ask..."
She continued,
"...'What work belongs to humans?'"
"That seems reasonable."
"But perhaps we should ask..."
She stirred her tea thoughtfully.
"...'What kinds of activity help human beings become more fully themselves?'"
Nobody spoke immediately.
It seemed a larger question than the room had anticipated.
Quillibrace eventually nodded.
"That is a rather beautiful distinction."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"Aren't they the same?"
"Not necessarily."
The Professor walked slowly towards the window.
"Suppose someone genuinely enjoys cleaning data."
"They exist."
"So I gather."
"For that person, the activity is not merely a task."
"No."
"It is a form of craftsmanship."
Miss Stray nodded.
"And writing."
"And teaching."
"And careful observation."
"And conversation."
Blottisham smiled.
"So perhaps there are no universally human tasks."
"There may instead be..."
Quillibrace paused.
"...universally human needs."
"What sort of needs?"
"To understand."
"To create."
"To belong."
"To care."
"To discover."
"To be surprised."
"To leave something slightly better than we found it."
The room became very quiet.
After a while Blottisham asked,
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"If a machine eventually performs some task better than I can..."
"Quite possible."
"...have I become less human?"
Quillibrace looked genuinely surprised.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"Did the invention of the telescope make astronomers less curious?"
"No."
"Did the microscope diminish biology?"
"No."
"Did libraries eliminate scholarship?"
"Certainly not."
"Then perhaps..."
The Professor smiled.
"...our humanity has never consisted in performing every task ourselves."
Miss Stray added quietly,
"Perhaps it consists in deciding what the tasks are for."
Another silence settled over the room.
It was the sort that arrives when everyone realises the discussion has quietly changed subject.
Blottisham folded his newspaper.
"I've been wondering."
"Oh?"
"If AI eventually writes better papers..."
"Perhaps."
"...designs better experiments..."
"Possibly."
"...and analyses data more accurately..."
"Conceivably."
"What will scientists do all day?"
Quillibrace smiled.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"They may finally have enough time to think."
Miss Stray laughed.
"Or to ask one another difficult questions."
Blottisham brightened.
"That sounds rather pleasant."
"So it does."
The college porter appeared briefly at the door.
"I beg your pardon, Professor."
"Yes?"
"The maintenance department wishes to know whether the Common Room still requires a dishwasher."
Quillibrace looked at Blottisham.
Blottisham looked at the tea towel.
Miss Stray looked at both of them.
Finally the Professor replied,
"Oh yes."
"The dishwasher may stay."
The porter nodded.
"I thought as much."
After he had gone, Blottisham looked faintly disappointed.
"I thought we might have decided to preserve washing-up as an essentially human activity."
Quillibrace smiled over the rim of his teacup.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"There is no virtue in polishing cups merely to prove one possesses a soul."
Miss Stray stood and gathered the empty teapot.
"No."
She smiled.
"The soul was never in the washing-up."
The three left the Common Room together, continuing a conversation that had long since ceased to be about artificial intelligence.
Outside, the evening light stretched across the quadrangle.
Inside, three empty teacups remained upon the table.
One had held Professor Quillibrace's tea.
One had belonged to Miss Stray.
One had been Blottisham's.
They were all waiting to be washed.
Fortunately.
No one considered that the important part.
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