The Senior Common Room at St Anselm's had acquired an unusual silence.
This generally indicated that someone had used a familiar word without defining it.
Professor Quillibrace closed the newspaper.
"I see," he observed, "that we are once again being promised superintelligence."
Mr Blottisham looked interested.
"Excellent."
"Is it?"
"I should think so."
"Why?"
"Well..."
Blottisham hesitated.
"...because it sounds better than ordinary intelligence."
Miss Stray smiled.
"What do they mean by intelligence?"
Blottisham looked surprised.
"Surely everyone knows."
Professor Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.
"My dear Blottisham..."
he said,
"...those are among the most dangerous words in philosophy."
Blottisham frowned.
"Very well."
He thought for a moment.
"Intelligence is..."
Another pause.
"...being clever."
"I see."
"And cleverness is..."
"...intelligence."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"We appear to have made satisfactory progress."
Miss Stray laughed.
"Perhaps we should begin somewhere simpler."
"Please."
"What does intelligence actually help us to do?"
Blottisham looked relieved.
"Oh, that's easy."
He counted on his fingers.
"Crosswords."
"Indeed."
"Chess."
"Sometimes."
"Mathematics."
"Often."
"Pub quizzes."
"Regrettably."
"And?"
asked Miss Stray.
Blottisham stopped counting.
"That's all I can think of."
Professor Quillibrace folded the newspaper.
"An interesting list."
"Thank you."
"It consists almost entirely of puzzles."
"So?"
"So is life principally composed of puzzles?"
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"I hadn't thought about it."
"No."
Miss Stray looked out across the quadrangle.
"What did you do yesterday?"
Blottisham blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"What occupied your day?"
"Oh."
He considered.
"I made breakfast."
"Very good."
"I answered some emails."
"Excellent."
"I watered the tomatoes."
"Commendable."
"I visited my sister."
"Splendid."
"I watched the football."
"Worthy."
"I made shepherd's pie."
"A classic."
Professor Quillibrace waited.
"And?"
"That's about it."
Quillibrace looked thoughtful.
"Which of those activities required exceptional intelligence?"
Blottisham considered the matter carefully.
"The shepherd's pie."
"No."
"The tomatoes?"
"No."
"The emails?"
"No."
"The football?"
"No."
"My sister?"
"I sincerely hope not."
Miss Stray smiled.
"So most of your day was not limited by intelligence."
"No..."
said Blottisham slowly.
"It was limited by time."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"Precisely."
Another silence settled over the room.
Eventually Blottisham spoke.
"So if someone became twice as intelligent..."
"Yes?"
"...they wouldn't necessarily live twice as well."
"No."
"Or twice as happily."
"No."
"Or twice as quickly."
"No."
"Or make twice as much shepherd's pie."
"I suspect not."
Miss Stray stirred her tea.
"Perhaps we imagine intelligence as though it were like horsepower."
Professor Quillibrace looked interested.
"Go on."
"If someone tells us an engine has twice the horsepower..."
"Yes?"
"...we immediately imagine it doing more work."
"Naturally."
"But people are not engines."
"No," said Quillibrace.
"They are constrained by many things besides intelligence."
"Such as?"
asked Blottisham.
"Energy."
"Certainly."
"Time."
"Indeed."
"Health."
"Quite."
"Opportunity."
"Obviously."
"Laziness."
"Frequently."
"And affection."
Miss Stray added quietly.
Both men looked at her.
"There are many things," she said, "that we do well, not because we are especially intelligent, but because we care."
Professor Quillibrace said nothing.
After a moment he inclined his head.
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
"So perhaps intelligence isn't the master key."
"No."
"It's just one key."
"A useful one."
"But not the only one."
Professor Quillibrace reopened the newspaper.
"I should therefore be interested to know what people mean when they promise us superintelligence."
Blottisham smiled.
"Someone very, very clever?"
"No."
"What then?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Miss Stray laughed.
"So before discussing superintelligence..."
"...we should first discover what ordinary intelligence actually is."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"Now that..."
he said,
"...strikes me as an intelligent place to begin."
The college clock struck five.
Mr Blottisham stood.
"I've just realised something."
"What?"
"I spend very little of my life actually needing to be clever."
Professor Quillibrace collected his books.
"My dear Blottisham..."
he said,
"...that may be the wisest observation you have made this term."
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