The fire burned quietly in the grate of St Anselm's Senior Common Room. Rain tapped gently against the leaded windows, while Professor Quillibrace contemplated his tea with the expression of a man considering whether Earl Grey possessed an ontology.
Mr Blottisham burst through the door carrying two cameras.
"Excellent!" he announced. "I've solved artificial consciousness."
Professor Quillibrace looked up with admirable restraint.
"Have you?"
"Indeed. I purchased two identical cameras."
He placed them triumphantly upon the table.
"They both take photographs of the college gardens."
"An impressive achievement."
"Quite."
Blottisham pointed dramatically.
"Now, Professor, one belongs to Miss Stray."
Miss Stray looked mildly surprised.
"The other," Blottisham continued, "belongs to the gardener."
Professor Quillibrace nodded politely.
"So?"
"So..." Blottisham leaned forward. "The gardener's camera is conscious."
Silence settled gently over the room.
Miss Stray stirred her tea.
Quillibrace eventually asked,
"On what grounds?"
"Because the gardener cares whether rabbits eat the roses."
"I see."
"And therefore the gardener's camera also cares."
Quillibrace removed his spectacles.
"I rather think you have attributed the gardener's emotions to the camera."
Miss Stray smiled.
"The photographs would be identical."
"Exactly!" cried Blottisham. "That's what proves it. Same information."
"Indeed," said Quillibrace.
"And therefore..."
He waited.
"...they possess the same consciousness."
Quillibrace regarded the fire.
"My dear Blottisham, suppose the gardener retires."
"Yes?"
"The camera remains."
"Naturally."
"Does it continue worrying about the roses?"
Blottisham frowned.
"No..."
"So what exactly was doing the worrying?"
Blottisham looked at the cameras.
"They both recorded the rabbit."
"They did."
"They both processed the same information."
"They did."
"They both produced identical pictures."
"They did."
He hesitated.
"But only one picture mattered."
Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.
"Did it matter to the picture?"
"No."
"Did it matter to the camera?"
"No."
Blottisham blinked.
"Oh."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"Perhaps the interesting thing isn't the information."
"What is?"
"What the information is for."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"The rabbit means lunch to the fox."
"Yes."
"It means disaster to the gardener."
"Yes."
"It means absolutely nothing to the camera."
"Precisely."
"The information is identical."
"But the significance is not."
Blottisham considered this gravely.
"So consciousness isn't just noticing things."
"No."
"It's noticing things that matter."
Quillibrace smiled faintly.
"Closer."
Blottisham brightened.
"I've got it!"
Quillibrace looked cautiously optimistic.
"If I build a camera that sends me a message whenever it sees a rabbit..."
"Yes?"
"...then the rabbit matters to the camera."
Quillibrace sighed.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because the rabbit still matters to you."
"The camera tells me."
"It does."
"So surely it knows the rabbit is important."
Quillibrace shook his head.
"It knows neither rabbits nor importance."
"It merely reacts."
"Exactly."
Miss Stray spoke softly.
"Imagine a bird."
Blottisham nodded.
"It notices movement in the grass."
"Yes."
"What happens next?"
"It looks."
"It flies."
"It pecks."
"It escapes."
"It survives."
She smiled.
"But why?"
"Because..."
He stopped.
"Because..."
Quillibrace waited.
"...because the movement already means something."
Miss Stray gently corrected him.
"Not quite."
Another pause.
"The movement already matters."
The room became unexpectedly quiet.
Outside, a blackbird landed upon the college lawn.
Blottisham watched it hop across the wet grass.
"It's constantly deciding."
Quillibrace nodded.
"But not by solving philosophical problems."
"No."
"It isn't calculating consciousness."
"No."
"It simply inhabits a world where everything is already important."
After several minutes Blottisham spoke again.
"I've been thinking about computers."
Quillibrace smiled.
"I feared you might."
"We always ask whether they can think."
"We do."
"But perhaps we've skipped something."
"What have we skipped?"
Blottisham looked out towards the bird.
"We've never asked..."
He searched for the words.
"...whether anything matters to them before they start thinking."
For a moment nobody spoke.
Even Quillibrace seemed reluctant to disturb the silence.
Finally he said,
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I believe you have asked precisely the right question."
As the college clock struck four, Miss Stray gathered her books.
"It seems rather curious."
"What does?" asked Blottisham.
"We spend a great deal of time asking whether machines are intelligent."
"Naturally."
"And remarkably little time asking whether they inhabit a world."
Blottisham frowned.
"A world?"
"A world," she repeated, "is not merely a place where things exist."
She glanced towards the bird outside.
"It is a place where some things matter more than others."
Blottisham watched the blackbird disappear into the hedge.
"I think..."
He hesitated.
"...I've been imagining consciousness as something that looks at the world."
Quillibrace smiled.
"And now?"
"I wonder whether consciousness is really something..."
Another pause.
"...for which there is already a world worth looking at."
Quillibrace lifted his teacup.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I suspect we have just rescued the debate from beginning in the wrong place."
The three sat quietly for a while, watching the rain ripple across the college gardens.
Outside, the blackbird found another worm.
No one doubted that it mattered.
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