Professor Quillibrace was halfway through The Times when Mr Blottisham entered carrying a remarkably realistic model of the human brain.
Professor Quillibrace lowered the newspaper very slowly.
"No."
Blottisham smiled.
"I haven't explained."
"I believe the object is explanation enough."
Miss Stray entered moments later.
She looked at the brain.
Then at Professor Quillibrace.
"Artificial intelligence?"
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"I'm afraid so."
Blottisham carefully placed the model upon the coffee table.
"I've come to investigate neural networks."
Professor Quillibrace looked at the brain.
"I suspected."
"I thought it best to begin with the original."
Miss Stray smiled.
"A commendably historical approach."
Blottisham opened a notebook.
"My understanding is that artificial intelligence uses neural networks."
"It often does."
"So..."
Professor Quillibrace completed the sentence.
"...where exactly are the neurons?"
Blottisham looked delighted.
"You've anticipated my first question."
Professor Quillibrace sighed.
"It wasn't difficult."
Blottisham pointed at the model.
"These are neurons."
"They are."
"And the artificial ones..."
"Yes?"
"...look rather different."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"Very different."
"How many branches do they have?"
"They don't."
"Dendrites?"
"No."
"Axons?"
"No."
"Cell membranes?"
"No."
Blottisham frowned.
"So..."
"...what exactly makes them neurons?"
The room became pleasantly quiet.
Miss Stray looked interested.
"That," she said,
"...is an excellent question."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"The answer is that they resemble biological neurons in one rather abstract respect."
"They receive signals."
"They produce signals."
"And they can influence one another."
"Exactly."
Blottisham nodded thoughtfully.
"So we've rented three characteristics."
Professor Quillibrace laughed.
"I see the Experimental Metaphor Laboratory has left its mark."
"It didn't buy the whole brain."
"No."
"It merely leased communication."
Miss Stray quietly applauded.
"I think the metaphor is improving."
Blottisham walked slowly around the brain model.
"I have another question."
"I expected as much."
"If these artificial neurons aren't really neurons..."
"They aren't."
"...do they get tired?"
"No."
"Need oxygen?"
"No."
"Grow?"
"No."
"Die?"
"Not biologically."
"They don't get headaches?"
Professor Quillibrace looked wistfully into his teacup.
"I rather wish some conference reviewers didn't either."
Miss Stray laughed.
Blottisham made several careful notes.
"No fatigue."
"No sleep."
"No lunch."
"No tea."
Professor Quillibrace looked mildly offended.
"I should very much hope they don't drink tea."
"Why?"
"It would complicate the engineering."
The discussion drifted for a while.
Finally Miss Stray spoke.
"I think every generation borrows metaphors from whatever it understands best."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"Steam engines."
"Telephones."
"Computers."
"Brains."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"So if we understood octopuses better..."
Professor Quillibrace blinked.
"...yes?"
"...would we build cephalopod intelligence?"
There was a long silence.
Miss Stray stared thoughtfully into the middle distance.
Professor Quillibrace slowly removed his spectacles.
"I am simultaneously convinced..."
"...that the answer is no..."
"...and uncertain whether I can explain why."
The room dissolved into laughter.
After the laughter subsided, Blottisham became unexpectedly serious.
"So why call them neurons at all?"
Professor Quillibrace considered.
"Because the metaphor gives us somewhere to begin."
"It suggests a way of organising computation."
"It encourages us to think about distributed activity rather than central control."
"It invites us to ask productive questions."
"But..."
"...not every biological question."
"Exactly."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"It strikes me that the metaphor performs a rather delicate trick."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"Go on."
"It encourages us to imagine intelligence as something that emerges from many simple interactions."
"Yes."
"But it quietly discourages us from asking what intelligence itself might be."
Professor Quillibrace paused.
"I believe..."
he said softly,
"...that may be the most important observation of the afternoon."
Blottisham looked surprised.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"We become so fascinated by the architecture..."
"...that we forget the phenomenon."
The college clock struck four.
Blottisham carefully packed away the brain model.
"I've one final question."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"Only one?"
"If artificial neurons aren't really neurons..."
"No."
"...why do people keep talking as though artificial intelligence works like the brain?"
Professor Quillibrace was silent for a long moment.
Finally he replied.
"Because the metaphor is so successful..."
"...that we begin to forget which direction it points."
Miss Stray nodded.
"The map gradually starts pretending to be the country."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"And Mr Blottisham arrives with a microscope."
"No," said Blottisham cheerfully.
"I left the microscope at home."
Professor Quillibrace looked relieved.
"I've brought it tomorrow."
Silence.
Miss Stray quietly reached for the teapot.
Professor Quillibrace looked towards the ceiling.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I have begun to suspect..."
"...that curiosity should occasionally require a licence."
They left the Senior Common Room together.
The model brain remained on the table for a moment longer.
An excellent teaching aid.
A poor substitute for a mind.
And perhaps that was precisely the point.
No comments:
Post a Comment