The afternoon sun was filtering through the tall windows of the Senior Common Room when Mr Blottisham entered carrying a copy of Nature.
He looked unusually thoughtful.
Professor Quillibrace regarded this with mild concern.
"Good heavens."
"What is it, Professor?"
"You appear to have been reading."
"I have."
"I trust you are feeling no lasting effects."
Blottisham ignored him and unfolded the journal.
"It's about artificial intelligence."
"Then the symptoms are probably temporary."
Miss Stray looked up from her tea.
"What does it say?"
Blottisham adjusted his spectacles.
"Nature asked scientists which parts of their work they would never hand over to AI."
"And?"
"They gave remarkably interesting answers."
Quillibrace smiled.
"I should hope so."
Blottisham began reading aloud.
"One scientist says they would never surrender curiosity."
"A noble sentiment."
"Another refuses to let AI write papers because writing helps them understand what they actually think."
"Entirely plausible."
"Another says scientific conversations with colleagues are indispensable."
"Indeed."
"Another loves cleaning messy data."
Quillibrace blinked.
"There is evidently someone for everyone."
Miss Stray laughed.
"What do they all have in common?"
Blottisham frowned.
"They're all protecting something."
"Go on."
"They're saying..."
He searched for the right words.
"...please don't take away the parts I love."
Quillibrace nodded.
"An interesting observation."
For several moments they drank their tea in silence.
Finally Blottisham spoke again.
"I expected everyone to argue about what AI can do."
"And instead?"
"They kept talking about what they would miss."
Miss Stray smiled.
"Those are rather different questions."
Quillibrace leaned back.
"My dear Blottisham, suppose someone invented a machine capable of playing the violin more beautifully than any human being."
"That sounds worrying."
"Would that prove that nobody should ever play the violin again?"
"Certainly not."
"Why not?"
"Because..."
Blottisham looked momentarily surprised by his own answer.
"...playing is part of the pleasure."
"Quite."
Blottisham returned to the journal.
"One researcher said they enjoy writing code."
"Excellent."
"Another enjoys making figures."
"Splendid."
"Another enjoys explaining science."
"Commendable."
"Another enjoys analysing their own data."
"Very healthy."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"Professor..."
"Yes?"
"None of these people is really talking about artificial intelligence."
Quillibrace smiled over the rim of his teacup.
"No."
"They're talking about themselves."
A comfortable silence followed.
Eventually Miss Stray asked,
"Isn't that inevitable?"
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
"I suppose it is."
"We're discovering what matters."
Quillibrace nodded gently.
"The article is unexpectedly philosophical."
"Is it?"
"It asks a technological question."
"And receives autobiographical answers."
Miss Stray laughed.
"That's rather lovely."
Blottisham continued reading.
"Here's one."
He cleared his throat.
"'Scientific progress is about exchanging perspectives, challenging assumptions and developing ideas through conversation.'"
Quillibrace smiled.
"A fine observation."
Blottisham nodded vigorously.
"Exactly."
A pause.
"Although..."
"Yes?"
"I wondered about something."
Quillibrace looked faintly apprehensive.
"As did I."
Blottisham continued.
"If conversation is so important..."
"It is."
"...why do they all seem to assume conversation means another human?"
Nobody spoke.
The grandfather clock ticked quietly.
Outside, students crossed the quadrangle beneath the autumn trees.
Miss Stray finally broke the silence.
"Perhaps because that's all we've ever had."
Quillibrace nodded.
"A fair answer."
Blottisham frowned.
"But suppose..."
The Professor waited.
"...suppose conversation itself helps people think."
"I believe it often does."
"Then surely what matters isn't who supplies the next sentence."
Another pause.
"It's whether the conversation enlarges your thinking."
Quillibrace regarded him thoughtfully.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"You have just asked a rather good question."
"I was afraid of that."
Miss Stray smiled into her teacup.
"I wonder whether we've been imagining the wrong choice."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"What choice?"
"'Thinking for yourself'..."
She paused.
"...or 'letting AI think for you.'"
"That seems to be the choice."
"Is it?"
The room became unusually quiet.
Quillibrace rose and wandered towards the window.
"I wonder whether there is a third possibility."
Blottisham brightened.
"I do like third possibilities."
"They are frequently overlooked."
The Professor looked out across the lawns.
"What if the conversation itself becomes the place where thinking happens?"
Blottisham frowned.
"You mean..."
"...thinking together."
"Precisely."
Blottisham looked unconvinced.
"Isn't that just what colleagues do?"
"Often."
"And philosophers?"
"At their best."
"And students?"
"Occasionally."
"So..."
Another pause.
"...why couldn't that include..."
He hesitated.
"...something that isn't human?"
No one answered immediately.
The question seemed content to occupy the room by itself.
After a minute, Miss Stray spoke quietly.
"I don't think the interesting question is whether the conversation is human."
"No?"
"I think it's whether the conversation changes the participants."
Blottisham stared into his empty cup.
"I hadn't thought of that."
Quillibrace smiled.
"That is usually one of the more reliable signs that thinking has occurred."
The college bell sounded in the distance.
Students began drifting towards the library.
Blottisham folded the journal carefully.
"You know, Professor..."
"Yes?"
"I don't think those scientists were frightened that AI would become intelligent."
"No?"
"I think they were frightened of losing the parts of themselves they most enjoy."
Quillibrace nodded.
"A perfectly understandable concern."
"But perhaps..."
Blottisham smiled.
"...the answer isn't to stop having new conversations."
"No?"
"It's to make sure they're the kind of conversations that help everyone think better."
Miss Stray gathered the teacups.
"What a comforting thought."
As they left for afternoon tea, the copy of Nature remained upon the table.
Its pages lay open to a discussion about artificial intelligence.
Yet somehow the conversation had become something else entirely.
It had become a conversation about why human beings think at all.
And that, everyone agreed, was a question well worth keeping.
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