The Senior Common Room at St Anselm's
The fire burned quietly despite the mild afternoon. Professor Quillibrace was reading an article entitled Artificial Consciousness: A Review of Current Positions, while Miss Elowen Stray watched the rain gather on the leaded windows.
Mr Blottisham entered carrying three cups of coffee.
"I've solved it," he announced.
Professor Quillibrace did not look up.
"How encouraging."
"The whole business about artificial intelligence."
"Have you?"
"Certainly. Computers aren't conscious."
"I see."
"So the problem disappears."
Quillibrace folded one corner of the journal.
"My dear Blottisham, you have answered a question no one was asking."
Blottisham frowned.
"They keep asking whether AI is conscious."
"Indeed."
"And the answer is no."
"Perhaps."
"Then that's settled."
Miss Stray smiled.
"I don't think that's quite the puzzle."
Blottisham sighed.
"It usually isn't."
Quillibrace stirred his tea.
"Tell me, Blottisham. Is a calculator intelligent?"
"No."
"It performs arithmetic."
"So does my accountant."
"Does your accountant merely perform arithmetic?"
"Mostly."
"The calculator can produce correct answers."
"Yes."
"But we do not imagine it understands mathematics."
"Obviously not."
Quillibrace nodded.
"So already we distinguish between producing a result and understanding it."
"I suppose."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"It is interesting that modern AI has made this distinction impossible to ignore."
"In what way?"
"For centuries every intelligent creature we encountered also happened to be conscious."
"So?"
"So we quietly assumed intelligence and consciousness were the same thing."
Blottisham shrugged.
"Reasonable assumption."
"Entirely reasonable," said Quillibrace. "Unfortunately reality has never promised to preserve our convenient assumptions."
Blottisham considered this.
"So intelligence and consciousness are different?"
"We do not know."
"I thought that was today's conclusion."
"No."
"It sounded rather like one."
"Our conclusion," said Quillibrace, "is merely that we have discovered we do not possess a definition sufficiently precise to answer the question."
"I dislike those conclusions."
"I know."
Miss Stray glanced toward the shelves.
"The curious thing is that people accept the phrase 'artificial intelligence' without much difficulty."
"Quite."
"But they hesitate over 'artificial consciousness.'"
"Because consciousness is more important."
"Or because," said Quillibrace, "the two words do different jobs."
Blottisham looked unconvinced.
"They mean roughly the same thing."
"They most certainly do not."
Quillibrace reached for a pencil.
"Suppose I construct a machine that solves difficult mathematical problems."
"Very clever."
"Has it intelligence?"
"Possibly."
"Suppose it writes poetry."
"Still possibly."
"Suppose it composes music."
"Quite impressive."
"Suppose it translates Sanskrit."
"I'd be suspicious."
"But all of these describe what the machine can do."
Blottisham nodded.
"Exactly."
"Now suppose someone asks whether it experiences disappointment."
Blottisham paused.
"That's...different."
"Very."
Miss Stray said quietly,
"One question concerns capability."
"The other concerns existence."
Quillibrace smiled.
"Exactly."
"An intelligent machine performs tasks."
"A conscious being has a point of view."
Blottisham frowned.
"I've never thought about it like that."
"Few people have."
"The consequences are rather different," Miss Stray continued.
"If something merely performs useful tasks, we improve it."
"If something experiences the world..."
She let the sentence hang.
Blottisham finished it.
"...we have responsibilities."
"Precisely."
Quillibrace resumed reading.
"It is remarkable how quickly ethical questions appear."
"Rights."
"Suffering."
"Interests."
"Personhood."
"None of these arise from multiplication tables."
Blottisham brightened.
"So perhaps consciousness is biological."
"Perhaps."
"Or emotional."
"Perhaps."
"Or evolved."
"Perhaps."
"So we've solved it after all."
Quillibrace looked over his spectacles.
"You have a touching faith that a list constitutes an explanation."
Miss Stray laughed.
"The interesting thing is that every proposal seems to identify a feature of human consciousness."
"Naturally."
"But are those features essential?"
"What else could they be?"
She considered the rain outside.
"A bat experiences the world."
"So I'm told."
"An octopus."
"I've heard rumours."
"A fish."
"Less conversational."
"None of them experiences reality exactly as we do."
"No."
"Yet we rarely conclude they lack experience altogether."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Each represents a different solution to the problem of existing."
Blottisham looked doubtful.
"So consciousness needn't resemble ours?"
"If it exists elsewhere," said Quillibrace, "why should it?"
A silence settled over the room.
Finally Blottisham spoke.
"I've just realised something rather uncomfortable."
"Oh?"
"I've never actually observed anyone else's consciousness."
Miss Stray smiled.
"Nor has anyone."
"I only assume everyone else has one."
"Quite."
"Because they resemble me."
"Partly."
"They speak."
"Yes."
"They behave."
"Yes."
"They complain about committees."
"A particularly persuasive indicator."
Blottisham stared into his coffee.
"So if something unlike us ever became conscious..."
"...we might not recognise it," said Miss Stray.
"Exactly."
Quillibrace closed his journal.
"The greatest obstacle may not be constructing another kind of mind."
"But?"
"Our greatest obstacle may be recognising one that refuses to resemble ourselves."
Blottisham sat quietly for perhaps the first time that afternoon.
"I find that surprisingly unsettling."
Quillibrace stood.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Yes?"
"The history of philosophy is largely the history of discovering that the truly unsettling questions are rarely the ones we first thought we were asking."
Outside, the rain continued without expressing the slightest opinion on the matter.
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