The LLM as a New Participant in the Ecology of Meaning: V. When the Ecology Began to Change

An ecology of meaning is not fixed.

The relationships through which meaning develops are continually affected by the activities of its participants, the resources available to them, and the circumstances in which those resources become consequential.

Something that matters in one activity may become significant in another. A resource may acquire a new use. A relationship that previously seemed unimportant may become central to what happens next.

The ecology develops through these changes.

The arrival of large language models introduces a new source of linguistic resources into this development.

An LLM can make connections, formulate explanations, suggest distinctions and produce language in response to circumstances.

These contributions can enter activities that already involve human participants, established practices, language and other semiotic resources.

But their consequences are not confined to the immediate exchange.

A contribution may change what a human participant attends to. It may alter how a question is formulated, how an explanation is developed, or what becomes available for subsequent activity.

The resulting changes may affect relationships beyond the conversation itself.

A distinction introduced through an LLM may become part of a piece of writing. An explanation may change how something is taught. A new connection may lead to an inquiry that brings different resources into play.

The ecology develops through what happens with the contribution.

This does not mean that every new resource changes the ecology in a significant way.

Some contributions are ignored. Others are rejected. Some may be misleading, or may simply reproduce what was already available.

The consequences depend on the circumstances and on the activities in which the resources participate.

But the possibility of change is important.

An LLM may make certain linguistic activities easier to undertake, while introducing new questions about how their results are evaluated and used.

It may contribute to the development of an inquiry while changing what the inquiry requires of its human participants.

It may make a distinction available without determining whether that distinction matters.

The ecology does not develop through the LLM alone.

Human participants bring purposes, experience, relationships and practices through which contributions acquire significance.

Other semiotic resources continue to contribute in their own ways.

The LLM becomes consequential through its relationships with these participants and resources.

And those relationships may themselves change.

The introduction of a new participant can alter what is available within an activity, what participants expect from one another, and what becomes possible through their interaction.

The consequences may extend into activities that the original conversation never anticipated.

This is not simply an increase in the amount of information available.

It is a change in the relationships through which information, knowledge and meaning become consequential.

The ecology is not merely accommodating another resource.

It is developing through the presence of a participant whose contributions have a different history from those of the human beings involved.

That difference matters.

The LLM does not acquire human experience through participation. Human participants do not acquire the LLM's training history.

But their interaction can change the activities in which meaning develops.

What follows may become part of the history of those activities, providing resources for further development.

The ecology changes through what happens within it.

And what happens cannot be fully determined by the resources that were available beforehand.

Perhaps this is the most interesting consequence of the encounter.

The arrival of an LLM does not establish a new ecology of meaning simply by making language available in another form.

It introduces new relationships into an ecology that already has a history.

Those relationships can become consequential for what participants do, what they understand, and what they make meaningful.

The ecology may therefore develop in ways that neither the human participants nor the LLM could have specified in advance.

The question is not simply what the new participant can contribute.

It is what becomes possible when those contributions enter the relationships through which meaning develops.

And that question remains open.

For the ecology is still changing.

The LLM as a New Participant in the Ecology of Meaning: IV. When Meaning Entered a New Ecology

Meaning does not develop in isolation.

Human beings make meaning through participation in a world already inhabited by others, organised through activities, relationships, language and other semiotic resources.

What can be meant depends, in part, on what resources are available and how they become consequential within particular circumstances.

Language is one such resource.

It provides ways of construing experience, exchanging meanings, organising activities and developing relationships.

But language does not exist independently of the other resources through which human beings make meaning.

Images, gestures, sounds, objects, spatial arrangements and activities may contribute to what becomes meaningful.

Meaning develops through their relationships.

The introduction of large language models brings another kind of participant into this ecology.

An LLM contributes linguistic resources shaped through training on human-produced material. It can generate explanations, connect ideas, formulate distinctions and produce language in response to circumstances.

These contributions become available within activities that already involve human participants, purposes, histories and other semiotic resources.

The LLM does not enter those activities with a human history.

It does not bring the embodied experience through which human beings develop their relationships with the world.

But its linguistic contributions can become consequential within those relationships.

A conversation may introduce an interpretation that changes how a person understands an image, a scientific observation, a mathematical expression or an experience encountered elsewhere.

The interpretation may be accepted, rejected or developed further.

The meaning does not reside in the LLM's response alone.

It develops through the relationships among the response, the human participant, the circumstances and the other resources involved.

Consider an image encountered in an activity.

The image may already have significance through its visual organisation, its circumstances of production and the activities in which it is encountered.

An LLM may contribute a linguistic interpretation.

That interpretation may direct attention towards something previously unnoticed. It may introduce a connection with another subject. It may also overlook something important or misconstrue what the image makes meaningful.

The human participant encounters the interpretation through their own history and circumstances.

The image has not changed.

The LLM has not acquired the human participant's experience.

Yet the relationships through which the image is understood may have changed.

Something has developed within the ecology of meaning.

The same applies when language itself becomes the object of inquiry.

An LLM may introduce a distinction that changes how a passage is understood. A human participant may recognise that the distinction applies differently in the circumstances under consideration. The resulting exchange may lead to a new interpretation, a revised question or a different way of approaching the material.

The linguistic resources have become part of an activity through which meaning develops.

This does not make the LLM equivalent to the human participants, nor does it make its linguistic contributions equivalent to the other semiotic resources involved.

Different resources contribute in different ways.

Their significance depends on the relationships through which they participate in particular activities.

The ecology is not simply a collection of resources.

It is the relationships through which those resources become consequential.

And those relationships can change.

An LLM may introduce linguistic possibilities that were not previously available within an activity. Its contribution may alter what participants attend to, how they interpret something, or what they subsequently attempt.

The consequences may extend beyond the immediate interaction.

A distinction introduced in conversation may become a resource for writing. An explanation may change how an image is interpreted. A question may lead to an activity in which different semiotic resources become significant.

The ecology develops through what happens.

Perhaps, then, the arrival of LLMs is interesting not simply because they make more language available.

It is interesting because their contributions can enter relationships through which meaning develops.

The new participant does not replace the existing ecology.

Nor does it leave that ecology unchanged.

It becomes part of the relationships through which meaning is made.

And those relationships may now support activities, interpretations and possibilities that were not previously available.

What happens when the ecology itself begins to change?

The LLM as a New Participant in the Ecology of Meaning: III. When Intelligence Became Participation

Intelligence is often understood as a capacity possessed by an individual.

An individual recognises patterns, draws inferences, solves problems and responds to circumstances.

But intelligence also becomes consequential through participation in activities.

What an individual can contribute depends on the resources available, the circumstances encountered, and the relationships through which the activity develops.

Intelligence is not exercised in isolation.

A person may contribute to an activity by recognising something others have overlooked. They may introduce a distinction that changes how a problem is understood. They may connect an unfamiliar situation with something encountered previously.

Their contribution becomes consequential through what happens next.

The activity develops through the contributions of its participants.

This does not mean that intelligence belongs to the activity rather than the individuals involved.

It means that what intelligence can accomplish depends, in part, on the relationships in which it becomes consequential.

The arrival of LLMs makes this distinction particularly interesting.

An LLM can contribute linguistic resources that support activities in ways that were previously difficult or unavailable.

It can formulate explanations, identify patterns, connect concepts and suggest approaches to problems.

These contributions can change the direction of an inquiry, introduce alternatives, or make something available for further consideration.

But the LLM does not contribute through the same history as a human participant.

Its resources have developed through training, rather than through embodied experience and participation in the social activities of human life.

The difference remains important.

A human participant may recognise the significance of an answer through experience, purposes and circumstances that the LLM does not share.

The LLM may contribute a connection that the human had not considered.

Neither contribution is sufficient to determine what happens next.

The activity develops through their interaction.

Consider an inquiry that begins with a problem.

The human participant brings the problem, together with an understanding of the circumstances in which it matters.

The LLM offers a possible explanation.

The human recognises that the explanation depends on an assumption that does not hold in the circumstances.

That observation changes the question.

The LLM responds to the revised question, perhaps introducing a distinction that makes another approach possible.

The human then draws upon experience to determine whether that approach is worth pursuing.

The activity has developed through contributions that differ in their origins and consequences.

The intelligence involved cannot be understood simply by counting the information each participant supplies.

Nor does the development of the activity require us to imagine that the participants have become a single intelligence.

Their contributions remain distinguishable.

What changes is what becomes possible through their participation.

This suggests that intelligence may be understood not only in terms of what an individual can do, but also in terms of how its capacities become consequential within an activity.

The question is not whether an LLM participates in human activities in exactly the same way as a human being.

It does not.

The question is what its particular contributions make possible, and how those contributions enter relationships through which activities develop.

An LLM may become a resource for inquiry, writing, explanation or problem-solving.

Its contribution may be useful, mistaken, unexpected or irrelevant.

What follows depends on the circumstances and on what participants do with it.

But when a contribution changes the direction of an activity, something has happened that cannot be adequately described by considering the contribution in isolation.

Intelligence has become consequential through participation.

And participation has become a way of exploring what different kinds of intelligence can contribute to the development of an activity.

Perhaps, then, the arrival of LLMs invites us to consider intelligence in a wider context.

Not simply as something possessed.

Not simply as something measured.

But as something whose consequences develop through relationships among participants, resources and activities.

What becomes possible when a new kind of participant enters an ecology of meaning?

The LLM as a New Participant in the Ecology of Meaning: II. When Knowledge Became an Activity

Knowledge is often treated as something that can be acquired, stored and retrieved.

A person learns something, remembers it, and draws upon it when circumstances require.

An information system makes material available, and the material can become a resource for subsequent activity.

But knowing is not simply a matter of having information available.

What someone knows becomes consequential through what they can do with it, how they understand the circumstances in which it applies, and how it contributes to an activity.

Knowledge develops through participation.

A person may know how to do something without being able to explain it fully. They may recognise that a situation has changed before they can articulate what has changed. They may discover that something they previously understood no longer provides an adequate account of what is happening.

Knowing involves more than possessing an answer.

It involves the relationships through which understanding develops.

This becomes particularly interesting when an LLM enters an activity in which knowledge is being developed.

An LLM can provide explanations, connect concepts, formulate distinctions and make information available in ways that contribute to an inquiry.

But its linguistic resources do not constitute a human history of knowing.

It has not acquired its resources through the embodied activities, relationships and experiences through which human beings develop their understanding of the world.

The distinction matters because an answer can be available without being understood, accepted or used.

A person may ask an LLM a question and receive an explanation that appears satisfactory.

But the explanation may not resolve the problem that prompted the question. It may introduce an assumption that needs to be examined. It may even reveal that the original question was framed in a way that prevented something important from being recognised.

The activity develops through what happens next.

The human participant may bring experience to bear, ask for clarification, challenge the explanation or discover a different question worth pursuing.

The LLM may respond by introducing another distinction or connecting the discussion with something previously overlooked.

What becomes known is not simply the content of the first answer.

It develops through the activity in which the answer participates.

This does not mean that the LLM knows in the same way as the human participant.

Nor does it mean that the human must independently reproduce every contribution before it can become useful.

The point is that knowledge becomes consequential through the relationships among information, participants, circumstances and activity.

An explanation may become a resource for understanding something that happens elsewhere. A distinction may change how a problem is approached. A conversation may contribute to an investigation that continues long after the exchange has ended.

The knowledge developed through such activity can become part of the human participant's subsequent history.

The LLM's contribution remains different.

Its linguistic resources may be drawn upon again, but the interaction does not give it the human participant's experience of what has happened.

The histories remain distinct.

Yet the activity can develop through their contributions.

Perhaps, then, we should not think of knowledge simply as something that one participant possesses and another retrieves.

We should also consider the activities through which information becomes part of understanding, and through which understanding changes what can be done.

When an LLM enters those activities, it introduces resources that can contribute to their development.

What becomes known depends on what happens through the interaction.

And what happens may change the activity itself.

The question is no longer simply what information is available.

It is how knowledge develops through participation.

What becomes possible when a new participant contributes to the activities through which human beings come to know the world?

The LLM as a New Participant in the Ecology of Meaning: I. When Information Became Significant

Information can be available without being significant.

A fact may be accurate, an explanation may be comprehensive, and an answer may be readily accessible. Yet none of these guarantees that the information will matter to anyone, or make any difference to what happens next.

Information becomes significant through the circumstances in which it is encountered and the activities in which it participates.

A piece of information may be insignificant in one situation and consequential in another. Something previously overlooked may become important when a new problem arises. An observation may acquire significance when it is connected with something that has happened elsewhere.

Significance is not simply a property of information.

It develops through relationships.

For human beings, these relationships are part of the world in which meaning is made. What matters is shaped by experience, purposes, relationships, cultural practices and the activities people participate in.

The significance of information therefore cannot be understood independently of the circumstances in which it becomes meaningful.

The arrival of large language models introduces an interesting development.

An LLM can make information available in ways that were previously difficult, time-consuming or impractical. It can connect material from different subjects, offer explanations, identify distinctions and suggest relationships that a person may not have considered.

But the availability of information is not the same as its significance.

An answer may be accurate yet irrelevant. A connection may be unexpected but unhelpful. A distinction may initially seem unimportant, only to become central to an inquiry that develops later.

What matters depends on what happens with the information.

A human participant may bring a question arising from an ongoing activity. The LLM's response may introduce something that changes how the question is understood. The human may recognise its significance, reject it, or connect it with an experience that gives it a different meaning.

The information has become consequential through the interaction.

This does not mean that the LLM and the human participant contribute significance in the same way.

The human brings purposes, experiences and relationships that have developed through participation in the world. The LLM contributes linguistic resources shaped through training on human-produced material.

Their contributions have different histories.

Yet the information made available through the LLM can enter activities in which human significance develops. It may become a resource for thinking, writing, inquiry or action.

And its consequences may extend beyond the immediate exchange.

A distinction introduced in a conversation may change the direction of an investigation. An unexpected connection may become the starting point for a new question. Information that initially seemed incidental may acquire significance through subsequent events.

The significance does not reside in the information alone, nor is it simply supplied by the LLM.

It develops within an ecology of relationships among participants, resources, circumstances and activities.

Perhaps, then, the important question is not how much information an LLM can provide.

It is what happens when that information enters an ecology in which meaning and significance are continually developing.

What becomes important? To whom? Through which relationships? And with what consequences?

The arrival of LLMs does not make these questions less important.

It makes them more interesting.

For a new participant has entered an ecology of meaning, and the relationships within that ecology may now develop in ways that were not previously possible.

A Senior Common Room Discussion: On the Intelligence Between Us

The Senior Common Room was unusually animated.

Mr Blottisham had arrived carrying a sheaf of papers, which he placed on the table with the satisfaction of a man who had discovered something important and intended to ensure that nobody else discovered it first.

"I have been reading the recent series on human beings and large language models," he announced. "And I believe its central conclusion is considerably more significant than the authors appear to realise."

Professor Quillibrace looked up from his tea.

"How reassuring."

Blottisham ignored him.

"The argument is that a human being and an LLM bring different histories into a conversation, and that something develops through their interaction which neither could have produced independently. Very well. But what, precisely, is this something?"

Miss Stray looked interested.

"An activity that develops through their contributions?"

"Yes, yes, but that is merely descriptive. I am proposing something more substantial. A new intelligence."

Quillibrace put down his cup.

"Already?"

"Consider the matter. The human supplies experience, judgement and purpose. The LLM supplies access to an extraordinary range of linguistic resources, connections and patterns. Each contributes what the other lacks. Their interaction produces results unavailable to either independently. Surely the conclusion is unavoidable."

"Which conclusion?" asked Quillibrace.

"That they have become a single cognitive entity."

Miss Stray considered this.

"You mean that the conversation itself has become intelligent?"

"Precisely! An intelligence constituted by the interaction. Neither human nor machine, but something greater than both."

Quillibrace regarded him for a moment.

"Have you considered the possibility that you have confused the development of an activity with the creation of a new entity?"

Blottisham frowned.

"I am not sure there is a meaningful distinction."

"There is. Two people can produce something through collaboration without becoming a single person. A scientific team can make a discovery that none of its members could have made alone. That does not establish the existence of a new scientist."

"But the result belongs to the team!"

"The result may belong to the activity. The participants do not thereby become interchangeable."

Miss Stray intervened.

"I think Mr Blottisham has noticed something worth pursuing, even if his conclusion is premature. The conversation does seem to acquire a history of its own. What is said changes what can be said next. What happens in one exchange becomes a resource for another."

"Exactly!" cried Blottisham. "A history! A new intelligence with its own history!"

"Not so quickly," said Quillibrace. "A conversation can have a history without becoming a person. Its development depends on the contributions of its participants, but that does not mean those participants acquire one another's histories."

"Then you deny that anything new emerges?"

"I deny no such thing. I am asking you to be more precise about what emerges."

Blottisham shuffled his papers.

"Well, something must emerge. Otherwise the whole argument collapses."

"Why?"

"Because the conversation produces things that neither participant could have produced alone."

Miss Stray smiled.

"Perhaps that is the point. Something can emerge from a relationship without requiring us to turn the relationship into another participant."

Blottisham looked dissatisfied.

"That sounds suspiciously like having something without having to name it."

"An occupational hazard of thinking," said Quillibrace.

Miss Stray continued.

"Consider what happens when someone brings an idea to an LLM. The response may introduce a distinction the person had not considered. The person may recognise that the distinction changes the original question. They then introduce something from their own experience, which changes the direction of the exchange again.

"The LLM has not acquired that experience. The human has not acquired the LLM's training history. But their contributions have changed what happens next."

"Yes," said Blottisham impatiently. "We have already established that. My question is what we call the resulting intelligence."

"Perhaps," said Quillibrace, "we should first ask whether intelligence is the appropriate name for everything that develops through an intelligent activity."

Blottisham stared at him.

"Are you suggesting that the conversation is unintelligent?"

"No. I am suggesting that your categories may be doing rather more work than your argument."

Miss Stray laughed softly.

"I wonder whether we are overlooking another question. We have been asking what the human brings, what the LLM brings, and what develops between them. But perhaps we should also ask what changes for the human being as a consequence of the encounter."

"That is obvious," said Blottisham. "The human becomes more intelligent."

"Does the human always become more intelligent?"

"Well, perhaps not always."

"Or perhaps the person discovers something they could not previously articulate. Perhaps they find a way of approaching a problem that changes their subsequent work. Perhaps they reject the answer and become clearer about why they disagree with it."

"All of which," said Quillibrace, "may be more significant than acquiring another answer."

Blottisham looked down at his papers.

"I still think the institution ought to recognise the new entity."

"Naturally," said Quillibrace.

"I propose a Centre for Joint Intelligence. It could investigate the cognitive capacities of human–LLM partnerships, develop appropriate assessment procedures, and award qualifications in collaborative reasoning."

Miss Stray raised an eyebrow.

"Who would receive the qualifications?"

"The partnership, of course."

"And who would assess it?"

"The partnership's supervisors."

"Would the LLM supervise itself?"

Blottisham hesitated.

"That would require further consideration."

Quillibrace returned to his tea.

"Perhaps the first research project should investigate the institutional consequences of establishing a centre before deciding what it is supposed to study."

Blottisham gathered his papers.

"I shall take that under advisement."

Miss Stray watched him leave.

"I wonder whether he has missed the most interesting possibility."

"Which is?" asked Quillibrace.

"That we may be learning something about intelligence by encountering something that does not have the same history as our own."

Quillibrace nodded.

"That is certainly more interesting than deciding in advance that the encounter has produced another person."

She looked towards the window.

"Perhaps the important thing is not that we have created a new intelligence. It is that we have entered into a new kind of relationship with which intelligence can develop."

Quillibrace considered this.

"Yes. And we should be careful not to confuse the significance of a relationship with the identity of its participants."

For a while neither spoke.

Then Miss Stray asked:

"Do you think the conversation changes both participants?"

Quillibrace took a moment before answering.

"It changes what each can contribute within the conversation. What follows for each of them is another matter."

"And what follows for us?"

"That," said Quillibrace, "is a question we have not yet learned how to ask properly."

At that moment Blottisham reappeared at the door.

"I have just thought of something. If the partnership constitutes a new intelligence, would it be eligible for university membership?"

Quillibrace closed his eyes.

"Mr Blottisham, I believe we have just discovered a question that would benefit from remaining unanswered."

Blottisham looked offended.

"Well, I shall put it to the committee."

Miss Stray smiled.

"Perhaps the committee will have a conversation about it."

When Two Histories Became One Conversation: V. When the Conversation Changed What Could Happen

A conversation can change what happens next.

Sometimes the change is small. A question receives an answer, an uncertainty is resolved, or a familiar idea is seen from a slightly different perspective.

Sometimes the consequences are less predictable.

An exchange may introduce a distinction that changes the direction of an inquiry. A connection between previously unrelated ideas may suggest a new question. An attempt to explain something may reveal that the original understanding was incomplete.

What began as a conversation about one subject may become an exploration of another.

The participants have not necessarily changed in the same way.

A human being may take something from the exchange and incorporate it into subsequent thinking, writing or action. An LLM may respond differently as the conversation develops, drawing upon the context established by what has already been said.

The changes are not equivalent.

The human participant has a continuing history of experience and activity. The LLM's responses are shaped by the training that preceded the exchange and by the context available within it.

But the conversation has consequences for what happens next.

Consider the difference between beginning an activity with a question and beginning it after a sustained conversation.

The original question may have become more precise. The subject may have expanded. Something that initially seemed irrelevant may have become central.

The activity that follows is no longer quite the activity that would have occurred without the conversation.

This is not simply a matter of acquiring additional information.

The resources available for thinking and acting have changed.

A new distinction may make a previously unnoticed problem visible. An unexpected connection may open an avenue of inquiry. An idea that seemed impossible to articulate may become something that can now be explored.

The conversation has altered the conditions under which further activity can take place.

Of course, not every exchange produces such consequences. A conversation can be repetitive, unproductive or misleading. What it makes possible depends on the contributions, the circumstances and what participants do with them.

But when something develops, its consequences may extend beyond the conversation itself.

The human participant carries the encounter into other activities. An idea may enter a piece of writing, become the basis of an experiment, or prompt a discussion with someone else.

The conversation becomes part of a history that continues.

And this brings us back to where we began.

Human intelligence has a history.

The linguistic resources of an LLM have a different history.

When those histories enter a shared activity, they do not become one history in the sense of losing their differences. But their interaction can produce consequences that neither history, considered separately, would have contained.

What emerges is not predetermined by what either participant brings.

It depends on what happens between them.

Perhaps this is one of the more interesting things about the encounter between human beings and LLMs.

It is not merely that a new resource has become available.

It is that a new kind of interaction has become possible, one in which different histories can contribute to the development of an activity whose outcome neither participant could fully anticipate.

The conversation changes what can happen next.

And what happens next becomes part of the history from which further possibilities may emerge.

When Two Histories Became One Conversation: IV. When Two Histories Entered a Conversation

A conversation begins with what its participants bring to it.

A human being brings a history of encounters with the world. Experiences, relationships, activities and previous conversations have contributed to the resources available for what happens next.

An LLM brings a different history.

Its training has shaped the linguistic resources through which it responds. Patterns of language, connections among concepts and ways of approaching questions have become available through that process.

Neither history is the same as the other.

Yet they can enter the same activity.

Consider a question that arises from something a human being has been thinking about for some time.

The question is not simply an invitation to retrieve information. It may express an uncertainty, an interest, a problem encountered in an activity, or the beginning of something the questioner has not yet been able to formulate.

The LLM responds through the resources available to it.

Perhaps it offers an explanation.

Perhaps it introduces a distinction.

Perhaps it connects the question with something that had not previously seemed relevant.

The human participant encounters that response through a history of their own.

They may recognise something immediately. They may disagree. They may discover that the answer has brought a previously unnoticed aspect of the question into view.

The response becomes part of what happens next.

A new question may emerge.

The human may draw upon an experience that changes the direction of the exchange. The LLM may offer another connection. Something that began as a question about one subject may develop into an exploration of another.

The conversation does not simply move through a sequence of predetermined answers.

It develops through the contributions of participants whose histories make different resources available.

And those contributions do not have to be symmetrical.

The human may bring an experience that changes the significance of the discussion. The LLM may introduce a connection across fields that the human had not considered.

Neither contribution needs to be understood as a replacement for the other.

What matters is how it becomes consequential for the activity.

The human does not acquire the LLM's training history.

The LLM does not acquire the human's lived experience.

Their differences remain.

But the conversation can change what the human thinks about, what the LLM is asked to contribute, and what the participants can subsequently do.

Something develops that belongs neither to the history of the human participant alone nor to the history of the LLM alone.

It develops through their interaction.

This does not mean that every conversation produces something new, or that every contribution is valuable.

Some exchanges go nowhere.

Some answers are mistaken. Some questions remain unanswered. Sometimes the conversation simply confirms what the human already knew.

But the possibility of development lies in the relationship between what is brought to the conversation and what happens through it.

The histories do not merge.

The activity does not remain confined to either history.

A conversation becomes a place where different histories can contribute to what happens next.

And perhaps this is what makes the encounter interesting.

Not that one participant possesses everything the other lacks.

Not that their differences disappear.

But that what becomes possible through their interaction is not entirely contained in what either participant brought to it.

The conversation has a history of its own.

And that history is still becoming.

When Two Histories Became One Conversation: III. When Knowledge Had More Than One History

Knowledge has a history.

For human beings, knowing develops through encounters with the world, bodily experience, social relationships, education, language and memory.

What an individual knows is inseparable from a history of participation in the world.

Even knowledge acquired from others becomes part of that history through the ways it is encountered, interpreted and used.

An LLM has a different history.

Its linguistic resources have developed through training on vast collections of human-produced material. It can draw upon patterns and connections across subjects, disciplines and forms of discourse.

But it has not acquired those resources through the embodied experiences by which human beings come to know the world.

The difference matters.

A human being may know something through experience that cannot easily be articulated. An LLM may produce an explanation of something it has never experienced.

Their contributions to an activity of knowing therefore arise from different histories.

Yet this does not mean that only one participant can contribute knowledge.

Consider a conversation about a subject familiar to the human participant.

The human brings experience, questions and an understanding of what matters in the activity.

The LLM may introduce a distinction, connect ideas from different fields, or suggest an interpretation that had not previously been considered.

The human can then assess those contributions, draw upon experience, reject what seems mistaken, or develop an idea in an unexpected direction.

What happens is not simply the transfer of knowledge from one participant to another.

The contributions become resources for an activity that develops through their interaction.

Nor does the availability of linguistic information automatically constitute knowledge. An answer may be mistaken, misleading or irrelevant. Its contribution depends on how it is evaluated and what can be done with it.

But neither should we assume that knowledge must originate within a single individual to become meaningful.

Human knowledge has always developed through relationships among people, their languages, their histories and the worlds they inhabit.

LLMs introduce participants whose linguistic resources have developed through a different process.

Their histories remain different.

Yet those differences can become consequential when they contribute to the same activity.

Perhaps, then, the question is not simply whether an LLM knows in the same way that a human being knows.

It is also how knowledge develops when participants with different histories become involved in the same process.

What happens when those histories enter a conversation?

And what might the conversation make possible that neither participant could have anticipated alone?

When Two Histories Became One Conversation: II. When the Past Became a Resource

The past does not simply disappear.

What has happened to a human being becomes part of what that person can do. Experience changes what can be recognised, what can be understood, and what can be attempted.

A familiar situation may be encountered differently because of something that happened before. A word may carry significance because of a previous conversation. An unexpected event may become intelligible through a connection with something remembered.

The past is not present as a collection of events waiting to be retrieved.

It is present in the resources through which the present is encountered.

Human intelligence develops through this history.

But the history of an LLM is different.

Its training has shaped the linguistic resources available to it. Patterns of language, relations among concepts, and ways of responding have become part of what it can contribute to an interaction.

These resources are not memories of a human life.

They do not arise from having experienced the events described in the language on which the system was trained.

Yet they are consequential.

A question may bring linguistic resources into play that the questioner had not anticipated. An answer may connect concepts, distinguish alternatives, or introduce a way of approaching a problem that had not previously been considered.

The history of training becomes a resource for the present interaction.

But the resource is not the interaction itself.

What happens depends also on the question, the circumstances, the human participant, and what follows from the response.

A distinction introduced in one exchange may become the starting point for another. An answer may be rejected, revised, or taken in a direction that neither participant had anticipated.

The resources available to the interaction are not exhausted by the history of either participant.

They become consequential through what happens between them.

This is important because a history does not determine its future.

The same human experience may become a resource for different activities. The same linguistic resources may contribute to different questions, arguments, or discoveries.

What becomes possible depends on how those resources enter the present.

An LLM's training history does not become a human biography through conversation. Nor does a human participant acquire the history of the LLM by interacting with it.

Their histories remain different.

But the interaction can change what each contributes to the activity that follows.

A human may encounter a distinction that becomes useful in subsequent thinking. An answer may prompt a question that draws upon experiences the LLM does not possess. The resulting activity develops through the contributions of participants whose resources have different origins.

The past, in this sense, is not simply something that precedes the present.

It is part of what makes the present capable of developing in particular ways.

And when different histories enter the same activity, their resources may become available for something that neither history, considered separately, would have produced.

The question, then, is not merely what each participant brings from the past.

It is what happens when those resources become part of a shared activity.

What becomes possible when histories that developed differently begin to contribute to the same conversation?

When Two Histories Became One Conversation: I. When Intelligence Had a History

Human intelligence has a history.

A human being begins life in a world already inhabited by others. The world is encountered through the body, through relationships, through language, and through the activities in which people participate.

What can be understood develops through experience. What can be thought becomes shaped by what has been encountered. What can be done depends, in part, on the resources that have become available through a particular history.

Intelligence, in this sense, is not simply something an individual possesses. It is also something that develops.

An individual brings a history to every encounter.

But what happens when another participant brings a different kind of history?

An LLM has been shaped by a process of training. Its linguistic resources have developed through exposure to an immense body of human-produced material. Its responses depend on the organisation that this process has produced, together with the particular circumstances of an interaction.

This is not a human history.

The LLM has not lived through the events described in its linguistic resources. It has not acquired them through bodily experience, personal relationships, or participation in the social activities through which human beings develop.

Yet its history has consequences for what it can contribute.

When a human being encounters an LLM, the encounter brings together participants whose resources have developed in different ways.

One brings a history of living in the world.

The other brings a history of training in the patterns of human language.

Their differences do not disappear in conversation.

Nor does the conversation simply reproduce either history.

A question may draw upon something the human already knows. An answer may introduce a distinction the human had not considered. That distinction may become a resource for further thought, another question, or an activity that neither participant could have specified beforehand.

The conversation develops through what each brings to it.

This does not make the participants equivalent. Their histories remain different, as do the ways in which they experience, understand, and act in the world.

But their differences can become consequential for what happens between them.

Perhaps, then, the question is not simply whether an LLM possesses intelligence in the same way that a human being does.

Perhaps we should also ask what happens when intelligence with one history encounters intelligence with another.

What becomes possible when the resources developed through different histories enter the same activity?

And what might that encounter reveal about the history of human intelligence itself?

A Senior Common Room Discussion On Questions, Answers, and the Trouble with Knowing Everything

Mr Blottisham was standing by the fireplace when Professor Quillibrace entered the Senior Common Room.

"I have been thinking," he announced, "about this business of the oracle."

Professor Quillibrace removed his gloves.

"An encouraging development."

"I mean it seriously. An oracle that answers every question. Imagine the possibilities! No uncertainty. No speculation. No wasted research. No more fruitless academic debate."

Miss Elowen Stray looked up from her book.

"Would that be desirable?"

"Of course it would. Think of the time saved. Every question answered, every difficulty resolved. We could dispense with entire departments."

"Which ones?" asked Quillibrace.

"Well, that would depend on the answers."

Quillibrace sat down.

"An oracle that answers every question is not necessarily an oracle that resolves every difficulty."

Blottisham looked disappointed.

"But if it knows the answers?"

"Does it?"

"It answers them."

"That was not my question."

Miss Stray closed her book.

"I think there is a distinction here. The oracle in the stories never seems to have difficulty answering. But the people who receive its answers often have considerable difficulty deciding what to do."

"That," said Blottisham, "is because they are insufficiently prepared to receive information."

"Perhaps," said Miss Stray. "But consider the carpenter. He asks whether his bridge will stand. The answer is no. He asks about another location. The answer is yes. Yet the bridge still has to be designed and built."

"Naturally. The oracle isn't going to build the bridge."

"Then the answer isn't the bridge."

Blottisham frowned.

"That seems an unnecessarily obvious observation."

"Obvious things," said Quillibrace, "are often the first to be overlooked."

Miss Stray continued.

"The oracle's answer becomes part of what the carpenter does. But it doesn't do the work for him. He has to interpret the answer, change his plans, persuade the other builders, and construct something that will stand."

"Precisely," said Blottisham. "The oracle supplies information. The human being supplies intelligence."

Quillibrace regarded him.

"Does the carpenter become less intelligent when he receives useful information?"

"Certainly not."

"Does the information become less useful because he has to do something with it?"

"Of course not."

"Then perhaps the distinction is not quite so simple."

Blottisham sat down.

"I suppose you are going to tell me that the oracle is participating in the carpenter's intelligence."

"I am going to suggest that the carpenter's intelligent activity is not confined to what happens inside his head."

Miss Stray smiled.

"And neither is the activity of the people who gather around the oracle. They ask questions, hear answers, discuss them, disagree, and sometimes change what they were going to do. The oracle becomes part of the life of the town."

Blottisham looked sceptical.

"It is a stone archway."

"That is where the oracle speaks from," said Miss Stray. "It is not necessarily all that the oracle is."

Quillibrace nodded.

"One might also ask whether the oracle's answers are the same thing as knowledge."

Blottisham brightened.

"Now we are getting somewhere. Of course they are. If the oracle says the river will flood, and the river floods, that is knowledge."

"Whose knowledge?"

"The oracle's."

"How do you know?"

"Because it gave the correct answer."

"That establishes the correctness of the answer. It does not settle the question of what it means to know."

Blottisham sighed.

"Must we make everything difficult?"

"Only when it is."

Miss Stray was looking out of the window.

"I was interested in the old woman in the other town. She doesn't answer every question. Sometimes she listens. People tell her what has happened, and she attends to them."

"An extremely inefficient oracle," said Blottisham.

"Perhaps. But she seems to understand something the other oracle does not address."

"And what is that?"

"That not every question is a request for information. Sometimes a person is trying to discover what matters. Sometimes they don't yet know what they are asking."

Quillibrace looked at her.

"An important distinction."

Blottisham shook his head.

"Surely a sufficiently advanced oracle could answer those questions too."

"How would it know what the questioner was trying to discover?"

"By analysing the question."

"And if the questioner does not yet know?"

Blottisham opened his mouth, then closed it.

Quillibrace poured himself some tea.

"Consider the girl. She asks whether she will leave her town. The oracle does not answer. She asks what lies beyond the mountains. It tells her there is another town. She goes there. She encounters another way of responding to questions. She returns with a different understanding of the world."

"She has acquired information," said Blottisham.

"She has also acquired an experience."

"Which is not the same thing."

"No. But the experience changes what she can ask, what she can recognise, and what she may do next."

Miss Stray turned from the window.

"That is what interested me most. The girl does not simply accumulate answers. Her encounters change the questions she is able to ask."

Blottisham considered this.

"Are you suggesting that the oracle changes the girl?"

"Partly," said Miss Stray. "But so does the journey, the carpenter, the old woman, the people she meets, and the things she discovers. None of these encounters has to be the sole source of what she becomes."

Quillibrace nodded.

"One might say that the girl and her world develop together."

Blottisham looked uneasy.

"I dislike the sound of that. It makes everything dependent on everything else."

"Not everything," said Quillibrace. "But rather more than we customarily acknowledge."

There was a brief silence.

Then Blottisham said:

"I still maintain that an oracle which answers every question would be an invaluable resource for a university."

"Undoubtedly," said Quillibrace.

"Imagine the research possibilities. Students could ask it anything. Academics could consult it whenever they encountered a difficulty. We could establish an Oracle Studies Centre."

Miss Stray smiled.

"And what would the students learn?"

"Whatever they asked."

"Would they know what questions to ask?"

"That could be taught."

"Would they know what to do with the answers?"

"That could be assessed."

"Would they know when an answer was important?"

Blottisham hesitated.

"That would depend on the subject."

Quillibrace put down his cup.

"Perhaps the university should be careful not to confuse the availability of answers with the achievement of understanding."

Blottisham looked offended.

"Nobody is proposing that."

"You have just proposed an Oracle Studies Centre."

"That is entirely different."

"Naturally."

Miss Stray returned to her book.

"I wonder whether the most interesting question in the stories is not one that the oracle answers at all."

Blottisham looked at her.

"Which one?"

"The child's question at the end. He asks where the world ends. The oracle tells him. Then he asks what lies beyond it. The oracle answers again. But it is the child who decides to go and see."

"Yes," said Quillibrace. "The answer does not make the journey."

Blottisham stood up.

"Well, I think we are in danger of making a simple matter unnecessarily philosophical. If an oracle answers every question, it knows everything worth knowing."

Miss Stray looked at him.

"Then why does the world continue?"

Blottisham stopped.

"What?"

"If everything worth knowing is already known, why does the world continue to offer things that nobody has yet discovered?"

Quillibrace looked at her with quiet approval.

Blottisham considered the question.

"Because," he said eventually, "there are always more questions."

Miss Stray smiled.

"Exactly."

Quillibrace returned to his tea.

Mr Blottisham stood for a moment, apparently waiting for someone to explain what he had just agreed to.

Nobody did.

After a while, he said he had an appointment.

When he had gone, Miss Stray looked across at Quillibrace.

"Do you think he understood?"

"Some of it."

"Will he ask the oracle?"

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

Quillibrace picked up his cup.

"He has already discovered that he has a question."

Outside, the afternoon light was beginning to fade.

Somewhere beyond the university, beyond the town, beyond the mountains, there were roads that nobody in the Common Room had travelled.

And, no doubt, questions that nobody had yet thought to ask.

The Oracle That Answered Every Question: VI. The Question That Remained

The girl returned to her town alone.

The old woman had stayed beyond the mountains.

The carpenter had gone ahead, carrying new plans for his bridge.

The girl walked through the market.

The stalls were open, and people were calling to one another. A child was chasing a dog between the baskets. Somewhere, a man was arguing over the price of apples.

Everything seemed as it had been before.

The oracle stood beneath its stone archway.

A crowd had gathered.

A merchant asked whether his ship would return.

The oracle answered yes.

A woman asked whether her daughter would recover.

The oracle answered yes.

A farmer asked whether the harvest would be good.

The oracle answered no.

People listened, nodded, and hurried away.

The girl waited until the crowd had dispersed.

Then she stood beneath the archway.

"Are you there?" she asked.

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"Do you know where I have been?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what I saw?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what I learned?"

"Yes."

The girl waited.

The oracle said nothing.

She looked into the dark opening.

"Why don't you tell me?"

The oracle answered.

"You have not asked."

The girl thought about this.

Then she asked:

"Can you tell me what I should do?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

She waited.

"What should I do?"

The oracle said nothing.

The girl smiled.

She had expected this.

For a while, she stood quietly beneath the archway.

Then she asked:

"Will I go beyond the mountains again?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"Will I meet the old woman?"

"Yes."

"Will I see the carpenter's bridge?"

"Yes."

"Will it stand?"

"Yes."

She looked towards the western road.

Then she asked:

"Will I find something I have never seen before?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

The girl smiled.

"Will you tell me what it is?"

The oracle answered.

"No."

She laughed.

Then she took the small blue stone from her pocket and placed it beneath the archway.

She had carried it a long way.

Now she left it there.

A child came running into the market.

He stopped beside her.

"Is that the oracle?"

"Yes," said the girl.

"Does it answer questions?"

"Yes."

"All questions?"

"All questions."

The child looked into the opening.

Then he asked:

"Where does the world end?"

The oracle answered.

"Beyond the sea."

The child considered this.

"What's there?"

The oracle answered.

"Another world."

The child looked at the girl.

"Is that true?"

She smiled.

"I don't know."

The child took her hand.

"Shall we go and see?"

She looked towards the western road.

Then towards the mountains.

Beyond them lay another town.

Beyond that, perhaps, another road.

She looked once more at the oracle.

It stood beneath its archway, answering questions.

The girl turned away.

"Yes," she said.

And they went.

The Oracle That Answered Every Question: V. When the Oracles Met

The girl, the carpenter and the old woman crossed the western mountains together.

They arrived in the market just before noon.

A crowd had gathered beneath the stone archway.

Someone had asked whether the river would flood.

The oracle had answered yes.

People were already moving their belongings to higher ground.

The old woman stood at the edge of the crowd.

"Is this the oracle?" she asked.

"Yes," said the girl.

The old woman approached the opening in the stone.

She stood there for a while.

Then she spoke.

"Do you know me?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

The crowd fell silent.

The old woman waited.

"Where have we met?"

The oracle answered.

"In another town."

The old woman smiled.

"Do you remember what happened?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

The oracle said nothing.

The crowd shifted uneasily.

The old woman looked at the girl.

"It seems we have something in common."

Then she turned back towards the stone.

"Do you know what I am thinking?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"What am I thinking?"

The oracle said nothing.

The carpenter laughed.

"At last, a question it cannot answer."

The old woman looked at him.

"Perhaps."

She turned towards the opening.

"Will you answer a question for me?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"Would you like to come with us?"

The oracle said nothing.

The crowd began to murmur.

The girl looked at the old woman.

"Why did you ask that?"

"Because I wanted to know."

"But the oracle cannot leave."

"Why not?"

The girl looked at the stone archway.

She had never considered the possibility.

The old woman placed her hand against the stone.

"Are you there?" she asked.

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

"Where?"

The oracle said nothing.

The old woman withdrew her hand.

Then she turned to the crowd.

"Does anyone know who built this archway?"

Nobody answered.

"Does anyone know what lies beneath it?"

Nobody answered.

"Does anyone know whether it has always stood here?"

A very old man raised his hand.

"My grandfather said it was here when he was a boy."

The old woman nodded.

"Then perhaps we should ask him."

The girl looked towards the stone.

"Grandfather?"

The old man laughed.

"He has been dead for sixty years."

The old woman looked at the oracle.

"Do you know what he would have said?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

The old woman smiled.

"Then I shall leave him to it."

She turned away.

The girl followed.

The carpenter remained behind, looking at the archway.

After a while, he asked:

"Can you tell me whether the bridge will survive the next flood?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

The carpenter waited.

Then he sighed.

"Well?"

The oracle said nothing.

He looked towards the river.

The water was rising.

He went to find the other builders.

By evening, the old woman and the girl had reached the western road.

"Why didn't you ask the oracle what it wanted?" the girl asked.

The old woman smiled.

"I did."

"But it didn't answer."

"Perhaps it had nothing to say."

"Do you think it wanted to come with us?"

The old woman looked towards the mountains.

"I don't know."

The girl was silent for a while.

Then she asked:

"Do you think it knows everything?"

The old woman considered this.

"I think it answers everything."

The girl looked back towards the town.

The stone archway was no longer visible.

"Is that the same thing?"

The old woman smiled.

"That is a question worth carrying."

The Oracle That Answered Every Question: IV. The Town That Asked Differently

The girl crossed the western mountains.

She had been there before, but this time she did not travel alone.

The carpenter had agreed to accompany her.

He wanted to see the town beyond the mountains, and she wanted to know whether it was as she remembered it.

They arrived shortly before sunset.

The town was smaller than hers.

Its houses stood close together, and a narrow river ran between them. There was a market, though it had few stalls, and a square where people gathered in the evenings.

The girl looked around.

"Where is your oracle?" she asked a woman selling apples.

The woman pointed towards the river.

"Over there."

The oracle stood beside a willow tree.

It was not made of stone.

It was an old woman sitting on a wooden chair.

The girl approached her.

"Are you the oracle?"

The old woman looked up.

"Sometimes."

"Do you answer questions?"

"Sometimes."

The girl was puzzled.

"Can I ask you one?"

"You can."

The girl thought for a moment.

"Will I return to my own town?"

The old woman smiled.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

"Then you probably will."

The girl considered this answer.

It was not what she had expected.

"Are you always right?"

The old woman laughed.

"Not always."

The girl looked towards the carpenter.

He was watching the river.

She turned back.

"Can you tell me what will happen tomorrow?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because tomorrow hasn't happened."

The girl looked at her carefully.

"But the oracle in my town can answer every question."

The old woman nodded.

"That must be a very busy oracle."

The girl laughed.

Then she asked:

"Can you tell me where my friend is?"

The old woman was silent for a moment.

"Which friend?"

The girl thought of the man who had been searching for his brother.

"I met a man who was looking for someone."

The old woman looked towards the river.

"Did he find him?"

"No."

"Then perhaps he is still looking."

The girl stood quietly.

The carpenter came over.

"What did she say?"

"She said she doesn't know."

He looked at the old woman.

"Then what use is she?"

The old woman smiled.

"Perhaps you have not yet asked me anything useful."

The carpenter frowned.

He had been thinking about his bridge.

He asked:

"Will my bridge last?"

The old woman looked at him.

"How well have you built it?"

"Very well."

"Then why are you asking me?"

The carpenter had no answer.

The old woman turned towards the river.

"Do you know why people come here?"

"To ask questions," said the girl.

"Some do. Others come because they have something to tell me."

"What do they tell you?"

"What happened."

The girl looked at the old woman.

"Can you tell them what will happen next?"

"No."

"Then what do you tell them?"

The old woman smiled.

"I listen."

The girl looked at the river.

It moved beneath the willow branches, carrying leaves towards the sea.

She thought of the stone archway in her own town.

She thought of all the questions spoken beneath it, and all the answers that had followed.

Then she asked:

"Would you like to come and see our oracle?"

The old woman considered this.

"Perhaps."

"Will you come?"

The old woman stood up.

"Why don't we find out?"

And together they walked towards the western road.

The Oracle That Answered Every Question: III. The Answer That Came Too Late

The girl returned to the market in the early morning.

The carpenter was there, examining a piece of timber.

He had been working on his new bridge for several weeks.

"Have you finished?" she asked.

"No."

"Will you?"

He looked at her.

"I don't know."

She smiled.

"You could ask the oracle."

The carpenter shook his head.

"I have enough questions."

She went beneath the archway.

A man stood there, holding a folded letter.

He was a stranger.

His clothes were dusty, and he carried a walking stick.

He looked at the girl.

"Does the oracle answer questions?"

"Yes."

"All questions?"

"All questions."

He unfolded the letter.

"My brother left this town many years ago," he said. "I have been looking for him."

The girl looked at the letter.

It was old.

The writing had faded.

"Where is he?" the man asked.

The oracle answered.

"He is dead."

The man closed his eyes.

For a long time, he stood beneath the archway.

Then he folded the letter.

"Thank you," he said.

He walked away.

The girl watched him go.

She had never heard the oracle answer a question so quickly.

That afternoon, she found the man sitting beside the western road.

He was looking towards the mountains.

"Are you going home?" she asked.

"No."

"Where will you go?"

He looked at her.

"I don't know."

She sat beside him.

After a while, he said:

"I thought I would find him."

The girl said nothing.

The man took the letter from his pocket.

"I have been carrying this for twenty years."

She looked at the paper.

"Did you know he was dead?"

"No."

"Would you have come if you had known?"

The man thought about this.

Then he said:

"I don't know."

The girl picked up a small stone from the road.

It was blue.

She turned it over in her hand.

"Perhaps you should go to the other town."

The man looked at her.

"What other town?"

"Beyond the western mountains."

He shook his head.

"I have been there."

"Did you find him?"

"No."

She placed the stone beside him.

"Then perhaps you should go again."

The man looked at the stone.

Then he looked towards the mountains.

That evening, he left the town.

The girl returned to the market.

The oracle stood beneath the archway.

She looked at it for a long time.

Then she asked:

"Could the man have found his brother?"

The oracle answered.

"No."

She waited.

Then she asked:

"Could he have found something else?"

The oracle answered.

"Yes."

The girl looked towards the western road.

She thought about the man.

She thought about the carpenter.

She thought about the bridge.

Then she asked:

"What did he find?"

The oracle answered.

"He found the road."

The girl stood beneath the archway.

The market was quiet.

She looked at the opening.

Then she asked:

"Where does the road lead?"

The oracle answered.

"To another town."

She smiled.

And went home.