Morality is Scary

I’m wor­ried that many AI al­ign­ment re­searchers and other LWers have a view of how hu­man moral­ity works, that re­ally only ap­plies to a small frac­tion of all hu­mans (no­tably moral philoso­phers and them­selves). In this view, peo­ple know or at least sus­pect that they are con­fused about moral­ity, and are ea­ger or will­ing to ap­ply rea­son and de­liber­a­tion to find out what their real val­ues are, or to cor­rect their moral be­liefs. Here’s an ex­am­ple of some­one who fits this view:

I’ve writ­ten, in the past, about a “ghost” ver­sion of my­self — that is, one that can float free from my body; which travel any­where in all space and time, with un­limited time, en­ergy, and pa­tience; and which can also make changes to differ­ent vari­ables, and play for­ward/​rewind differ­ent coun­ter­fac­tual timelines (the ghost’s ac­tivity some­how doesn’t have any moral sig­nifi­cance).

I some­times treat such a ghost kind of like an ideal­ized self. It can see much that I can­not. It can see di­rectly what a small part of the world I truly am; what my ac­tions truly mean. The lives of oth­ers are real and vivid for it, even when hazy and out of mind for me. I trust such a per­spec­tive a lot. If the ghost would say “don’t,” I’d be in­clined to listen.

I’m cur­rently read­ing The Sta­tus Game by Will Storr (highly recom­mended BTW), and found in it the fol­low­ing de­scrip­tion of how moral­ity works in most peo­ple, which matches my own un­der­stand­ing of his­tory and my ob­ser­va­tions of hu­mans around me:

The moral re­al­ity we live in is a virtue game. We use our dis­plays of moral­ity to man­u­fac­ture sta­tus. It’s good that we do this. It’s func­tional. It’s why billion­aires fund libraries, uni­ver­sity schol­ar­ships and sci­en­tific en­deav­ours; it’s why a study of 11,672 or­gan dona­tions in the USA found only thirty-one were made anony­mously. It’s why we feel good when we com­mit moral acts and thoughts pri­vately and en­joy the ap­proval of our imag­i­nary au­di­ence. Virtue sta­tus is the bribe that nudges us into putting the in­ter­ests of other peo­ple – prin­ci­pally our co-play­ers – be­fore our own.

We treat moral be­liefs as if they’re uni­ver­sal and ab­solute: one study found peo­ple were more likely to be­lieve God could change phys­i­cal laws of the uni­verse than he could moral ‘facts’. Such facts can seem to be­long to the same cat­e­gory as ob­jects in na­ture, as if they could be ob­served un­der micro­scopes or proven by math­e­mat­i­cal for­mu­lae. If moral truth ex­ists any­where, it’s in our DNA: that an­cient game-play­ing cod­ing that evolved to nudge us into be­hav­ing co-op­er­a­tively in hunter-gath­erer groups. But these in­struc­tions – strive to ap­pear vir­tu­ous; priv­ilege your group over oth­ers – are few and vague and open to ri­o­tous differ­ences in in­ter­pre­ta­tion. All the rest is an act of shared imag­i­na­tion. It’s a dream we weave around a sta­tus game.

The dream shifts as we range across the con­ti­nents. For the Mala­gasy peo­ple in Mada­gas­car, it’s taboo to eat a blind hen, to dream about blood and to sleep fac­ing west­wards, as you’ll kick the sun­rise. Ado­les­cent boys of the Marind of South New Guinea are in­tro­duced to a cul­ture of ‘in­sti­tu­tion­al­ised sodomy’ in which they sleep in the men’s house and ab­sorb the sperm of their el­ders via anal cop­u­la­tion, mak­ing them stronger. Among the peo­ple of the Moose, teenage girls are ab­ducted and forced to have sex with a mar­ried man, an act for which, writes psy­chol­o­gist Pro­fes­sor David Buss, ‘all con­cerned – in­clud­ing the girl – judge that her par­ents giv­ing her to the man was a vir­tu­ous, gen­er­ous act of grat­i­tude’. As alien as these norms might seem, they’ll feel morally cor­rect to most who play by them. They’re part of the dream of re­al­ity in which they ex­ist, a dream that feels no less ob­vi­ous and true to them than ours does to us.

Such ‘facts’ also change across time. We don’t have to travel back far to dis­cover moral su­per­stars hold­ing moral views that would de­stroy them to­day. Fem­i­nist hero and birth con­trol cam­paigner Marie Stopes, who was voted Wo­man of the Millen­nium by the read­ers of The Guardian and hon­oured on spe­cial Royal Mail stamps in 2008, was an anti-Semite and eu­geni­cist who once wrote that ‘our race is weak­ened by an ap­pal­lingly high per­centage of un­fit weak­lings and dis­eased in­di­vi­d­u­als’ and that ‘it is the ur­gent duty of the com­mu­nity to make par­ent­hood im­pos­si­ble for those whose men­tal and phys­i­cal con­di­tions are such that there is well-nigh a cer­tainty that their offspring must be phys­i­cally and men­tally tainted’. Mean­while, Gandhi once ex­plained his ag­i­ta­tion against the Bri­tish thusly: ‘Ours is one con­tinual strug­gle against a degra­da­tion sought to be in­flicted upon us by the Euro­peans, who de­sire to de­grade us to the level of the raw Kaf­fir [black Afri­can] … whose sole am­bi­tion is to col­lect a cer­tain num­ber of cat­tle to buy a wife with and … pass his life in in­dolence and naked­ness.’ Such state­ments seem ob­vi­ously ap­pal­ling. But there’s about as much sense in blam­ing Gandhi for not shar­ing our mod­ern, Western views on race as there is in blam­ing the Vik­ings for not hav­ing Net­flix. Mo­ral ‘truths’ are acts of imag­i­na­tion. They’re ideas we play games with.

The dream feels so real. And yet it’s all con­jured up by the game-mak­ing brain. The world around our bod­ies is chaotic, con­fus­ing and mostly un­know­able. But the brain must make sense of it. It has to turn that bliz­zard of noise into a pre­cise, colour­ful and de­tailed world it can pre­dict and suc­cess­fully in­ter­act with, such that it gets what it wants. When the brain dis­cov­ers a game that seems to make sense of its felt re­al­ity and offer a path­way to re­wards, it can em­brace its rules and sym­bols with an ec­static fer­vour. The noise is silenced! The chaos is tamed! We’ve found our story and the heroic role we’re go­ing to play in it! We’ve learned the truth and the way – the mean­ing of life! It’s yams, it’s God, it’s money, it’s sav­ing the world from evil big pHARMa. It’s not like a re­li­gious ex­pe­rience, it is a re­li­gious ex­pe­rience. It’s how the writer Arthur Koestler felt as a young man in 1931, join­ing the Com­mu­nist Party:

‘To say that one had “seen the light” is a poor de­scrip­tion of the men­tal rap­ture which only the con­vert knows (re­gard­less of what faith he has been con­verted to). The new light seems to pour from all di­rec­tions across the skull; the whole uni­verse falls into pat­tern, like stray pieces of a jig­saw puz­zle as­sem­bled by one magic stroke. There is now an an­swer to ev­ery ques­tion, doubts and con­flicts are a mat­ter of the tor­tured past – a past already re­mote, when one lived in dis­mal ig­no­rance in the taste­less, colourless world of those who don’t know. Noth­ing hence­forth can dis­turb the con­vert’s in­ner peace and seren­ity – ex­cept the oc­ca­sional fear of los­ing faith again, los­ing thereby what alone makes life worth liv­ing, and fal­ling back into the outer dark­ness, where there is wailing and gnash­ing of teeth.’

I hope this helps fur­ther ex­plain why I think even solv­ing (some ver­sions of) the al­ign­ment prob­lem prob­a­bly won’t be enough to en­sure a fu­ture that’s free from as­tro­nom­i­cal waste or as­tro­nom­i­cal suffer­ing. A part of me is ac­tu­ally more scared of many fu­tures in which “al­ign­ment is solved”, than a fu­ture where biolog­i­cal life is sim­ply wiped out by a pa­per­clip max­i­mizer.