I’ve been lurking on LW since 2013, but only started posting recently. My day job was “analytics broadly construed” although I’m currently exploring applied prio-like roles; my degree is in physics; I used to write on Quora and Substack but stopped, although I’m still on the EA Forum. I’m based in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
Mo Putera
There’s also Byrne Hobart’s article Understanding Jane Street (5.5k words), although pitched at an even lower level maybe. He recommends The Laws of Trading as further reading, alongside:
This interview with Yaron Minsky is a great look at their decision to use Ocaml. If you’re interested in more about the mechanics of exchanges and trading, the Hide not Slide Substack is good. As a starting point, here’s their writeup on Jane Street. Max Dama on Automated Trading is old, but a very helpful overview of the industry for technical people. If you want to learn Ocaml, Jane Street’s Yaron Minsky has coauthored a good book on it.
Your topline answers to the questions you assume xlr8harder cares about more seem similar to Holden Karnofsky’s, and I haven’t seen his essay on this mentioned so in this thread so I thought it’d be useful to link it here: What counts as death? An unconventional but simple take on personal identity, that dissolves most paradoxes
My philosophy on “what counts as death” is simple, though unconventional, and it seems to resolve most otherwise mind-bending paradoxical thought experiments about personal identity. It is the same basic idea as the one advanced by Derek Parfit in Reasons and Persons;1 Parfit also claims it is similar to Buddha’s view2 (so it’s got that going for it).
I haven’t been able to find a simple, compact statement of this philosophy, and I think I can lay it out in about a page. So here it is, presented simply and without much in the way of caveats (this is “how things feel to me” rather than “something I’m confident in regardless of others’ opinions”):
Constant replacement. In an important sense, I stop existing and am replaced by a new person each moment (second or minute or whatever).
The sense in which it feels like I “continue to exist, as one unified thread through time” is just an illusion, created by the fact that I have memories of my past. The only thing that is truly “me” is this moment; next moment, it will be someone else.
Kinship with past and future selves. My future self is a different person from me, but he has an awful lot in common with me: personality, relationships, ongoing projects, and more. Things like my relationships and projects are most of what give my current moment meaning, so it’s very important to me whether my future selves are around to continue them.
So although my future self is a different person, I care about him a lot, for the same sorts of reasons I care about friends and loved ones (and their future selves).3
If I were to “die” in the common-usage (e.g., medical) sense, that would be bad for all those future selves that I care about a lot.4
(I do of course refer to past and future Holdens in the first person. When I refer to someone as “me,” that means that they are a past or future self, which generally means that they have an awful lot in common with me. But in a deeper philosophical sense, my past and future selves are other people.)
And that’s all. I’m constantly being replaced by other Holdens, and I care about the other Holdens, and that’s all that’s going on.
I don’t care how quickly the cells in my body die and get replaced (if it were once per second, that wouldn’t bother me). My self is already getting replaced all the time, and replacing my cells wouldn’t add anything to that.
I don’t care about “continuity of consciousness” (if I were constantly losing consciousness while all my cells got replaced, that wouldn’t bother me).
If you vaporized me and created a copy of me somewhere else, that would just be totally fine. I would think of it as teleporting. It’d be chill.
If you made a bunch of copies of me, I would be all of them in one sense (I care about them a lot, in the same way that I normally care about future selves) and none of them in another sense (just as I am not my future selves).
If you did something really weird like splitting my brain in half and combining each half with someone else’s brain, that would create two people that I care about more than a stranger and less than “Holden an hour from now.”
I don’t really find any thought experiments on this topic trippy or mind bending. They’re all just cases where I get replaced with some other people who have some things in common with me, and that’s already happening all the time.
FootnotesFor key quotes from Reasons and Persons, see pages 223-224; 251; 279-282; 284-285; 292; 340-341. For explanations of “psychological continuity” and “psychological connectedness” (which Parfit frequently uses in discussing what matters for what counts as death), see page 206.
“Psychological connectedness” is a fairly general idea that seems consistent with what I say here; “psychological continuity” is a more specific idea that is less important on my view (though also see pages 288-289, where Parfit appears to equivocate on how much, and how, psychological continuity matters). ↩
“As Appendix J shows, Buddha would have agreed. The Reductionist View [the view Parfit defends] is not merely part of one cultural tradition. It may be, as I have claimed, the true view about all people at all times.” Reasons and Persons page 273. Emphasis in original. ↩
There’s the additional matter that he’s held responsible for my actions, which makes sense if only because my actions are predictive of his actions. ↩
I don’t personally care all that much about these future selves’ getting to “exist,” as an end in itself. I care more about the fact that their disappearance would mean the end of the stories, projects, relationships, etc. that I’m in. But you could easily take my view of personal identity while caring a lot intrinsically about whether your future selves get to exist. ↩
This is great, thank you for making it.
So instead, we tell the lawyers to go nuts. Be as biased as possible, and, as long as they’re equally skilled and there aren’t background factors that favor one position over the other, this ensures that each presented position is equally far from the truth. The jury now has a fair overview of both sides of the case, without a malicious lawyer being able to advantage one over the other.
This reminds me of Peter Watts’ classic post about (among others) how science works:
Science doesn’t work despite scientists being asses. Science works, to at least some extent, because scientists are asses. Bickering and backstabbing are essential elements of the process. Haven’t any of these guys ever heard of “peer review”?
There’s this myth in wide circulation: rational, emotionless Vulcans in white coats, plumbing the secrets of the universe, their Scientific Methods unsullied by bias or emotionalism. Most people know it’s a myth, of course; they subscribe to a more nuanced view in which scientists are as petty and vain and human as anyone (and as egotistical as any therapist or financier), people who use scientific methodology to tamp down their human imperfections and manage some approximation of objectivity.
But that’s a myth too. The fact is, we are all humans; and humans come with dogma as standard equipment. We can no more shake off our biases than Liz Cheney could pay a compliment to Barack Obama. The best we can do— the best science can do— is make sure that at least, we get to choose among competing biases.
That’s how science works. It’s not a hippie love-in; it’s rugby. Every time you put out a paper, the guy you pissed off at last year’s Houston conference is gonna be laying in wait. Every time you think you’ve made a breakthrough, that asshole supervisor who told you you needed more data will be standing ready to shoot it down. You want to know how the Human Genome Project finished so far ahead of schedule? Because it was the Human Genome projects, two competing teams locked in bitter rivalry, one led by J. Craig Venter, one by Francis Collins — and from what I hear, those guys did not like each other at all.
This is how it works: you put your model out there in the coliseum, and a bunch of guys in white coats kick the shit out of it. If it’s still alive when the dust clears, your brainchild receives conditional acceptance. It does not get rejected. This time. …
Science is so powerful that it drags us kicking and screaming towards the truth despite our best efforts to avoid it. And it does that at least partly fueled by our pettiness and our rivalries. Science is alchemy: it turns shit into gold.
It took me about 5 years. Again, I don’t think it’s a useful approach if you don’t like exercising in the first place; for me 5 years of resistance training has felt less like a weight-loss strategy and more like an excuse to have fun chasing goals and make like-minded friends along the way.
Lots of people believe they can eat more if they just exercise more. Unfortunately our bodies are highly efficient relative to the density of modern food, so “exercising it away” is not a realistic plan.
‘Exercising it away’ seems misguided given our bodies’ energetic efficiency, as you said. What’s instead worked for me is raising my basal metabolic rate substantially by adding muscle, which is very energetically expensive, via ~3 resistance training sessions a week.
Admittedly I don’t know of a way to maintain the required muscle mass for this strategy to work long-term without enjoying physical activity, which I seem to enjoy the way most people enjoy good food, which probably makes this useless as general advice.
Thought it would be useful to share this 2017 HN thread.
The Myths of Creativity by David Burkus has this passage on class 1 vs class 2 disagreement:
In the 1970s at Xerox PARC, regularly scheduled arguments were routine. The company that gave birth to the personal computer staged formal discussions designed to train their people on how to fight properly over ideas and not egos. PARC held weekly meetings they called “Dealer” (from a popular book of the time titled Beat the Dealer). Before each meeting, one person, known as “the dealer,” was selected as the speaker. The speaker would present his idea and then try to defend it against a room of engineers and scientists determined to prove him wrong. Such debates helped improve products under development and sometimes resulted in wholly new ideas for future pursuit. The facilitators of the Dealer meetings were careful to make sure that only intellectual criticism of the merit of an idea received attention and consideration. Those in the audience or at the podium were never allowed to personally criticize their colleagues or bring their colleagues’ character or personality into play.
Bob Taylor, a former manager at PARC, said of their meetings, “If someone tried to push their personality rather than their argument, they’d find that it wouldn’t work.” Inside these debates, Taylor taught his people the difference between what he called Class 1 disagreements, in which neither party understood the other party’s true position, and Class 2 disagreements, in which each side could articulate the other’s stance. Class 1 disagreements were always discouraged, but Class 2 disagreements were allowed, as they often resulted in a higher quality of ideas. Taylor’s model removed the personal friction from debates and taught individuals to use conflict as a means to find common, often higher, ground.
Alan Kay responded to the above with
This is one of those stories that has distorted over time. “Dealer” was a weekly meeting for many purposes, the main one was to provide a vehicle for coordination, planning, communication without having to set up a management structure for brilliant researchers who had some “lone wolves” tendencies.
Part of these meetings were presentations by PARC researchers. However, it was not a gantlet to be run, and it was not to train people to argue in a constructive way (most of the computer researchers at PARC were from ARPA community research centers, and learning how to argue reasonably was already part of that culture).
Visitors from Xerox frequently were horrified by the level of argument and the idea that no personal attacks were allowed had to be explained, along with the idea that the aim was not to win an argument but to illuminate. Almost never did the participants have to be reminded about “Class 1” and “Class 2″, etc. The audience was -not- determined to prove the speaker wrong. That is not the way things were done.
which I suppose suggests the answer to this comment’s question is “probably not”.
re: The Fractal Prince (really the whole Quantum Thief trilogy), I may be biased, but when I first read it I had 2 reactions: (1) this is the most targeted-at-my-ingroup novel I have ever read (2) nobody outside of my ingroup will get the kajillion references flying around, since Hannu Rajaniemi never bothered footnoting / defending any of them (unlike say what Peter Watts did with Blindsight), so people will think he’s just making up technobabble when he’s not, which means he’ll be generally underappreciated despite the effusive praise (which will be of the generic “he’s so smart” variety), which made my heart sink.
But Gwern not only got it (unsurprisingly), he articulated it better than I ever could, so thanks Gwern:
Hannu makes no concessions to the casual reader, as he mainlines straight into his veins the pre-deep-learning 2010-era transhumanist zeitgeist via Silicon Valley—if it was ever discussed in a late-night bull session after a Singularity University conference, it might pop up here. Hannu stuffs the novels with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ideas on the level of Olaf Stapeldon. A conventional Verne gun is too easy a way of getting to space—how about beating Project Orion by instead using a nuclear space gun (since emulated brains don’t care about high g acceleration)? Or for example, the All-Defector reveals that, since other universes could be rewriting their rules to expand at maximum speed, erasing other universes before they know it, he plans to rewrite our universe’s rule to do so first (ie. he will defect at the multiversal level against all other universes); whereas beginner-level SF like The Three Body Problem would dilate on this for half a book, Hannu’s grand reveal gets all of 2 paragraphs before crashing into the eucatastrophic ending.
For world-building, he drops neologisms left and right, and hard ones at that—few enough American readers will be familiar with the starting premise of “Arsène Lupin in spaaaace!” (probably more are familiar with the anime Lupin The Third these days), but his expectations go far beyond that: the ideal reader of the trilogy is not merely one familiar with the Prisoner’s Dilemma but also with the bizarre zero-determinant PD strategies discovered ~2008, and not just with such basic physics as quantum entanglement or applications like quantum dots, but exotic applications to quantum auctions & game theory (including Prisoner’s Dilemma) & pseudo-telepathy (yes, those are things), and it would definitely be helpful if that reader happened to also be familiar with Eliezer Yudkowsky’s c. 2000s writings on “Coherent Extrapolated Volition”, with a dash of Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov’s Russian Cosmism for seasoning (although only a dash2).
This leads to an irony: I noted while reading Masamune Shirow’s Ghost in the Shell cyberpunk manga that almost everything technical in the GitS manga turned out to be nonsense despite Shirow’s pretensions to in-depth research & meticulous attention to detail; while in QT, most technical things sound like cyberpunk nonsense and Hannu doesn’t insert any editorial notes like Shirow does to defend them, but are actually real and just so arcane you haven’t heard of them.
For example, some readers accuse Hannu of relying on FTL communication via quantum entanglement, which is bad physics; but Hannu does not! If they had read more closely (similar to the standard reader failure to understand the physics of “Story of Your Life”), they would have noticed that at no point is there communication faster-than-light, only coordination faster-than-light—‘spooky action at a distance’. He is instead employing advanced forms of quantum entanglement which enable things like secret auctions or for coordinated strategies of game-playing (quantum coordination, like treating the particle measurements as flipping a coin and one person does the ‘Heads’ strategy and the other person does the ‘Tails’ strategy does not require communication, obviously, but surprisingly, quantum coordination can be superior to all apparently-equivalent communication-free classical strategies). He explains briefly that the zoku use quantum entanglement in these ways, but a reader could easily miss that, given all the other things they are trying to understand and how common ‘quantum woo’ is.3
Rajaniemi confirmed that Gwern “got it” like nobody else did:
As a longtime fan of gwern ’s work—gwern.net is the best rabbit hole on the Internet—it’s a treat to see this incredibly thoughtful (and slightly spoilery) review of the Quantum Thief trilogy. gwern.net/review/book#quantu… Gwern perfectly nails the emotional core of the trilogy and, true to form, spots a number of easter eggs I thought no one would ever find. This may be my favorite review of all time.
I admire Rajaniemi for pulling it off as you said, but I’m somehow not that surprised. He’s bright (mathematical physics PhD) and has been working at writing-as-craft for a while:
But talking to him about his rapid career, it’s quickly apparent he’s no stranger to being compared to other sci-fi rising stars, having first seriously begun writing in 2002 while studying his PhD as part of writing group called Writers Bloc – which includes authors Charles Stross and Alan Campbell. “It is, and always has been a place with quite a harsh level of criticism,” he says. “But in a healthy and professional way, of course, so it was a good group of people and environment in which to develop.”
I personally got the Quantum Thief trilogy because I’d been blown away by Stross’ Accelerando, wanted more, and saw Stross say of Rajaniemi: “Hard to admit, but I think he’s better at this stuff than I am. The best first SF novel I’ve read in many years.”
I see. You may be interested in a contrary(?) take from the Welfare Footprint Project’s researchers; in their FAQ they write
4. Why don’t you use the term ‘suffering’, instead of ‘pain’?
We prefer not to use the term suffering for various reasons. First, our analyses are concerned with “any” negative affective state (including mild ones), whereas the term suffering is often used to denote more severe states that are accompanied by concurrent negative feelings such as the perception of lack of control, fear, anxiety, the impossibility to enjoy pleasant activities or even a threat to one’s sense of self. Additionally, it is not yet possible to determine objectively when an unpleasant state becomes suffering. This is so far a value judgement, which we leave open to users of our estimates. The term ‘pain’ (both physical and psychological), in turn, is associated with negative affective experiences of a wide range of intensities.
They define their terms further here. To be fair, they focus on non-human animal welfare; I suppose your suffering vs joy distinction is more currently actionable in human-focused contexts e.g. CBT interventions.
The motivation of this post is to address the persistent conflation between suffering and pain I have observed from members of the EA community, even amongst those who purport to be “suffering-focused” in their ethical motivations.
I’m pretty suffering-focused in practice for EA-related actions (mostly donations), so I was hoping you’d say more. So:
Having this distinction in mind is critical in order to develop ethical policies and effective interventions. For instance, as previously mentioned, CBT and mindfulness practices have been shown to reduce suffering by altering the mental response to pain rather than addressing the pain itself. If (the alleviation of) suffering is what we care about, this distinction guides us to focus on the root causes of suffering in our ethical considerations, rather than merely alleviating pain. Recognizing that suffering often lies in an aversive mental reaction to pain rather than the pain itself enables more precise scientific research and more effective strategies for reducing overall suffering.
This was probably the first intervention that came to mind for me as well when seeing your claim that distinguishing pain and suffering matters in the EA-action-guiding sense; unfortunately it’s already a thing, e.g. HLI recommending StrongMinds. I’d be interested if you have any other ideas for underexplored / underappreciated cause areas / intervention groups that might be worth further investigation when reevaluated via this pain vs suffering distinction? (This is my attempt to make this distinction pay rent, albeit in actions instead of anticipated experiences.)
That’s not the sense I get from skimming his second most recent post, but I don’t understand what he’s getting at well enough to speak in his place.
Not an answer to your question, just an extended quote from the late Fields medalist Bill Thurston from his classic essay On proof and progress which seemed relevant:
Mathematicians have developed habits of communication that are often dysfunctional. Organizers of colloquium talks everywhere exhort speakers to explain things in elementary terms. Nonetheless, most of the audience at an average colloquium talk gets little of value from it. Perhaps they are lost within the first 5 minutes, yet sit silently through the remaining 55 minutes. Or perhaps they quickly lose interest because the speaker plunges into technical details without presenting any reason to investigate them. At the end of the talk, the few mathematicians who are close to the field of the speaker ask a question or two to avoid embarrassment.
… Outsiders are amazed at this phenomenon, but within the mathematical community, we dismiss it with shrugs. …
Mathematical knowledge can be transmitted amazingly fast within a subfield. When a significant theorem is proved, it often (but not always) happens that the solution can be communicated in a matter of minutes from one person to another within the subfield. The same proof would be communicated and generally understood in an hour talk to members of the subfield. It would be the subject of a 15- or 20-page paper, which could be read and understood in a few hours or perhaps days by members of the subfield.
Why is there such a big expansion from the informal discussion to the talk to the paper? One-on-one, people use wide channels of communication that go far beyond formal mathematical language. They use gestures, they draw pictures and diagrams, they make sound effects and use body language. Communication is more likely to be two-way, so that people can concentrate on what needs the most attention. With these channels of communication, they are in a much better position to convey what’s going on, not just in their logical and linguistic facilities, but in their other mental facilities as well.
In talks, people are more inhibited and more formal. Mathematical audiences are often not very good at asking the questions that are on most people’s minds, and speakers often have an unrealistic preset outline that inhibits them from addressing questions even when they are asked. In papers, people are still more formal. Writers translate their ideas into symbols and logic, and readers try to translate back.
Why is there such a discrepancy between communication within a subfield and communication outside of subfields, not to mention communication outside mathematics?
Mathematics in some sense has a common language: a language of symbols, technical definitions, computations, and logic. This language efficiently conveys some, but not all, modes of mathematical thinking. Mathematicians learn to translate certain things almost unconsciously from one mental mode to the other, so that some statements quickly become clear. Different mathematicians study papers in different ways, but when I read a mathematical paper in a field in which I’m conversant, I concentrate on the thoughts that are between the lines. I might look over several paragraphs or strings of equations and think to myself “Oh yeah, they’re putting in enough rigamarole to carry such-and-such idea.” When the idea is clear, the formal setup is usually unnecessary and redundant—I often feel that I could write it out myself more easily than figuring out what the authors actually wrote. It’s like a new toaster that comes with a 16-page manual. If you already understand toasters and if the toaster looks like previous toasters you’ve encountered, you might just plug it in and see if it works, rather than first reading all the details in the manual.
People familiar with ways of doing things in a subfield recognize various patterns of statements or formulas as idioms or circumlocution for certain concepts or mental images. But to people not already familiar with what’s going on the same patterns are not very illuminating; they are often even misleading. The language is not alive except to those who use it.
Okay, I liked that passage but maybe it wasn’t very useful. Ravi Vakil’s advice to potential PhD students attending talks seems more useful, especially the last bullet:
At the end of the talk, you should try to answer the questions: What question(s) is the speaker trying to answer? Why should we care about them? What flavor of results has the speaker proved? Do I have a small example of the phenonenon under discussion? You can even scribble down these questions at the start of the talk, and jot down answers to them during the talk.
Try to extract three words from the talk (no matter how tangentially related to the subject at hand) that you want to know the definition of. Then after the talk, ask me what they mean. …
New version of the previous jot: try the “three things” exercise.
See if you can get one lesson from the talk (broadly interpreted).
Try to ask one question at as many seminars as possible, either during the talk, or privately afterwards. The act of trying to formulating an interesting question (for you, not the speaker!) is a worthwhile exercise, and can focus the mind.
I’m guessing Rob is referring to footnote 54 in What do XPT forecasts tell us about AI risk?:
And while capabilities have been increasing very rapidly, research into AI safety, does not seem to be keeping pace, even if it has perhaps sped-up in the last two years. An isolated, but illustrative, data point of this can be seen in the results of the 2022 section of a Hypermind forecasting tournament: on most benchmarks, forecasters underpredicted progress, but they overpredicted progress on the single benchmark somewhat related to AI safety.
That last link is to Jacob Steinhardt’s tweet linking to his 2022 post AI Forecasting: One Year In, on the results of their 2021 forecasting contest. Quote:
Progress on a robustness benchmark was slower than expected, and was the only benchmark to fall short of forecaster predictions. This is somewhat worrying, as it suggests that machine learning capabilities are progressing quickly, while safety properties are progressing slowly. …
As a reminder, the four benchmarks were:
MATH, a mathematics problem-solving dataset;
MMLU, a test of specialized subject knowledge using high school, college, and professional multiple choice exams;
Something Something v2, a video recognition dataset; and
CIFAR-10 robust accuracy, a measure of adversarially robust vision performance.
...
Here are the actual results, as of today:
MATH: 50.3% (vs. 12.7% predicted)
MMLU: 67.5% (vs. 57.1% predicted)
Adversarial CIFAR-10: 66.6% (vs. 70.4% predicted)
Something Something v2: 75.3% (vs. 73.0% predicted)
That’s all I got, no other predictions.
Great post, especially the companion piece :)
I’m tangentially reminded of professional modeler & health economist froolow’s refactoring of GiveWell’s cost-effectiveness models in his A critical review of GiveWell’s 2022 cost-effectiveness model (sections 3 and 4), which I think of as complementary to your post in that it teaches-via-case-study how to level up your spreadsheet modeling.
Here’s GiveWell’s model architecture:
And here’s froolow’s refactoring:
The difference in micro-level architecture is also quite large:
As someone who’s spent a lot of his (short) career building dashboards and models in Google Sheets, and having seen GiveWell’s CEAs, I empathized with froolow’s remarks here:
After the issue of uncertainty analysis, I’d say the model architecture is the second biggest issue I have with the GiveWell model, and really the closest thing to a genuine ‘error’ rather than a conceptual step which could be improved. Model architecture is how different elements of your model interact with each other, and how they are laid out to a user.
It is fairly clear that the GiveWell team are not professional modellers, in the same way it would be obvious to a professional programmer that I am not a coder (this will be obvious as soon as you check the code in my Refactored model!). That is to say, there’s a lot of wasted effort in the GiveWell model which is typical when intelligent people are concentrating on making something functional rather than using slick technique. A very common manifestation of the ‘intelligent people thinking very hard about things’ school of model design is extremely cramped and confusing model architecture. This is because you have to be a straight up genius to try and design a model as complex as the GiveWell model without using modern model planning methods, and people at that level of genius don’t need crutches the rest of us rely on like clear and straightforward model layout. However, bad architecture is technical debt that you are eventually going to have to service on your model; when you hand it over to a new member of staff it takes longer to get that member of staff up to speed and increases the probability of someone making an error when they update the model.
I think you’re right that I missed their point, thanks for pointing it out.
I have had experiences similar to Johannes’ anecdote re: ignoring broken glass to not lose fragile threads of thought; they usually entailed extended deep work periods past healthy thresholds for unclear marginal gain, so the quotes above felt personally relevant as guardrails. But also my experiences don’t necessarily generalize (as your hypothetical shows).
I’d be curious to know your model, and how it compares to some of John Wentworth’s posts on the same IIRC.
These thoughts remind me of something Scott Alexander once wrote—that sometimes he hears someone say true but low status things—and his automatic thoughts are about how the person must be stupid to say something like that, and he has to consciously remind himself that what was said is actually true.
For anyone who’s curious, this is what Scott said, in reference to him getting older – I remember it because I noticed the same in myself as I aged too:
I look back on myself now vs. ten years ago and notice I’ve become more cynical, more mellow, and more prone to believing things are complicated. For example: [list of insights] …
All these seem like convincing insights. But most of them are in the direction of elite opinion. There’s an innocent explanation for this: intellectual elites are pretty wise, so as I grow wiser I converge to their position. But the non-innocent explanation is that I’m not getting wiser, I’m just getting better socialized. …
I’m pretty embarassed by Parable On Obsolete Ideologies, which I wrote eight years ago. It’s not just that it’s badly written, or that it uses an ill-advised Nazi analogy. It’s that it’s an impassioned plea to jettison everything about religion immediately, because institutions don’t matter and only raw truth-seeking is important. If I imagine myself entering that debate today, I’d be more likely to take the opposite side. But when I read Parable, there’s…nothing really wrong with it. It’s a good argument for what it argues for. I don’t have much to say against it. Ask me what changed my mind, and I’ll shrug, tell you that I guess my priorities shifted. But I can’t help noticing that eight years ago, New Atheism was really popular, and now it’s really unpopular. Or that eight years ago I was in a place where having Richard Dawkins style hyperrationalism was a useful brand, and now I’m (for some reason) in a place where having James C. Scott style intellectual conservativism is a useful brand. A lot of the “wisdom” I’ve “gained” with age is the kind of wisdom that helps me channel James C. Scott instead of Richard Dawkins; how sure am I that this is the right path?
Sometimes I can almost feel this happening. First I believe something is true, and say so. Then I realize it’s considered low-status and cringeworthy. Then I make a principled decision to avoid saying it – or say it only in a very careful way – in order to protect my reputation and ability to participate in society. Then when other people say it, I start looking down on them for being bad at public relations. Then I start looking down on them just for being low-status or cringeworthy. Finally the idea of “low-status” and “bad and wrong” have merged so fully in my mind that the idea seems terrible and ridiculous to me, and I only remember it’s true if I force myself to explicitly consider the question. And even then, it’s in a condescending way, where I feel like the people who say it’s true deserve low status for not being smart enough to remember not to say it. This is endemic, and I try to quash it when I notice it, but I don’t know how many times it’s slipped my notice all the way to the point where I can no longer remember the truth of the original statement.
This was back in 2017.
Holden advised against this:
Jog, don’t sprint. Skeptics of the “most important century” hypothesis will sometimes say things like “If you really believe this, why are you working normal amounts of hours instead of extreme amounts? Why do you have hobbies (or children, etc.) at all?” And I’ve seen a number of people with an attitude like: “THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TIME IN HISTORY. I NEED TO WORK 24⁄7 AND FORGET ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE. NO VACATIONS.”
I think that’s a very bad idea.
Trying to reduce risks from advanced AI is, as of today, a frustrating and disorienting thing to be doing. It’s very hard to tell whether you’re being helpful (and as I’ve mentioned, many will inevitably think you’re being harmful).
I think the difference between “not mattering,” “doing some good” and “doing enormous good” comes down to how you choose the job, how good at it you are, and how good your judgment is (including what risks you’re most focused on and how you model them). Going “all in” on a particular objective seems bad on these fronts: it poses risks to open-mindedness, to mental health and to good decision-making (I am speaking from observations here, not just theory).
That is, I think it’s a bad idea to try to be 100% emotionally bought into the full stakes of the most important century—I think the stakes are just too high for that to make sense for any human being.
Instead, I think the best way to handle “the fate of humanity is at stake” is probably to find a nice job and work about as hard as you’d work at another job, rather than trying to make heroic efforts to work extra hard. (I criticized heroic efforts in general here.)
I think this basic formula (working in some job that is a good fit, while having some amount of balance in your life) is what’s behind a lot of the most important positive events in history to date, and presents possibly historically large opportunities today.
Also relevant are the takeaways from Thomas Kwa’s effectiveness as a conjunction of multipliers, in particular:
It’s more important to have good judgment than to dedicate 100% of your life to an EA project. If output scales linearly with work hours, then you can hit 60% of your maximum possible impact with 60% of your work hours. But if bad judgment causes you to miss one or two multipliers, you could make less than 10% of your maximum impact. (But note that working really hard can sometimes enable multipliers—see this comment by Mathieu Putz.)
Amateur hour question, if you don’t mind: how does your “future of AI teams” compare/contrast with Drexler’s CAIS model?
You might also be interested in Scott’s 2010 post warning of the ‘next-level trap’ so to speak: Intellectual Hipsters and Meta-Contrarianism
A person who is somewhat upper-class will conspicuously signal eir wealth by buying difficult-to-obtain goods. A person who is very upper-class will conspicuously signal that ey feels no need to conspicuously signal eir wealth, by deliberately not buying difficult-to-obtain goods.
A person who is somewhat intelligent will conspicuously signal eir intelligence by holding difficult-to-understand opinions. A person who is very intelligent will conspicuously signal that ey feels no need to conspicuously signal eir intelligence, by deliberately not holding difficult-to-understand opinions.
…
Without meaning to imply anything about whether or not any of these positions are correct or not3, the following triads come to mind as connected to an uneducated/contrarian/meta-contrarian divide:
- KKK-style racist / politically correct liberal / “but there are scientifically proven genetic differences”
- misogyny / women’s rights movement / men’s rights movement
- conservative / liberal / libertarian4
- herbal-spiritual-alternative medicine / conventional medicine / Robin Hanson
- don’t care about Africa / give aid to Africa / don’t give aid to Africa
- Obama is Muslim / Obama is obviously not Muslim, you idiot / Patri Friedman5
What is interesting about these triads is not that people hold the positions (which could be expected by chance) but that people get deep personal satisfaction from arguing the positions even when their arguments are unlikely to change policy6 - and that people identify with these positions to the point where arguments about them can become personal.
If meta-contrarianism is a real tendency in over-intelligent people, it doesn’t mean they should immediately abandon their beliefs; that would just be meta-meta-contrarianism. It means that they need to recognize the meta-contrarian tendency within themselves and so be extra suspicious and careful about a desire to believe something contrary to the prevailing contrarian wisdom, especially if they really enjoy doing so.
I wasn’t aware of these options, thank you.