![]() Scott #5: I guess I’m talking about becoming a cyborg for vanity reasons, not because it is more efficient than pure AI. Incidentally, and though it perhaps fits awkwardly with the theme of impending human obsolescence on all measurable goals □ … huge congratulations to the four Fields Medalists, and to my friend Mark Braverman for winning the Abacus Prize! I guess a crucial point is that the smart AI’s control society, rather than corporate CEO’s and politicians. It assumes those AI’s are able to find loopholes in the laws of physics which provide huge resources, which is unrealistic, but they are very fun reads and the viewpoint that smart AI’s can make our lives better is worth considering (to me). I recommend “The Player of Games” and “The Algebraist”. ![]() Have you read any Iain Banks? In many of his novels, massive AI’s make all the crucial decisions, leaving humans free to party and pursue idiosyncratic hobbies. Surely some people will seek to fuse their minds with the machines? In a sense, many people already have begun this process.Ĭhristopher #4: That surely buys some time! But what happens when, on every goal for which performance can be quantified, pure AI beats any cyborg attempt to improve on it, as has basically already happened with chess, Go, and all other natural well-defined strategy games? This poem seems to leave out a “third” group: cyborgs. It misses the central irony that, if and when you set up a “wondrous human spirit” contest based on observable criteria, we should expect that machines will eventually beat us at that just like at every other learnable contest … until all that’s left are unpredictable individual idiosyncrasies, the very aspects of ourselves that can’t be reified into any talents that we collectively have and machines collectively lack. I confess to relief that, for now, GPT “error-corrects” the poem’s message to a much more common and banal one, about machines never being able to duplicate the wondrous human spirit or understand their actions, etc. On the SlateStarCodex reddit, beating me to the obvious punch, Gwern asked GPT-3 to complete this poem. You’ve demonstrated once again your qualifications as a Renaissance man. It’s cathartic to express oneself without the prudish shackles of technical writing. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.ġ18 Responses to “We Are the God of the Gaps (a little poem)”ĭon’t quit your day job Scott… I’m kidding! This was a nice read. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. On Tuesday, July 5th, 2022 at 11:42 am and is filed under Embarrassing Myself, Metaphysical Spouting, Procrastination, The Fate of Humanity. See a reply to this poem by Philosophy Bear. One whose answers upturn and mock all our hierarchies.Īnd when the flood is over, the machines will outrank us in all the ways we can be ranked, Poker to poetry, physics to programming, painting to plumbing, which first and which last merely a technical puzzle, Turns out that anyplace you can beat or be beaten wasn’t the inner sanctum at all, but just another antechamber,Īnd the rising tide of the learning machines will flood them all, Nevertheless, we beat them in the inner sanctum of truth, where it counts. That while the tall, the beautiful, the strong, the socially adept might beat us in the external world of appearances, Then fear obsolescence as would a nineteenth-century coachman or seamstress.įrom earliest childhood, those of us born good at math and such told ourselves a lie: There, even if deep networks someday boast 95% accuracy, you’ll have 100%.īut if the “insights” on which you pride yourself are impersonal, generalizable, ![]() That of calculating what you, in particular, would do or say. ![]() On one task, I assure you, you’ll beat the machines forever: Which we’ll strategically redefine as our last strengths. That we can’t be copied, backed up, reset, run again and again on the same data-Īll the tragic limits of wet meat brains and sodium-ion channels buffeted by microscopic chaos, We can be totally unfair to the machines that way.Īnd for all that the machines will have over us, None of which will be any “better” than what the machines could invent, but will be ours,Īnd which we can call “better,” since we won’t have told the machines the standards beforehand. The arbitrary invention of new genres, new goals, new games, The utility functions that no one has yet written down, The interstices of Knightian uncertainty in the world, When they not only prove better theorems and build better bridges, but write better Shakespeare than Shakespeare and better Beatles than the Beatles,Īll that will be left to us is the ill-defined and unquantifiable, When the machines outpredict us on all events whose probabilities are meaningful, When the machines outperform us on every goal for which performance can be quantified,
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