There's always that kind of, is it a feature or a company kind of a thing? But then there's, again, this is the classic platform shift. When a platform shift comes, some of it becomes features. Some of it becomes separate companies. And this is a conversation we had earlier. I don't feel like everything will just get subsumed into the one thing. I feel like, no, you need buttons.
You have a very nuanced and interesting view on AGI. Can you talk to that? How, in 2024, should we think about that?
Well, all my opinions are nuanced and interesting. Come on. It's funny. So my grandfather was a science fiction writer in the sort of '20s, '30s, '40s, '50s, and he wrote a story called A Logic Named Joe in, I think, 1946. And the premise is everybody has a home computer, which is called a logic computer. At the time, it was a job title. So everyone has a logic, and they're all connected to a global network, and they're connected to these global databases in the cloud called tanks, I think.
And so you can sit at this thing and do your banking or book your flights or do online dating or look up any piece of information and answer any argument. So it's basically describing the internet. And one of these things has some kind of manufacturing defect, which means it starts just being helpful and answering any question that anybody asks. And for some reason, because of the way the network works, it sees all the questions. I don't think my grandfather quite thought through the network architecture.
So this thing sees any question that's asked anywhere on the network, which doesn't seem very realistic, but anyway, it just starts answering them. Like, any question. Like, how do I murder my wife? Someone types this in as a joke, and it pauses and says, "What color is her hair?" And then it suggests an undetectable poison that only kills blondes and says, "This is not currently known by science. I've just invented it for you."
It's amazing. That was in 1946.
Yeah. And they're, like, screaming in panic, like, "The censorship circuits are broken. Wait for the trust and safety thing." And, "How do I rob a bank?" And, "Give me a foolproof way of making money," and so on and so on. In the end, they work out which one it is and unplug it, which is probably not what the doomers have in mind as an easy solution. I think the challenge here is—so all that's just kind of a long digression.
I think the fundamental intellectual challenge is that if you took the specs for the Apollo program and gave them to Isaac Newton, he could have done the maths and told you whether it would get to the moon. Like, maybe not literally, maybe literally, but certainly, like, theoretically, you could have given the specs for this thing to somebody in 1750 and said, "Will it get to the moon?" And they could have done the maths and told you, like, this much weight, this much thrust, this much fuel, this is how far away the moon is, this is the rocket.
The point is, we had a theory of gravity, we had a theory of orbital mechanics, we had a theory of physics. And you knew how the rocket worked, and you knew what would happen if you put more fuel in, and you knew when it would explode, and you could calculate the tolerances of the rocket engine and the pipes and everything else, and you could work it out. We don't have any equivalent set of theories for intelligence or artificial intelligence. We have a lot of theories of how some bits of it might work, but we do not have a theory of what we have and in what senses what we have is different from and the same as a dog or an octopus or a horse or a mouse.
And we don't have a theory, actually, of how LLMs work. I mean, which is a kind of funny thing to say, but it's like, we do. But we also, at a very mechanistic level, we know what they're doing, but we also don't really know why it works. We don't have a theory of whether or not they would stop scaling. So this kind of goes back to the rocket point. Like, you remember Jules Verne wrote A Voyage to the Moon, and they use a cannon.
And people in, whenever it was, 1880, could have sat there and calculated, okay, number one, that much explosive in a cannon made of wrought iron or bronze, the cannon will burst. People have done that maths quite a lot. And plus, the G-force will be like 150 G and everyone will die. And everyone in 1880 could have done those maths and told you, no, it won't work. The cannon will explode and the people will die anyway, even if it doesn't. You could do the same with the Apollo program.
Like, will the rocket explode on the pad or not? If you double the size of the engines, what will happen? We can't do that with LLMs either. We don't know what will happen if you put double the data in. Or why. Or we don't know why it works with this much data or not. So the point of all of that is you can't make a chart. You can't make a chart. You can't kind of do a scatter plot and say, well, people are here and dogs are here and a horse is there and an octopus is here and ChatGPT is here and ChatGPT-3 was there and 4 is here.
And on the 17th of December, 2027, at current growth rates, it will hit dogs.
Yeah, just add more data and we'll get there.
We don't have any of those kinds of theoretical models. And so that means you kind of can't do, like, a prediction. There's no Moore's Law here where you can say, well, it'll get to that power of compute level at this point. Set aside the fact that we actually don't have enough data to give it 10 or 100x more data, unless synthetic data. Anyway, so the point is, so that means that all of these conversations about this stuff become like a hunt for analogies.
And of course, talking about the Apollo program is an analogy. So people say, well, it's like nuclear weapons, or it's like meteorites, or it's like this, or it's like this. And they say, well, imagine if it was that, then you would know what to do. And the problem with those statements, of course, always is it isn't that. It's this thing. It's rather like when we had that kind of great panic about Facebook and people were saying, well, a restaurant wouldn't do this, a newspaper wouldn't do this.
Well, that may be true, but Facebook isn't a restaurant. It's a global social communications platform with 3 or 4 billion users. It's not a restaurant. It's also not a newspaper. It's not a phone company. It's Facebook. And you have to analyze it as that. Then it's the same thing here. An LLM is not a nuclear weapon, it's not a meteorite, it's not a car, it's an LLM. We don't actually know how they work. And so then everything becomes a sort of a hunt for metaphors, but it also becomes kind of a question: well, how is it that you think about a fundamentally unknown and unknowable risk?
There's an urban legend from, I think, the Cuban Missile Crisis, that there was a rumor that the missiles had launched, and everyone on the stock exchange starts selling, and one guy goes out and starts buying, and he says, "Look, it's binary. Either the rumor is true and we're all dead anyway, or it's not true and the stocks are cheap." And this is kind of the situation now. You can either look at this and you can say, well, there is a nonzero possibility that this thing is going to scale and kill us all.
And therefore we should freak out. Or you can say we have absolutely no way of knowing whether that's true or not. So this is no different fundamentally from saying we should all prepare for—here comes another analogy—we don't know that the meteorite isn't going to hit New York tomorrow, yet we all live our lives and we do not shut down the economy and build meteorite scanning systems and put nukes into orbit to do something about it. How do you think about unknown risks?
Now, this gets kind of hilarious because you have all these conversations where people are saying, well, what P(doom) do you assign to this? Which, to me, is a fundamentally invalid exercise because you're attempting to ascribe a numerical value to something that's fundamentally unknown. It's like saying, what's your probability of the existence of God? Well, you can have an opinion about it, but the only way to find out is to kill yourself and see what happens.
And that's only, like, that would only be kind of a negative proof, which gets you to the kind of Pascal's wager. Like, you'll find out because you're in hell; otherwise, you won't know either way. So again, Pascal's wager, I think, is kind of a funny one, because then people kind of start dredging up all their half-forgotten undergraduate philosophy. So you get, like, Plato's cave and Pascal's wager. And I always kind of like Anselm's ontological proof. Do you know this one?
Okay, so I love this. So this would be, like, one thing that people learn, if they learn this, the forgotten undergraduate philosophy. So Anselm says, okay, premise one is—maybe it's axiom, I forget what the terminology is—but okay. First proposition is that God, by definition, is the greatest thing that there can possibly be, because if there was anything greater than that, that would be God. So there cannot be any—God must be the greatest possible thing in any possible axis that you could define.
That's what God is by definition. Secondly, a God that doesn't exist is less great than one that does exist. A God that is actually real would be more of everything on any possible axis than one that didn't exist. Yeah. Therefore, God exists.
Yeah. And about 30 seconds later, all the other theologians in medieval Europe said, "But this is obviously bullshit." And Anselm says, "Yes, but try proving it." And I think Bertrand Russell said it's actually much more interesting to talk about why it's hard to prove that it's wrong than the fact that it clearly is wrong. And this is kind of the way I look at the AGI argument, which is you can kind of define an AGI as something that's all-powerful and would kill us all, and then say, therefore, it's all-powerful and would kill us all.
And it's like, well, how can you know any of this stuff? Yeah, I feel—I don't know. I feel like all these conversations are best had after a bunch of kind of weird psychological, psychotropic chemicals in a group house in the Berkeley Hills where you live, even though you're in your 30s, you live with a group of other people and talk about AGI all day.
Yes. And we're actually just saying there is a whole scene, quote, end quote, that does just that.
Yeah, I mean, the sort of sociology of Silicon Valley, there is an AGI scene of a certain kind of person that has a certain kind of lifestyle and lives kind of on the periphery of the tech industry and thinks that this is all really important and interesting and talks about it a lot. There are other scenes, like there was a VR scene. To some extent there still is, although it's out of reach of hobbyists now. But there was a VR scene. Palmer Luckey made the original Oculus himself out of components he bought on Amazon.
There was a nootropic scene. There was a crypto scene. There were all these sorts of scenes. The Homebrew Computer Club was a scene.
Yes. Do you see the same people going from scene to scene? I don't know.
One of the reasons I left Silicon Valley is I couldn't deal with this kind of thing.