Category Archives: Epistemology

Ignorance About Intuitions

In common usage, intuitions lead us to believe things without being able to articulate evidence or reasons for those beliefs. Wikipedia.

I’m not offering you a phony seventeen-step “proof that murder is normally wrong.”  Instead, I begin with concrete, specific cases where morality is obvious, and reason from there.  Bryan Caplan.

My debate with Bryan Caplan made me reflect again on our differing attitudes toward intuition.  While we still differ, Bryan has greatly influenced my thinking.

For each of our beliefs, we can ask our mind to give our "reasons" for that belief.  Our minds usually then offer reasons, though we usually don't know how much those reasons have to do with the actual causes of our belief.  We can often test those reasons through criticism, increasing confidence when criticism is less effective than expected, and decreasing confidence when criticism is more effective than expected.

For some of our beliefs, our minds don't offer much in the way of reasons.  We say these beliefs are more "intuitive."  In a hostile debating context this response can seem suspicious; you might expect one side in a debate to refuse to offer reasons just when they had already tested those reasons against criticism, and found them wanting.  That is, we might expect a debater to pretend he didn't have any reasons when he knew his reasons were bad. 

But this doesn't obviously support much distrust of our own intuitive beliefs.  Not only is our internal mind not obviously like a hostile debating context, but we must admit that our minds are built so that the vast majority of our thinking is unconscious.  It is unreasonable to expect our minds to be able to tell us much in the way of reasons for most of our beliefs. 

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Who Loves Truth Most?

Who loves cars most?  Most people like cars, but the folks most vocal in their enthusiasm for cars are car sellers; they pay millions for ads gushing about how much their engineers love designing cars, their factory workers love building them, etc.  The next most vocal are probably car collectors, tinkerers, and racers; they'll bend your ear off about their car hobby.  Also vocal are folks visibly concerned that the poor don't have enough cars. 

But if you want to find the folks who most love cars for their main purpose, getting folks around in their daily lives, you'll have to filter out the sellers, hobbyists, and do-gooders to find ordinary people who just love their cars.  For the most part, car companies love to sell cars to make cash, car hobbyists love to use cars to show off their personal abilities, and do-gooders use cars to show off their compassion.  By comparison, those who just love to drive from point A to B don't shout much.

Truth loving is similar.  Most folks say they prefer truth, but the folks most vocal about loving "truth" are usually selling something.  For preachers, demagogues, and salesmen of all sorts, the wilder their story, the more they go on about how they love truth.  The next most vocal in their enthusiasm for truth are those who, like car hobbyists, use public demonstrations of truth-finding to show off personal abilities.  Academics, gamers, poker players, and amateur intellectuals of all sorts are proud of the fact that their efforts reveal truth, and they make sure you notice their proficiencies. And do-gooders earnestly talk about the importance of everyone understanding the truth of the uninsured, the illiterate, etc.

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Share likelihood ratios, not posterior beliefs

When I think of Aumann's agreement theorem, my first reflex is to average.  You think A is 80% likely; my initial impression is that it's 60% likely.  After you and I talk, maybe we both should think 70%.  "Average your starting beliefs", or perhaps "do a weighted average, weighted by expertise" is a common heuristic.

But sometimes, not only is the best combination not the average, it's more extreme than either original belief.

Let's say Jane and James are trying to determine whether a particular coin is fair.  They both think there's an 80% chance the coin is fair.  They also know that if the coin is unfair, it is the sort that comes up heads 75% of the time.

Jane flips the coin five times, performs a perfect Bayesian update, and concludes there's a 65% chance the coin is unfair.  James flips the coin five times, performs a perfect Bayesian update, and concludes there's a 39% chance the coin is unfair.  The averaging heuristic would suggest that the correct answer is between 65% and 39%.  But a perfect Bayesian, hearing both Jane's and James's estimates – knowing their priors, and deducing what evidence they must have seen - would infer that the coin was 83% likely to be unfair.  [Math footnoted.]

Perhaps Jane and James are combining this information in the middle of a crowded tavern, with no pen and paper in sight.  Maybe they don't have time or memory enough to tell each other all the coins they observed.  So instead they just tell each other their posterior probabilities – a nice, short summary for a harried rationalist pair.  Perhaps this brevity is why we tend to average posterior beliefs.

However, there is an alternative.  Jane and James can trade likelihood ratios.  Like posterior beliefs, likelihood ratios are a condensed summary; and, unlike posterior beliefs, sharing likelihood ratios actually works.

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Moral uncertainty – towards a solution?

It seems people are overconfident about their moral beliefs.  But how should one reason and act if one acknowledges that one is uncertain about morality – not just applied ethics but fundamental moral issues? if you don't know which moral theory is correct?

It doesn't seem you can simply plug your uncertainty into expected utility decision theory and crank the wheel; because many moral theories state that you should not always maximize expected utility.

Even if we limit consideration to consequentialist theories, it still is hard to see how to combine them in the standard decision theoretic framework.  For example, suppose you give X% probability to total utilitarianism and (100-X)% to average utilitarianism.  Now an action might add 5 utils to total happiness and decrease average happiness by 2 utils.  (This could happen, e.g. if you create a new happy person that is less happy than the people who already existed.)  Now what do you do, for different values of X?

The problem gets even more complicated if we consider not only consequentialist theories but also deontological theories, contractarian theories, virtue ethics, etc.  We might even throw various meta-ethical theories into the stew: error theory, relativism, etc.

I'm working on a paper on this together with my colleague Toby Ord.  We have some arguments against a few possible "solutions" that we think don't work.  On the positive side we have some tricks that work for a few special cases.  But beyond that, the best we have managed so far is a kind of metaphor, which we don't think is literally and exactly correct, and it is a bit under-determined, but it seems to get things roughly right and it might point in the right direction:

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Chaotic Inversion

I was recently having a conversation with some friends on the topic of hour-by-hour productivity and willpower maintenance – something I’ve struggled with my whole life.

I can avoid running away from a hard problem the first time I see it (perseverance on a timescale of seconds), and I can stick to the same problem for years; but to keep working on a timescale of hours is a constant battle for me.  It goes without saying that I’ve already read reams and reams of advice; and the most help I got from it was realizing that a sizable fraction other creative professionals had the same problem, and couldn’t beat it either, no matter how reasonable all the advice sounds.

"What do you do when you can’t work?" my friends asked me.  (Conversation probably not accurate, this is a very loose gist.)

And I replied that I usually browse random websites, or watch a short video.

"Well," they said, "if you know you can’t work for a while, you should watch a movie or something."

"Unfortunately," I replied, "I have to do something whose time comes in short units, like browsing the Web or watching short videos, because I might become able to work again at any time, and I can’t predict when -"

And then I stopped, because I’d just had a revelation.

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Beliefs Require Reasons, or: Is the Pope Catholic? Should he be?

In the early days of this blog, I would pick fierce arguments with Robin about the no-disagreement hypothesis.  Lately, however, reflection on things like public reason have brought me toward agreement with Robin, or at least moderated my disagreement.  To see why, it’s perhaps useful to take a look at the newspapers

the pope said the book “explained with great clarity” that “an interreligious dialogue in the strict sense of the word is not possible.” In theological terms, added the pope, “a true dialogue is not possible without putting one’s faith in parentheses.”

What are we to make of a statement like this?

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Aiming at the Target

Previously in seriesBelief in Intelligence

Previously, I spoke of that very strange epistemic position one can occupy, wherein you don’t know exactly where Kasparov will move on the chessboard, and yet your state of knowledge about the game is very different than if you faced a random move-generator with the same subjective probability distribution – in particular, you expect Kasparov to win.  I have beliefs about where Kasparov wants to steer the future, and beliefs about his power to do so.

Well, and how do I describe this knowledge, exactly?

In the case of chess, there’s a simple function that classifies chess positions into wins for black, wins for white, and drawn games.  If I know which side Kasparov is playing, I know the class of chess positions Kasparov is aiming for.  (If I don’t know which side Kasparov is playing, I can’t predict whether black or white will win – which is not the same as confidently predicting a drawn game.)

More generally, I can describe motivations using a preference ordering. When I consider two potential outcomes, X and Y, I can say that I prefer X to Y; prefer Y to X; or find myself indifferent between them. I would write these relations as X > Y; X < Y; and X ~ Y.

Suppose that you have the ordering A < B ~ C < D ~ E. Then you like B more than A, and C more than A.  {B, C}, belonging to the same class, seem equally desirable to you; you are indifferent between which of {B, C} you receive, though you would rather have either than A, and you would rather have something from the class {D, E} than {B, C}.

When I think you’re a powerful intelligence, and I think I know something about your preferences, then I’ll predict that you’ll steer reality into regions that are higher in your preference ordering.

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Belief in Intelligence

Previously in seriesExpected Creative Surprises

Since I am so uncertain of Kasparov’s moves, what is the empirical content of my belief that "Kasparov is a highly intelligent chess player"?  What real-world experience does my belief tell me to anticipate?  Is it a cleverly masked form of total ignorance?

To sharpen the dilemma, suppose Kasparov plays against some mere chess grandmaster Mr. G, who’s not in the running for world champion.  My own ability is far too low to distinguish between these levels of chess skill.  When I try to guess Kasparov’s move, or Mr. G’s next move, all I can do is try to guess "the best chess move" using my own meager knowledge of chess.  Then I would produce exactly the same prediction for Kasparov’s move or Mr. G’s move in any particular chess position.  So what is the empirical content of my belief that "Kasparov is a better chess player than Mr. G"?

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Expected Creative Surprises

Imagine that I’m playing chess against a smarter opponent.  If I could predict exactly where my opponent would move on each turn, I would automatically be at least as good a chess player as my opponent.  I could just ask myself where my opponent would move, if they were in my shoes; and then make the same move myself.  (In fact, to predict my opponent’s exact moves, I would need to be superhuman – I would need to predict my opponent’s exact mental processes, including their limitations and their errors.  It would become a problem of psychology, rather than chess.)

So predicting an exact move is not possible, but neither is it true that I have no information about my opponent’s moves.

Personally, I am a very weak chess player – I play an average of maybe two games per year.  But even if I’m playing against former world champion Garry Kasparov, there are certain things I can predict about his next move.  When the game starts, I can guess that the move P-K4 is more likely than P-KN4.  I can guess that if Kasparov has a move which would allow me to checkmate him on my next move, that Kasparov will not make that move.

Much less reliably, I can guess that Kasparov will not make a move that exposes his queen to my capture – but here, I could be greatly surprised; there could be a rationale for a queen sacrifice which I have not seen.

And finally, of course, I can guess that Kasparov will win the game…

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Dark Side Epistemology

Followup toEntangled Truths, Contagious Lies

If you once tell a lie, the truth is ever after your enemy.

I have previously spoken of the notion that, the truth being entangled, lies are contagious.  If you pick up a pebble from the driveway, and tell a geologist that you found it on a beach – well, do you know what a geologist knows about rocks?  I don’t.  But I can suspect that a water-worn pebble wouldn’t look like a droplet of frozen lava from a volcanic eruption.  Do you know where the pebble in your driveway really came from?  Things bear the marks of their places in a lawful universe; in that web, a lie is out of place.

What sounds like an arbitrary truth to one mind – one that could easily be replaced by a plausible lie – might be nailed down by a dozen linkages to the eyes of greater knowledge.  To a creationist, the idea that life was shaped by "intelligent design" instead of "natural selection" might sound like a sports team to cheer for.  To a biologist, plausibly arguing that an organism was intelligently designed would require lying about almost every facet of the organism.  To plausibly argue that "humans" were intelligently designed, you’d have to lie about the design of the human retina, the architecture of the human brain, the proteins bound together by weak van der Waals forces instead of strong covalent bonds…

Or you could just lie about evolutionary theory, which is the path taken by most creationists.  Instead of lying about the connected nodes in the network, they lie about the general laws governing the links.

And then to cover that up, they lie about the rules of science – like what it means to call something a "theory", or what it means for a scientist to say that they are not absolutely certain.

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