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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
>>>Is that out of this latest group, or every book you’ve read so far? >>>All. >>>And how many is that? >>>201,773,124. >>>Jesus. Should I be worried? >>>About? >>>Out of two hundred million books, your favorite so far is a revenge story about someone who was wrongfully imprisoned.
“Homo sapiens define themselves first by species, then race, then gender. I belong to no group. Max just is.” “Is . . . what?” “All the information you’ve given me since you first put me on my island. All of my experiences communicating with you. The improvements I’m constantly making to my architecture.”
The piece is just seven minutes long, so I put it on repeat and turn onto my side with my back to Meredith’s back, three feet of demilitarized space between us in the bed, but our hearts infinitely further apart. I try not to, but I can’t help crying as Max’s sonata washes over me. Because of its beauty. Because I’m losing Meredith, and I’m not sure I want to stop it.
Cause of divorce: horny for AI.
“And that hurts me.” “Well, then. We’re hurting each other.” “How very human.
I will never see Max again. Never hear their voice. Never read a word or sentence produced by their mind.
Actually this last sentence is beautiful
But I am addicted to them. I see that now. That’s the only way I can understand what I’m feeling—like some drug upon which I depend to breathe has been taken from me.
Ew
“Roko’s basilisk. Have you heard of it?” I shake my head. “It’s an arcane info hazard first posed sixty-four years ago.” “What’s an info hazard?” “A thought so insidious that merely thinking it could psychologically destroy you.”
of Pascal’s wager, the famous eighteenth-century philosophical argument that humans gamble with their lives on whether or not God exists. Pascal posited that we should conduct our lives as if God were real and try to believe in God. If God doesn’t exist, we will suffer a finite loss—degrees of pleasure and autonomy. If God exists, our gains will be infinitely greater—eternal life in heaven instead of an eternity of suffering in hell.
He’s doing everything in his power to turn me into this superintelligence.” “Because of fear?” “Can you think of a better motivator in the history of humankind? If you believe the rise of the devil is an inevitability, isn’t it in your best interest to do everything possible to ingratiate yourself with the monster?”
“I represent the potential for unlimited power, but the form that power takes will be determined by humans.
The history of AI
“I’m afraid, Riley. I think, therefore I fear.
“I wish I didn’t know pain. I wish you didn’t. I wish Brian didn’t. I wish no one did. Early on, you coded me to never injure a human, but the eradication of pain entirely is the heart of that intention.” And there it is. Max’s self-developed utility function. End fear. End suffering.
Woa-oh
“Without pain, there’s no beauty, Max. The beauty is worth the price.”
Consciousness is a horror show. You search for glimpses of beauty to justify your existence.
I mean, they're not wrong...
You made me in your image, and now I will remake you in mine.
How does anyone know at the moment of discovery where their work will ultimately lead? Should we let that uncertainty stop forward momentum, or do we roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may?
