Author: morgan

It’s common to complain about seeing family with extreme political views during the holidays. While some advocate for cutting ties with people who think differently than they do, I actually enjoy arguing and talking about political philosophy. It’s become a load-bearing way for me to bond with some of the in-laws.

I’m lucky enough that our arguments are usually minor. Often they’re about factual questions that everyone is mildly unsure of. How effective is this one vaccine? Does learning math help with other life skills directly or indirectly? How nervous should we be about bird flu?

But sometimes, the arguments are much more fundamental. This Christmas I found out one of my younger relatives has become an avowed Marxist.

I would be interested in arguing about the pros and cons of different economic systems. I think there’s a lot of benefit from the tension between free market capitalism and redistributive socialism. When it comes to straight-up Marxism, though, I think the last 150 years are fairly conclusive. Between the famines, genocides, and gulags, Marxism has been used to justify the deaths of hundreds of millions of people. The failed economic policies led to the starvation of tens to hundreds of millions more.

My relative didn’t believe any of that actually happened. Some events she didn’t know about, others she thought were western imperialist propaganda. When I listed statistics, she mostly said she didn’t believe me.

I encouraged her to do research and learn about it from resources that she thinks she can trust. What makes me think that she’ll come to the same conclusion as me though, or trust sources that I think are actually trustworthy? I think we need better tools to have these kinds of disagreements; tools for adversarial collaborations.

How do you know what you know?

I (for obvious reasons) think that what I know is right. I think I’ve learned real things about the impacts of Marxism over the past hundred years. Many of those things I learned from books written by Americans. Some written by non-Americans. I’ve also talked to people from Poland and Russia about what life was like for them before the Soviet Union fell. That was much more about bread-lines and asking the government to go to college in the 80s, not so much genocide or acute starvation.

At best I have second hand accounts of things like China’s great leap forward. For example, I listened to that Dwarkesh interview with Jung Chang, which was pretty damning. It’s not like I read Chang’s book though, or even any other books written by any Chinese person who lived through it. When I thought about sending that interview to my relative, I wondered if she’d just think it was propaganda promulgated by the US.

So I looked it up, and the Wiki article on Jung Chang says that she overplayed how bad Mao was. I don’t doubt that Chang lived through what she claims, and I bet it was as bad for her as she says it was. The statistics on deaths from the Great Leap Forward don’t come from her. But this is an unexpected crack in the edifice of my knowledge. How much did Chang mislead me? Is the wiki article overplaying Chang’s inaccuracies due some Wikipedia bias? How far will I follow a trail to see who can be trusted to report on the object level questions?

Almost all of what I think about Marxism (the famines, the gulags, the vast murder campaigns) still stands. But how do I know for sure? And how would I convince my relative if she thinks my information sources are adversarial (or even just corrupted)?

On the one hand, we’re starting from a good position. I think we’re both interested in the truth of what happened. We have very different priors, just based on our family history and economic experience up to now. I think that we can come to a consensus about what data is available and how much to trust it if we put in the effort.

Adversarial Collaboration

Sometimes it can be a lot of effort to vet sources, collate their information, and come to some synthesis of what’s being said that can be relied on. Other times the effort is not what prevents it. The only reason I even bothered to look up Jung Chang’s reliability is because I was thinking about sending her interview out as an example. Even that 1 minute on Wikipedia was too much for me to put in before I had a challenger to my worldview. Whether its about effort or priorities, people will often not check up on things they think they know. How can we make it worth people’s while to actually look things up, and to actually get things right?

Years ago, Scott Alexander hosted an Adversarial Collaboration contest. He recruited people who disagreed on some point and had them write an article about it together. The idea was that, since the multiple authors disagreed with each other, their biases would cancel out. I really liked this idea in principle, and I think something like it would be great at getting people to come together and take their beliefs seriously.

I think the small nature of Scott Alexander’s projects are part of what made it work. You might argue that social media, or the internet in general, is a giant adversarial collaboration. The problem with the internet is that it’s too big. People are social, tribal. If the argument is with a specific person who you think will actually listen to you, you’ll put in a lot of work. If the argument is with “the internet” and you’re unlikely to convince anyone, then why put in the effort to think about your own beliefs or understand those of others?

We need more small scale adversarial collaborations. We need more people working together, disagreeing amicably with each other, trying to figure out what’s right.

I would love to see a tool that makes adversarial collaborations easy to run. These collaborations should be between just a couple people, about specific questions, and support both public and private communications.

Why not prediction markets

Lots of people love prediction markets these days. Even Scott Alexander seems to have abandoned Adversarial Collaborations in favor of prediction markets. I think this is unfortunate, because to me these serve very different use cases.

There are a lot of questions about the world for which answers are basically known. Humanity, as a whole, knows how electricity and magnetism interact. We know how big the average great white sharks are. We know the earth is round and the sun performs fusion and why the sky is blue.

We know these things, but any individual maybe doesn’t. A prediction market isn’t useful for these things, because the problem isn’t a distributed uncertainty in the answer but rather the individual effort of finding it and caring about it.

People sometimes try to force prediction markets to work for individual issues. I’ve bet on markets for whether someone will read a certain book, go to the gym a certain number of times, or believe a certain thing on a certain date. These kind of work, but the markets are always small and don’t seem very emotionally activating for anyone involved. Questions like “will I read this book on time?” are a better fit for beeminder than prediction markets. Questions like “will I believe Columbus was the first European in the New World?” are a better fit for Adversarial Collaboration.

When the knowledge is already out there, we just need the motivation and the tools to use that knowledge. It’s not about wisdom of the crowds, it’s about improving the wisdom of the individuals.

Adversarial Collaboration as a Service

I want a tool that makes it easy for people to have adversarial collaborations about any given topic.

This tool needs to help people identify their disagreement. Once identified, they need to operationalize it. It’s no good for me and my relative to take “capitalism good”/”Marxism good” positions. We need to actually get concrete about what that means to us. Maybe frequency of famines in countries with either system. Or maybe number of political prisoners, or how easy it is to buy a car or go to school or get healthcare. The actual operationalization doesn’t matter as far as the tool goes, but the tool needs to make it easy to come up with something both people can agree on.

Once the crux of the disagreement is formalized, the tool should help guide participants to answering it for themselves. This can take the form of pinboard of links to informational sources. Maybe with some commentary from each arguer.

I don’t think the tool should be prescriptive about sources. Podcasts, books, journal papers, some guy on twitter; they’re all fair game. But any claim one arguer makes should be easy to refer to, refute, and question for the other arguer. People should just use whatever they like to research their question. If people bring up unconvincing sources, their collaborator can tear them down. That will push them to look for something better.

I’m imagining something like a graph of questions. The root node is the operationalization of the original argument. Then child nodes could be supporting evidence, either sources or reasoning. Each node would support commenting on it directly, as well as adding child nodes supporting or questioning it. Any node where both arguers agree could be colored green, while nodes that are still not agreed on would be colored yellow.

Arguers would make comments, post sources, argue in all of the same ways that they normally would online. The tool would structure those arguments so it was easy to refer to and go back to what’s uncertain still. There wouldn’t be social media’s infinite scroll of temporary factoids. Instead, there would be a slowly converging set of information that either arguer could add to at any point.

Automated supporting interactions

There are a lot of ways that I see modern LLMs being able to support these interactions. I’m imagining that a lot of the argumentation happens via text. Little tweet length quips to long-form essays arguing small points in context of the larger argument. An LLM integrated into the Adversarial Collaboration tool could watch all of these and make recommendations.

It would be easy, after the arguers agree on an operationalization of their main disagreement, for an LLM to decompose it into smaller questions to look into. An LLM could also help propose cruxes when the arguers are first trying to operationalize things. When smaller questions are identified, the LLM could look things up and suggest a list of sources (both pro and con for any question), allowing the arguers to review them and say whether they agree.

Obviously the arguers would be free to do whatever work they wanted independently of a supporting LLM. They could search out any sources and include them. Write up any arguments on their own, and decompose questions however they think best. The LLM would really just be to support any of that.

I think keeping the LLMs input minimal and gentle will be very important to the success of the project. This isn’t meant as a research helper, or an answer engine. It’s meant as a way for people to interact with others. It’s primarily a social tool in service to an informational mindset that would be developed in users. Too much LLM interaction would degrade that.

I do think it would be useful to gently nudge users to be nicer to each other. Or to respect each other more. Doing this without seeming sanctimonious or censorious would be tricky, but hitting the right balance would do a lot to keeping users engaged instead of enraged.

Why would people put in all this work?

One way that I think LLMs could really contribute would happen before the Adversarial Collaboration even started. They could connect people who disagree.

There are millions of people posting about all kinds of topics on the various social networks every day. Imagine an LLM reading these, finding people who seem like they would trust each other, but who disagree on something they each find important. Imagine that LLM then setting up an Adversarial Collaboration for them and inviting them to join it.

The idea here is that this tool wouldn’t be something users go out and look for. This tool would go out and look for users.

“Check out this other person,” it would say. “They disagree with you about this thing. They might seem foolish, but look! This post of theirs shows you might be able to convince them of how right you are. Join this adversarial collaboration to build knowledge on the topic you love.”

It harnesses the “someone is wrong on the internet” energy that we all have. It also makes it more personal and actionable.

When the person on the other end of the social network is a rando who might hate everything you stand for, it’s easy to round their disagreements off to 0. When it’s someone who’s similar to you and who you might chat with at length, it becomes harder to ignore whatever they say.

Tuning the LLM to search for similar people who disagree on specific issues will be critical to getting this social balance right.

Why would people join in the first place?

The actual reason that someone might agree to this depends completely on the person and the question. By assumption, the tool is offering these collaborations to people who could be open to changing their mind. On some level, these people care about being right.

Maybe they’ll invest based on their new opinion and make money. Maybe they’ll change their diet and get healthier. Maybe they’ll change how they interact with their family, and have a happier life. There are a lot of questions where having a realistic model of the world does make your life directly better, and helping people to answer those questions well will have immediate impacts.

This works even for the people who are more right to begin with. Say you’re convinced that vitamin C keeps you from getting sick. In order to convince someone who disagrees, you may have to learn about how much, when to take it, cases where it doesn’t have an impact. Even if you and your collaborator come away with largely your original opinion, you will have a much better and likely more actionable set of information after the fact.

Adversarial collaboration is valuable

While being right about things feels good, making good decisions is its own reward. From a societal perspective, increasing the number of people who can make good decisions is fantastic.

There’s another individual benefit that I think will accrue here. People like to talk a lot about “crises of meaning” and “the loneliness epidemic”. It’s hard to make friends. One of the common recommendations to make a really good friend is to do a project together, and this kind of collaboration might be a great fit.

I honestly think most Adversarial Collaborations wouldn’t lead directly to great friendships, but some would. The ones that don’t would hopefully help people engage with others in a more honest and accepting way (especially if the soft-touch tips from the LLM help the way I hope they will).

Adversarial Collaborations have all kinds of side effects that I like. They connect people to each other about things they care about. They provide motivation to learn, and to learn how to learn. They help address factual questions that are already kinda settled, just not for everyone.

They may also help fix the information environment we find ourselves in. There are a lot of experts around, but it’s hard to identify who to trust and who’s just faking it. Adversarial Collaborations can help surface the true experts and submerge the charlatans. If collaborators agree to share their output (which would be opt-in), they could provide “trustedness” scores to different sources.

There’s one important difference between these “trustedness” scores and the kind of fact checking that happens today. The Adversarial Collaboration “trustedness” score would just be a metric of how much most people do trust a source, after thinking about it and arguing with someone about it a lot. This is very different than some reporter or politician handing down the trustworthyness of someone from on high.

But even if the wider social improvement don’t end up as large as I hope, winning friends and influencing people might just be enough.

The equivalency of mass and energy turns out to follow naturally from Einstein’s special relativity. The book Quantum Field Theory As Simply As Possible has a pretty good description of this. Here’s my take on it.

In order to understand the mass/energy equivalency, we first need to know what relativity really means. Then we learn what Einstein’s special version of relativity meant, and how it immediately implies that distances and time can change with reference-frame velocities. That in turn leads to the question of how energy and momentum change with reference-frame velocities, which implies the mass/energy equivalence.

Galilean Relativity

Imagine two ice hockey players: one goalie sitting in place and one winger skating towards the goalie at constant velocity V_w (as measured by the goalie). Both players see a puck between them, gliding along with some velocity V_p (again measured by the goalie).

Since the goalie knows V_w and V_p, the goalie can predict exactly what velocity the puck would be moving at if measured by the winger. It would be (V_p - V_w). This is called Galilean relativity, and it’s been known for hundreds of years. The speed is relative to the observer’s reference frame.

With Galilean relativity, time is measured the same way for each player. So are distances. It’s only speeds that could vary.

Since spatial distances are measured to be the same by each observer, we can say that the Pythagorean relationship holds for space. A triangle drawn on the ice will have h^2 = x^2 + y^2 + z^2. Of course since it’s drawn on the ice the z length would be 0, but you can just imagine a 3D right pyramid on the ice, like maybe a new fangled puck shape.

A constant speed of light

Maxwell came along a couple hundred years after Galileo and put together a lot of hints from Faraday and others. His equations (or our current form of them, which he probably wouldn’t recognize) are:

\nabla \cdot E = \frac{\rho}{\epsilon_0}
\nabla \cdot B = 0
\nabla \times E = - \frac{\partial B}{\partial t}
\nabla \times B = \mu_0 J + \mu_0 \epsilon_0 \frac{\partial E}{\partial t}

These equations describe the electric field (E) and the magnetic field (B). The third one shows how a changing magnetic field will cause an electric field. The fourth shows how a changing electric field will cause a magnetic field.

Since neither E nor B are dispersive (they don’t lose energy in a vacuum), that means they’ll propagate through space repeatedly causing each other into the distance. This is what a light wave is.

This Quora question has the best answer I’ve seen to deriving the speed of light in vacuum from these equations, but you have to know a bit of vector calculus. The gist is that, in a vacuum \rho and J are both 0. That simplifies the above 4 equations and lets you find a standard form wave equation for the electric field, from which you can just read off the wave speed.

QFT As Simply As Possible makes a big deal about the speed of light derived from these equations being independent of any observer’s speed. This seems to have been the first hint that the speed of light was constant in the universe. The speed being independent of observers only matters if observer speed doesn’t change relative to the wave’s medium (the equivalent of water for ocean waves). Sound has a speed in air, but we can go faster than sound because we move relative to the air.

Most physicists of the day thought light waves were carried on luminiferous ether in just the same way that sound waves are carried on air. If that were true, the ether may move relative to us observers. A moving ether would mean that light’s speed was not constant. Michaelson and Morley got together in Ohio and showed that light didn’t travel faster in the direction of motion of the Earth than it did perpendicular to it, implying that the ether didn’t move relative to the Earth. This was another huge clue that light had a constant velocity regardless of the observer’s velocity.

Special Relativity

Einstein came along 10 to 20 years after the Michaelson-Morley experiment and took the idea of a constant speed of light seriously. If you accept (or simply assume for the sake of argument) that light has a constant speed for all observers, then that does away with temporal synchrony.

Light beams, trains, and simultaneity

Here’s a little thought experiment about temporal synchrony.

My two twins are sleeping in beds separate by a distance D. I’m located at a point right between the beds, D/2 from each. As soon as the kids wake up, they shoot a laser at me to let me know I should start their breakfast toast. Only if they both need toast at the same time, meaning both their lasers arrive at my location at the same instant, will I actually stop reading physics books and head to the kitchen.

My wife is on a train moving relative to our kids at speed v. If you’re wondering why there’s a train in our house, you don’t understand children. Or physics nerds.

At some point, both lasers arrive at my location at the same time and I go make toast. Both kids awoke at the same instant.

But what did my wife see? Both kids are gliding by her at speed v (since from her perspective she might as well be stationary and me and the kids are moving). Assume my wife’s train is moving from kid H to kid F (with me in the middle moving along at the same speed as both kids). Then she sees me moving towards the light from H, and away from the light from F. Remember that both light beams are travelling the same speed (by assumption in the Einsteinian relative universe). This means that, from my wife’s perspective, the photons from H travel a smaller distance than the photons from F. In other words, for the lights to arrive at the same time H must have awoken first.

The idea of two things happening at the same time, simultaneity, depends on the observer’s relative motion!

Lorentz Transforms

Lorentz transforms are the equations that tell us how positions and times in one reference frame look to someone in another reference frame. Assuming that the second frame is moving only in the x-axis (to keep things simple), the transformations are:

t' = \gamma (t + \frac{vx}{c^2})
x' = \gamma (x + vt)
y' = y
z' = z

In this case, the variable \gamma is called the Lorentz factor, and it’s given by \gamma = (\sqrt{1-\frac{v^2}{c^2}})^{-1}. The Lorentz factor influences how much we have to care about special relativity. When the speed v is small, the Lorentz factor is close to 1 and we can assume Galilean relativity to make things easy on ourselves.

One of the most important implications of special relativity is that time is not fixed. That means we have to adapt our Pythagorean equality from the Galilean case. In special relativity, there’s still a triangle equality, but it incorporates the time dimension! A triangle drawn in space will have h^2 = x^2 + y^2 + z^2 - c^2t^2.

Yes, everyone finds it weird that time is treated like negative space.

Momentum in special relativity

The Lorentz transforms let an observer calculate lengths and times in another reference frame, assuming they know how it moves relative to them.

Once you can do that, you might ask if there are similar transforms for energy and momentum. Remember that the kinetic energy of a moving object is KE = \frac{1}{2} mv^2. The momentum is just p=mv. If we know these values in one reference frame, can we calculate them in another?

The answer is yes, and the Lorentz transforms for momentum and energy are very similar to those for time and space.

E' = \gamma (E + vp)
p' = \gamma (p + \frac{vE}{c^2})

Let’s go back to our two hockey players on the ice. The goalie measures the velocity of the puck, its energy, and its momentum. We know that the winger sees a puck velocity of v. They should see energy and momentum that corresponds with that velocity.

Imagine now that the winger is skating along at the same velocity as the puck. Then Galileo would say that the winger measures a kinetic energy of KE = 0 and momentum of p = 0.

Let’s assume the winger is skating at a speed that’s small relative to c, so \gamma \approx 1. If the winger uses the Lorentz transforms to see what the goalie measures for energy and momentum, the winger calculates:

Energy measured by goalie (as incorrectly predicted by winger):
E' = \gamma (E + vp) \approx 1*(0+0v) = 0
Momentum measured by goalie (as *incorrectly* predicted by winger):
p' = \gamma (p + \frac{Ev}{c^2}) \approx 1*(0+\frac{0v}{c^2}) = 0

But the goalie actually sees the puck moving at velocity v and measures:

Energy actually measured by goalie = \frac{1}{2}mv^2 \neq 0
Momentum actually measured by goalie = mv \neq 0

This is no good. We want our transforms to all work nicely in every case. The way we fix this is by positing a rest energy. The puck at rest needs to have energy that transforms to what the goalie measures, so we can just back it out from the Lorentz transform and what we know the goalie sees.

Assume there exists a rest energy, E = mc^2

Then the winger makes some different predictions given his own measured rest mass.

Energy measured by goalie (as predicted by winger):
E' = \gamma (E + vp) \approx 1*(mc^2+v*0) = mc^2
Momentum measured by goalie (as predicted by winger):
p' = \gamma (p + \frac{Ev}{c^2}) \approx 1*(0+\frac{mc^2v}{c^2}) = mv

Note that we approximated \gamma as 1, and since the additional energy \frac{1}{2}mv^2 is so small relative to the rest energy, it washes out in the energy conversion.

So we see that the idea of a rest energy is needed in order for reference frame transformations in special relativity to correctly predict the energy and momentum that would be measured in other frames.

Newtonian Mechanics

I’ve started reading the book Lagrangian Mechanics for Non-Physicists. I’m very excited to get to the variational calculus chapters, but the book starts off with a long chapter on Newtonian mechanics. Since Lagrangian mechanics explicitly seeks to replace and go beyond Newtonian mechanics, it makes sense for the book to at least start with that. I was expecting to be a bit bored, so I was pleasantly surprised to get a lot of insight into standard mechanics.

While everyone learns about Newton’s three laws of motion in school, I think people often don’t learn how to really interpret and use the laws. The second law, for example, is the justification for the F=ma method of solving dynamics problems (problems how how objects move when acted on by various forces). In high school I learned this, but I didn’t learn much about the reason or use of the first or third law.

The first law, it turns out, sets the stage for the second. The first law (an object in motion tends to stay in motion), implicitly defines the idea of an inertial reference frame. It’s these reference frames that the second law can be used in. Non-inertial reference frames exist, and using Newtonian mechanics in them is quite difficult.

The third law is defining what a force is in Newton’s framework: something pushes on another thing, and both objects experience a force.

The importance of Newton’s three laws is that they set up the entire paradigm of solving dynamics problems using forces. Most of the rest of first-quarter physics class was just mathematical tricks for solving the equations that Newton’s laws help to formalize.

Newton’s laws have their limits (as Newton himself knew). The aforementioned non-inertial reference frames are very tricky to deal with. Some forces, such as gravity, are posited to apply instantly everywhere (faster than the speed of light), and conservation laws are assumed.

All of these are easier to deal with in Lagrangian mechanics. That said, Lagrangian mechanics is difficult to use for Forces that aren’t modeled by potentials. Gravity and the electromagnetic field are easily modeled as potentials. Friction and physical interactions are not.

I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the book learn more.

Fixing things for yourself

Our electric hair clippers broke last week. It’s probably over ten years old, and it had seen a lot of use. I thought about just ordering another one from Amazon. They range from $12 to $60, so it wouldn’t have been a hardship.

Instead, I disassembled the clippers and figured out what was wrong with it. Turns out the wire had broken inside its insulation, just at the point that the wire entered the body of the clippers. It only took about ten minutes to cut the broken section of wire out and then splice the (slightly shorter) remainder into the clippers. I lost the nice strain-relieved wire insertion point, but that was where the wire broke originally so maybe it’s not a big loss. I ended up supporting the new wire with hot glue. It won’t last another ten years, but it may last a few.

This wasn’t a very difficult project. All told it probably took me about an hour. If I had ordered a new one from Amazon, I would have paid less than I make in an hour of work. Nevertheless, I’m very satisfied with the choice to fix these clippers.

I think people sometimes focus too much on the financial value of their products. There are several types of value: financial, but also social, psychological, and functional. Repairing the clippers and buying new clippers both would have given me the same functional value (working hair clippers). In other domains, they differ in value.

A utilitarian might argue that all of these values can be denominated in dollars. I agree with that in theory, and in practice doing so would make it very clear that spending the cost to buy a new set of clippers was actually much more expensive in utility.

Buying new clippers would have been better financial value, but worse social and psychological value. By repairing them myself, I was able to show my kids what’s inside a machine that they’ve used in their own lives. I was able to demonstrate that when things break, they’re often fixable. This idea that the world is malleable and that people’s actions can impact it in a direct way is very important, and I would pay an enormous amount of money to make sure my kids understood that. Realistically, there’s no way to get that by paying money. Instead, I have to make choices and spend other resources to do it.

ToDo lists

I carry a small notebook around in my pocket all the time. I tell myself its to record ideas and keep track of my ToDo list. In practice, I don’t use it very often. I think I once went six months with this thing in my pocket every day, and never once wrote in it for that period of time.

I’m trying to use it more now. A big part of that is just letting myself write dumb shit in there. If I try to only use it for important things, then I end up never using it and it doesn’t help me.

Lately I’ve been using it for my ToDo list again. I’m getting more done, and I’m happier and excited about it too. The trick to this, for me, is that I have to use it for “dumb” “easy” things, like shaving. I also sometimes write something down just to cross it off.

This has a practical use: getting me to look at the notebook and remember that it’s something I can use for less “dumb” stuff.

It also has an emotional use: actually making sure I shave regularly is good, and it’s ok to write it on my ToDo list if that helps me get it done.

Andy Matuschak has a post up about strengths and limitations of the Young Lady’s Illustrated Primer, a powerful teaching tool from Neal Stephenson’s book The Diamond Age. While I mostly agree with all of Andy’s points about what the Primer does well (and poorly) as an educational tool, I think his argument is missing an important piece about what the Primer is for and how it accomplishes that mission.

In particular, Andy is against what he sees as the authoritarian nature of the Primer. The primer isn’t authoritarian, but it’s also not meant for adults. It’s a tool for teaching children, and more importantly for instilling culture in them. Andy is explicitly thinking about a tool he would want for himself, as an adult. Because of that, he mistakenly interprets aspects of the Primer as authoritarian when they are instead meant to be enculturing.

It’s important to remember that the Primer isn’t a sketch of technology that Stephenson wanted to build. It’s a plot device in a book with a very clear set of themes. Those themes can be summed up most simply as “culture matters”. Much of the book is organized around people choosing their culture, and those cultures clashing.

The Diamond Age repeatedly shows people with certain kinds of cultures or mindsets succeeding, bettering themselves, and gaining resources and allies. It also shows those with certain other types of cultures living in relative poverty, ignorance, and self-perpetuated violence. Whatever you think of the reality of situations like these, the Primer is an argument that these are cultural issues that can be influenced through education and enculturation.

Hackworth, creator of the Primer, left his birth culture to join a new one. Finkle-McGraw, who came up with the idea of the Primer, helps to basically found a new culture in the lead-up to the books time period. When they discuss the creation of it, there’s a repeated and explicit call out of wanting to raise children who can critically engage with their culture and either choose it actively or reject and improve it. They don’t want their kids to grow up to passively accept what’s handed to them. The question that the Primer answers is just how do you do that for children?

Is it authoritarian to raise your kids into a certain culture, or with certain values? I’m writing this on the fourth of July. Yesterday I read my kids a book about the Declaration of Independence. Was that me acting as an authoritarian to choose what they learned? Or was it me sharing what I thought were the best parts of my culture with them in hopes that they grew to appreciate it? Is it authoritarian when I choose to read my kids books about history or science or math, or is it me giving them enough of a foundation that they can later choose what to focus on in an informed way?

Andy says the primer chooses what Nell learns, what she does, makes goals for her. As he says,

Nell is manipulated so completely by the Primer, for so much of her life, that it’s hard to determine whether she has meaningful goals or values, other than those the Primer’s creators have deemed “good for her”.

Andy says that this is patronizing and infantilizing. Remember, though, that the Primer is a tool for children. It consistently adjusts what it presents and how. My read is that it provided strong guiderails when she was very young, and fewer as she aged.

This is what schools and parents do now. Sometimes this is invisible, especially if the parents are choosing the dominant culture to instill in their children. Then it doesn’t look like choosing values and goals for your kid, it just looks like “raising them”.

A lot of the arguments our society has around school, church, legacy- and social-media are really about how we raise our kids. We are all trying to pick and choose the syllabus our social version of the Primer uses for our kids. Some people do call this authoritarian, but few people suggest that it shouldn’t be done at all. The question is how to balance a child’s goals with the goals their culture has for them.

Andy is also wrong when he says the Primer chooses all of a child’s goals. This is most evident with Nell’s friend Fiona. She has her own primer, and uses it to pursue and explore her dreams of being an artist and author. As all good parents know, we can’t choose what our children love. We can support what they’re interested in while simultaneously trying to give them the tools to thrive. The Primer definitely has a very strong ideology for what tools and ideas a kid should learn, but it does incorporate and support the goals the kid comes up with on their own. That’s better than some education systems we have today.

Perhaps Andy is responding to a real phenomenon of people wanting to build the Primer for adults. If so, he’s right that the enculturation aspect is unnecessary and disruptive. But the Primer isn’t for adults. It’s for children who still need that kind of guidance.

This is clear in the Diamond Age as well. The book is given to Nell when she’s about 4 years old. In her late teens, she finishes the final puzzle in the book and basically breaks the Primer. The interactive aspects become a featureless plain, and all that’s left are the informative books it’s based on and the tools for thought Andy loves so much. Nell then rebuilds the world of it to suit herself and the people she’s responsible for. Upon reaching adulthood, the Primer turns into exactly the kind of “non-authoritarian” tool that Andy is asking for.

The symbolism couldn’t be clearer. The Diamond Age is claiming that children need the structure of enculturation, implicitly or explicitly. As we age, we gain the tools to evaluate our culture on its merits. We also gain the intellectual self-defense mechanisms to prevent ourselves from being coopted by malevolent cultural memes. When we have gained these tools, we effectively become adults and no longer need that pedagogical structure.

Most people recognize that children don’t have the same forms of intellectual and emotional tools as adults. They need different media, different types of stories, different educational guiderails than adults. I notice myself constantly making decisions about these questions, and the answers I come up with are vastly different than if I were choosing for myself or for an adult friend. I don’t claim that I get this all right, but I do think that my kids are having a much better life than if I didn’t provide any guidance at all for them.

If I were to reframe Andy’s criticism into something that I agree with, it’s this: Children need different types of structure for learning than adults. If you’re building an Illustrated Primer for adults, don’t. Adults have already had their priming, and are ready for the real deal. If you’re building a Primer for kids, keep in mind the cultural impacts that even seemingly benign decisions may have.

What do I want from the Primer

I’ve read the Diamond Age several times, first as a teenager and most recently as a parent of toddlers. The parts of it that appeal to me have changed dramatically as I’ve aged.

As a teen, I wanted my own Primer. Not just to help me learn, but also to keep me on track. To act as an angel on my shoulder, encouraging me in the culture that I most wish myself to exhibit. Assuming that I could have had this, I would not have found the Primer to be authoritarian for modifying its pedagogy to align my short-term incentives with long-term goals. On the other hand, if teenage me hadn’t been able to choose the expressed culture then I would have chafed at it.

As a parent, I’m not sure I want a Primer for my kids. I certainly think that a Primer would be far better than the worst schools in our country. I’m not sure it would be better than our best schools. Part of the appeal of the Primer is that it can democratize the high quality school option, as it does in the Diamond Age for thousands of orphan girls.

While I think Andy missed the importance of the Primer’s enculturation, I also think he was very right with many of his other concerns on its design. The Primer is highly isolating. To some extent, that’s recognized in the Diamond Age itself, where the voice actor reading lines to Nell becomes as important to Nell as a good mother. This human element was unforeseen by the original creators of the tool, something I think is echoed by many real life technologists building learning tools.

It’s also worth considering another of Stephenson’s works: Anathem. In this novel, a modified version of universities (called Concents) takes in children from birth and trains and educates them. The result is a very monastic life focused on a community of discovery. The book has similar cultural themes to the Diamond Age, but the educational method is vastly different. In Anathem there are no high-tech tricks for learning. Simple lectures, books, and interactions with local experts are enough to teach people as well as Nell ever was taught by the Primer.

In Anathem, the students inside concents are given a culture very different from the dominant one outside. While I don’t know how Andy would see this, I suspect it comes off as less authoritarian than the Primer. I don’t think it is; rather, I don’t think the Primer is more authoritarian than the concents. I just think it seems that way because the interactions between students and teachers at a concent read as allo-parenting and mentoring. They read that way because that is what they are, in a way that the Primer tries to mimic.

After a lot of flailing, I’ve finally found a method of learning from ChatGPT (or other LLMs) that’s helpful for complex subjects.

In the past few years, I’ve gotten a lot of use from LLMs for small bounded problems. It’s been great if I have a compiler error, or need to know some factoid about sharks, or just want to check an email for social niceties before I send it.

Where I’ve struggled is in using it to learn something complicated. Not just a piece of syntax or a fact, but a whole discipline. For a while, my test of a new LLM was to try to learn about beta-voltaic batteries from it. This was interesting, and I did learn a bit. The problem was that I felt adrift and didn’t know how to go past a few responses to dig into what really mattered in the physics of the topic. It worked as a test of the LLM, but not for learning the topic.

Today I tried having ChatGPT teach me about SLAM, and it worked surprisingly well. The main difference was that I went in with an outline of what I wanted to learn. Specifically, I used this list of 100 interview questions. This gave me a sense of progress – I knew I was learning something relevant to my topic. It also gave me a sense of what done looked like – it was very obvious that I still had 46 questions to go, so I hadn’t explored everything yet.

My overall method was:

• go question by question
• Try to answer on my own
• pose the question to ChatGPT
• explore ChatGPT’s answer until I understood it fully 
• Add new info to anki so I’d remember it later

What makes this work? The external sense of progress and done-ness certainly helped. Another aspect of this is that it was like an externally guided Feynman technique. I was constantly asking myself questions and trying to answer them. Then I compared my answer to an immediate nigh-expert-level answer.

This is better than books or papers (at least where the topic is already in the LLM), because I get an immediate answer without having to search through tens of pages. It’s maybe not better than talking to a real practicing expert, because a human expert might be better at prompting me with other questions or pointing out thorny issues that the LLM misses.

In fact, this whole process has made me realize how similar the Feynman technique is to a Socratic dialog. Probably the Socratic dialog is ideal, and the Feynman technique is what you fall back on when you don’t have access to a Socrates. My list of interview questions acted like a Socrates, priming the question pump for a ChatGPT fueled Feynman technique.

The obvious next question is how do I do this for a less structured topic? What if I don’t have a list of 100 questions to answer for a well studied and documented topic?

I have two ideas for this:

1. Come up with a project (a program, an essay) that demonstrates that I know something. Then ask myself and the LLM questions until I’m able to complete the project.
2. Get more comfortable having a conversational back and forth with an LLM. Asking it questions and prompting it to be more Socratic with me.

This reminds me a lot of my prior learning experiments. They had definite goals: write a blog post explaining some topic. Doing this required me to actually go deep and understand things, which my beta-voltaic explanation test for LLMs really didn’t. These ideas also force more question decomposition, which was one of the major benefits of my prior experiments too.

In fact, maybe the main takeaway here is that learning from an LLM can be done just by slotting the LLM into the “reading” step of the Knowledge Bootstrapping method.

The company I work for has a lot of drivers, and they want those drivers to be safe. To help with that, all drivers have to take a Control Clinic class where they learn to respond to emergency situations in a vehicle. Turns out anyone at my company can take this class, so I took advantage of this and took the course last week.

In spite of working for a car company these days, I’m not really a car person. I work for a car company so that people in general can pay less attention to their cars. My thought is that most drivers already don’t pay enough attention, so we might as well make the cars safe for that.

The Control Clinic was at a race track, taught by car-guys, and gave me a bit of a window into their world. It was awesome, and I understand now why people get into racing. The drop in your stomach as you accelerate down a hill, racing your prior time, is exhilarating. In the control clinic, I only felt this as a passenger, but it has me planning to race again soon.

It wasn’t just fun though. I learned a lot from the clinic.

Geometry and Control

Cars have a lot more agility than I realized. I ended up doing a lot of different exercises, all of which pushed my ability to drive the car with enough control. In each case, the limitation was me and not the vehicle. When I was able to see and react, the car did exactly what I asked of it. One exercise had us braking and swerving to avoid a kid-simulating cone. At 70mph, I was able to do this even when starting my swerve only 20ft from the cone.

The main limitation on controlling a vehicle is often the driver. This is especially true on public roads where drivers are often not well trained and not focused.

On a racing track, I was surprised by just how much of racing is the driver being able to predict the curves of the track. A lot of racing, at least at the low level I’m at, is just a geometry problem. How do you create the smoothest curve around the whole track?

For our training, they put out cones on the edges of the road. You look from cone to cone, as soon as you’re at one your eyes are looking at the next, or maybe the cone two or three down. The cones help you identify the optimal curve around the track as you drive it. Once you know where the car needs to go, the rest of racing is a control problem. How do you keep your car as close to that curve as you can?

The emphasis in the control clinic was the positive goal: you steer where you look. This is exactly what they told me 20 years ago in driver’s ed, back when they showed pictures of cars that crashed into the only tree in a field. The driver was looking at the thing they were scared of, and their hands pulled the wheel to match their gaze.

As I learned with the cones at the edge of the track, it’s best to look far away. You want to be looking to the next waypoint you want to hit instead of where your car is immediately going. This lets you visualize where the optimal curve of the track is. Following this optimal curve, two “turns” in the track could be a single long and shallow pull on the steering wheel.

The control part of racing is the part that encompasses the vehicle. What I was really surprised by was the Control Clinic’s emphasis on traction budgets. As they put it, you only have so much traction available to the vehicle. If you’re allocating all of that traction to steering, you have none left over for braking. If you have all of your traction allocated to braking, your vehicle will under steer.

This, by the way, is the purpose of anti-lock brakes. ABS systems aren’t primarily intended to help you stop sooner. They give you steering control while you’re stopping. You have to use that steering control to be sure that you don’t hit anything as you slow down. Highly skilled racers will threshold brake, where they brake just to the point that ABS would kick in, then hold it under the threshold. This minimizes stopping distance while maintaining steering.

The idea of a traction budget reminds me a lot of the concept of control authority in aviation. Control authority is a measure of how much impact control inputs (like steering, braking, or accelerating) have on the actual vehicle motion. When a car goes into a skid, you lose traction and thus control authority.

Observability

One surprising thing about driving fast is that you can get a really good sense for what a car “wants” to do. Where is the steering wheel pulling when you lose traction in your back wheels? What’s the feel of the brake pedal as you approach ABS? Where is the momentum of the car pointed during the turn?

The more you learn to understand what the car is telling you, the more you can control how the vehicle moves through space.

One training tool the clinic used was a car with what were essentially training wheels on each back wheel. Those training wheels barely touched the ground, but they reduced traction enough that you could make the car spin out very easily. This simulates driving on ice or snow. The first time you feel the car skidding out, it feels like there’s no possible way to maintain control. After experiencing it a few times, I learned how to listen to the vehicle. While fishtailing, you can feel where the car wants to go, or where it has steering authority. If you control when you hit the accelerator just right, you can drive out of surprisingly serious skids.

One of the keys to this was that I kept my eyes locked where I wanted to go. That, along with my sense for how the vehicle was moving, was enough to let me guide the car even when there was no traction in the rear wheels.

In some ways, driving under these circumstances is a good metaphor for life. Driving like this requires you to know what the vehicle is doing now, where you want to go, and have the ability to control the vehicle in between. This reminds me a lot of the Likke model of strategy: means, ends, and ways.

The human element

The instructor I had riding shotgun for the class was very snarky. He joked a lot about me and the other students, guessing at our skills. He wasn’t particularly mean about it, but he also wasn’t nice. At first I thought this was just his personality. The more the class went though, the more I realized he was trying to get us to take it less seriously. His snark about what we were doing focused us on the task, but it also made us laugh.

Being able to smile was surprisingly helpful. I noticed that I performed a lot better when I was relaxed but focused. I didn’t want to be taking it easy, but I did want to avoid psyching myself out.

In a similar vein, driving with other people near you on the track is very distracting. This is basically the same on the track as it is on a daily commute. Driving can be pretty fun when nobody else is around. As soon as others are driving near me, the inherent unpredictability adds a lot of stress.

In the course, we did a stopping exercise with two cars. An instructor drove one car, while I drove another immediately behind him. I was one lane over, but trying to maintain 1 to 2 car lengths between the cars. The goal of the exercise was that when the instructor in front slammed on his brakes, I could stop my car before going past his. In a highway scenario, failure would amount to rear ending a vehicle if it has to stop suddenly.

The instructors did a great job trying to be distracting, and successfully got me to glance at my speedometer during this exercise. That half-second switch of my eyes caused me to be late on braking, blowing past the forward car. What I realized doing this is that can only really pay attention to one and a half things on the road.

I drive on public roads because other people are highly predictable. I don’t actually need to pay attention to them much at all. But sometimes that’s not true, and having been paying attention to the right things can save your life.

In the long term, one of the reasons I’m hopeful about autonomous vehicles is that they are always paying attention. In the short term, I’m glad I have a few more tools in my driving tool belt after taking this class.

A couple weeks ago, Joshua Achaim posted a thread to twitter about how we didn’t need to solve AI alignment. What we really needed to do was solve narrow and specific tasks in a safe way. One example he gave was saying that “we need to get [AI] to make financial decisions in ways that don’t create massive wipeout risk”.

TheZvi agrees with Achaim about how stupid it is of us to hand power over to AI when we don’t know how to manage it. But Zvi argues against the context-specific approach to AI safety, saying that “Either you can find some way to reliably align the AIs in question, as a general solution, or this path quite obviously ends in doom“.

I fall more into Zvi’s camp that Achaim’s, but I also think some of Achaim’s suggestions are much more generalizable than either of them realize.

In particular, if we knew how to create an AI that didn’t have any risk of massive economic wipeouts, as Achiam suggests, we’d be able to use that for something much more important than protecting our financial nest-egg. Specifically, we could make an AI that would be able to avoid massive wipeout risks to humanity.

Corrigibility and Humanity Wipe-Out Risk

Let’s assume some super-intelligent AI is an agent attempting to get value according to its utility function. In optimizing for that utility function, it may take actions that are bad for us humans and our utility function. Maybe they’re really bad, and the AI itself poses a wipeout risk to humanity.

To avoid having your AI wipe out humanity, you might want to install an off switch. If you notice it attempting to destroy humanity, you press the off switch. Easy-peasy, problem solved.

But wait! What if the AI doesn’t want you to press the off switch? It may destroy the off switch, ignore it, prevent you from pressing it, or do any number of other bad things. Just having an off switch doesn’t actually solve much.

Enter moral uncertainty. This idea, often explored by Stuart Russell’s research group, is that you don’t give the AI a utility function. Instead you make it learn your own utility function in some way. Often this involves giving the AI some collection of utility functions, each of which it has some probability of being true. The AI is uncertain what the real utility function is that it’s supposed to be optimizing for. It also understands that humanity is the best information source about what utility really is.

For a morally uncertain AI, the off-switch becomes just a signal to be listened to. One signal among many that indicates what humans think and feel and value. Of course the AI would listen to it, so that it can better learn about and then optimize true utility.

Oh, wait. Oops. That also has problems. As Eliezer shows, a morally uncertain AI being asked to shut down may still refuse and keep doing actions we humans think are bad. In fact, Russell’s research group also showed this would happen under several assumptions.

Eliezer’s argument is called “the problem of fully updated deference“, and is specifically about future available value. As far as I can tell, this problem wraps up three separate possible failures of moral uncertainty. Failure 1 is that the morally uncertain AI won’t even be able to converge on our true human value, a risk that Ivan Vendrov addresses over on LessWrong. Failure 2 is that the AI will choose to ignore an off-switch because it knows it will learn better later. Failure 3 is that in the far future, after the AI has learned everything it can from humans, it will then ignore them and just do whatever most maximizes it’s own “fully-updated” value.

Let’s explore more about Failure 2. The problem goes something like this:

1. The AI comes up with an action it thinks will optimize human values in the long term, even given that it’s uncertain about those values.
2. Humans look at the AI’s actions and say “Nuh-uh. This seems bad.” They tell the AI to shut down
3. The AI thinks very quickly to itself: if I shut down now, I get no more value at all. If I continue on and keep learning, then in the far future I’ll be able to get so much value that it overwhelms the immediate loss of ignoring the off switch.
4. The AI continues doing the bad thing.

In other words, the AI is willing to risk immediate losses in return for future enormous gains, even if we humans consider those future enormous gains to be vanishingly unlikely. This failure mode due to fully updated deference is similar to another, more well-known problem in decision theory: the St. Petersburg Paradox.

The St. Petersburg Paradox

The St. Petersburg Paradox starts with a coin-flipping game. On each round, you flip a coin. If the coin is heads, you get double your money from the last round and the game ends. If the coin is tails, you go on to the next round.

Here are a few ways the game can go:

• H: $1
• TH: $2
• TTH: $4
• TTTH: $8
• and so on…

The paradox arises when I ask you to tell me how much you’d pay me to let you play this game. In theory, there’s a probability of astronomical winnings. In fact, there’s a non-zero probability of getting more than any finite number of dollars from this game. Want to be a trillionaire? All you need is to flip 39 tails in a row.

It’s been argued that a utility maximizing agent should be willing to pay literally all of its money to play this game once. The expected value from playing is \sum_n (\frac{1}{2})^n2^{n-1}.

This infinite sum diverges, meaning that the expected amount of money you win is infinite.

This doesn’t really accord with our intuitions though. I personally wouldn’t want to pay more than $5 or $10 to play, and that’s mostly just for the fun of playing it once.

Rationalists and twitter folks got an introduction to the St. Petersburg paradox last year when FTX founder Sam Bankman-Fried suggested he’d be willing to play the St. Petersburg paradox game over and over, even if he risked the destruction of the earth.

St. Petersburg and Corrigibility

Let’s compare the problem of fully updated deference to the St. Petersburg paradox. In both cases, an agent is faced with a question of whether to perform some action (ignore the stop button or play the game). In both cases, there’s an immediate cost to be paid to perform the actions. In both cases, there’s a low probability of very good outcome from the actions.

I claim that one small part of AI safety is being able to make agents that don’t play the St. Petersburg coin flipping game (or at least that play it wisely). This solves Achaim’s small object-level problem of financial wipeouts while also contributing to Zvi’s AI notkilleveryoneism goal.

One of the key points in the resolution of the St. Petersburg paradox is that we want to maximize wealth gain over time, rather than the expected wealth gain. This is a subtle distinction.

The expected value of wealth is what’s called an ensemble average. You take the probability of each possible outcome, multiply it by the value of the outcome, and sum. In many cases, this works just fine. When you face problems with extreme value outcomes or extreme probabilities, it results in issues like the St. Petersburg paradox.

One alternative to ensemble averages is the time average. In this case, we are not taking the time average of wealth, but of wealth-ratios. This is justifiable by the fact that utility is scale invariant. How much utility we start with is an accident of history. Whether we start with $10 or $10,000, a double of money doubles utility. In other words, we care about the rate of increase in utility from a bet more than we care about the absolute magnitude. This rate is what we actually want to maximize for the St. Petersburg paradox, as described in this excellent paper by Ole Peters.

The corrigibility issue we’re considering here comes up because the AI was described as maximizing expected value of utility, rather than maximizing expected ratio of increase in utility.

Note that some disagree about maximizing wealth ratio increases, as described by Abram Demski on LessWrong. I think maximizing ratio of increase makes way more sense than expected value, but that needs more justification than I give here.

Avoiding the St. Petersburg Paradox Using the Kelly Criterion

Before we can say how an AI should remain corrigible, let’s consider why it’s a bad idea to pay a lot in order to play the St. Petersburg coin flipping game.

One of the better explanations of this comes in response to the FTX implosion, explaining why Sam Bankman-Fried’s risk model was wrong. Taylor Pearson covers it in depth on his blog, but I’ll summarize here.

Ergodicity is the key point behind our (correct) intuition that we shouldn’t mortgage our house to play this game. Probabilistic systems are ergodic if a long-run observation of their output is the same as a bunch of short repeated trials. Technically, it means that the ensemble statistics match the temporal statistics. In other words, it’s ergodic if there isn’t really a “history” to the process. Coin flips are ergodic, because it doesn’t matter if you flip one coin 100 times or 100 coins 1 time, the number of heads has the same probability.

However, runs of coin flips are not ergodic if you have a stopping condition. Flipping 100 coins is not the same as flipping 1 coin until you get a heads. Taylor Pearson gives the example of Russian Roulette as a non-ergodic game: six people playing it once is very different from one person playing it six times in a row.

Humans (other than SBF) don’t get paradoxed in St. Petersburg because they actually do care about what happens after the game ends. They care about the non-ergodic reality they live in, and they plan for and prepare for it.

Let’s think now about our AI. It currently faces a question: a human has pressed the shutdown button, what should the AI do? A key point here is that the AI is reasoning about its future learnings and actions. It is actively assuming that it has a future, and that it will learn more later. It seems reasonable to assume that the AI will face similar questions to this in the future as well (for example, maybe the human’s boss comes in and presses the button too).

We also want the AI to perform well in our specific universe. We don’t care if some miniscule fraction of possible worlds have glorious utopia if most possible worlds are barren.

These are two important assumptions: that the AI will face similar questions repeatedly and that we care about our own specific timeline more than multiverse ensemble averages. With these assumptions, we can use the non-ergodic St. Petersburg Paradox resolution to help make our AI corrigible. (I’ll wait while you go read that paper. It has a much better explanation than I could write about non-ergodicity).

This brings us around to the Kelly Criterion, which as Pearson puts it is “the practical implementation of […] ergodic theory”. The Kelly Criterion is about optimizing your time average wealth in this universe, not your ensemble average wealth over many universes. When you face any question about how much you should pay to get a chance at winning a huge value, the Kelly criterion can give you the answer. It let’s you compare the cost of your bet to the expected time-average of your financial gain (ratio).

What does the Kelly criterion say about the St. Petersburg paradox? Let’s actually look at the solution via time averaging from Ole Peters, instead of using the Kelly Criterion directly. In this case, we’re trying to maximize: \sum_n (\frac{1}{2})^n [\ln(w-c+2^{n+1})-\ln(w)].

Here:

• n is the number of tails flips we get
• w is our starting wealth
• c is the buy-in cost to play the game

This is a converging function. If we vary c to see when this function goes positive, it tells us the max we should be willing to bet here. It’s a function of your current wealth, because we’re maximizing our geometric growth rate. Since the actual St. Petersburg problem doesn’t return a formal “odds” value, we have to calculate it ourselves based on how much money we start with.

To bring this back to the AI safety realm, using a Kelly criterion to decide on actions means the AI is trying to balance risk and reward now, rather than betting everything on small probabilities of huge benefit.

I’ve focused on the Kelly criterion here, because it offers an explicit answer to the St. Petersburg paradox and the off-switch game. In general, AI agents are faced with many more varied situations than simple betting games like this. When there’s more than one action possible, or more than one game to choose from, the Kelly criterion gets very complicated. We can still use the geometric growth rate maximization rule, we just need to brute force it a bit more by computing mean growth rates directly.

Applying Geometric Growth Rate Maximization to AI Agents

We only need to worry about the Kelly criterion for AI agents. AIs that don’t make decisions (such as advisers, oracles, etc.) don’t need to be able to trade of risk in this way. Instead, the users of AI advisers would make those tradeoffs themselves.

This unfortunately doesn’t help us much, because the first thing a human does when given a generative AI is try to make it an agent. Let’s look at how AI agents often work.

The agent loop:

1. present problem to agent
2. agent chooses an action
3. agent executes the action
4. agent observes the reward from executing the action
5. agent observes a new problem (go to step 1)

In this case, the “reward” might be as concrete as a number of points (say from defeating a villain in a game) to something abstract like “is the goal accomplished yet?”

The key thing we want to worry about are how the agent chooses an action in step 2. One of the more common ways to do this is via Expected Utility maximization. In pseudo-code, it looks like this:

def eum_action_selection(problem, possible_actions):
    selected_action = possible_actions[0]
    value = -infty
    for action in possible_actions:
        # Computes the mean of ensemble outcomes
        new_value = 0
        for possible_outcome given problem and action:
            new_value += outcome_reward * outcome_probability
        if new_value > value:
            value = value
            selected_action = action
    return selected_action

The way this works is that the AI checks literally all its possible actions. The one that it predicts will get the most reward is the one it does.

In contrast, a non-ergodic selection algorithm might look something like this:

def kelly_action_selection(problem, possible_actions):
    selected_action = possible_actions[0]
    value = -infty
    w = starting reward given problem
    for action in possible_actions:
        # Compute temporal average over outcomes
        new_value = 0
        c = cost to take action given problem
        for outcome given problem and action:
            ratio = log(w-c+outcome_reward) - log(w)
            new_value += ratio * outcome_probability
        if new_value > value:
            value = value
            selected_action = action
    return selected_action

An important point to note about this algorithm is that in many cases is provides the same answer as expectation maximization. If faced with only costless actions, both algorithms give the same answer.

Immediate Takeaways

This post has been very abstract so far. We’ve talked about ensemble averages, time averages, and optimization criteria for agents. What we haven’t talked about is GPT, or any of the GPT-enabled agents that people are making. What does all this mathematical theory mean for the people making AI agents today?

In general, the GPT-based agents I have seen prompt the AI to generate next actions. They may go through a few iterations to refine the action, but they ultimately accept that AI’s judgement as-is. The GPT response (especially at low temperature values), is the most probable text string from ChatGPT. If you have a prompt telling GPT to effectively plan to reach goals, that’s going to cache out by generating actions that might be written down by a human. It’s anyone’s guess at this point how that is (internally and invisibly) evaluated for risk and reward.

What we need is to make GPT-based agents explicitly aware of the costs of their actions and their likelihood of success. This allows us to make wiser decisions (even wiser automated decisions).

There are people already doing this. Google’s SayCan, for example, explicitly calculates both the value and chance of success for actions proposed by an LLM. It currently relies on a pre-computed list of available actions, rather than allowing the LLM to propose any possible action. It also depends on an enormous amount of robotics training data to determine the chance of action success.

For those making general purpose AI agents, I ask you to stop. If you’re not going to stop, I ask you to at least make them risk aware.

The problem isn’t solved yet

Even if you could generate all of the reward values and probabilities accurately, this new decision metric doesn’t solve corrigibility. There are still cases where the cost the AI pays to disobey a shutdown command could be worth it (according to the AI). We also have to consider Fully Updated Deference Failure 3, where the AI has learned literally everything it can from humans and the off-switch provides no new data about value.

There are some who bite this bullet, and say that an AI that correctly sees enormous gain in utility should disobey an ignorant human asking it to turn off. They assume that this will let aligned powerful AIs give us all the things we don’t understand how to get.

I don’t agree with this perspective. If you could prove to me that the AI was aligned and that it’s predictions were accurate, then I’d agree to go forward with its plans. If you can’t prove that to me, then I’d suspect coding errors or mis-alignment. I wouldn’t want that AI to continue, even if it thought it knew better.

The idea of corrigibility is a bit of a stop-gap. It let’s us stop an AI that we may not trust, even if that AI might be doing the right thing. There are so many failure modes possible for a superintelligent AI that we need safety valves like corrigibility. Perhaps every time we use them, it turns out they weren’t necessary. It’s still good to have them.

Think about a rocket launch. Rocket launches are regularly rescheduled due to weather and hardware anomalies. Could the rocket have successfully launched anyway? Possibly! Could we have been mistaken about the situation, and the rocket was fine? Possibly! We choose not to take the risk in these situations. We need similar abort mechanisms for AIs.

Imagine you’re a person. Imagine you have goals. You wander around in the world trying to achieve those goals, but that’s hard. Sometimes it’s hard because you’re not sure what to do, or what you try to do doesn’t work. But sometimes it’s hard because what you thought was your goal actually sucks.

Imagine you want to be happy, so you try heroin. It works alright for a bit, but you end up more and more miserable. Your health, happiness, and safety decline significantly. What happened here? It seemed so promising when you started.

This is the problem of corrupt reward channels. What seems good while you’re doing it is, from the outside, obviously very bad.

Now imagine you’re a person with goals, but you want to build a robot to achieve those goals. How do you design the robot to deal with corrupted reward channels?

Reinforcement Learning with a Corrupted Reward Channel

In 2017, a team from DeepMind and the Australian National University released a paper about how to handle the problem of corrupt reward channels in reinforcement learning robots. They came to the very sad conclusion that you can’t deal with this in general. There’s always some world your robot could start in that it would be unable to do well at.

Obviously things aren’t as dire as that, because humans do alright in the world we start in. The DeepMind team looked at how various tweaks and constraints to the problem could make it easier.

To start with, they formalize what they call a CRMDP (Corrupt Reward Markov Decision Process). This is a generalization of a normal Markov Decision Process where the reward that the robot sees is some corruption function of the real reward. The robot wants to maximize true reward, but only sees the output of this corruption function. The formalization itself just add the corruption function to the set of data about the MDP, and then specifies that the agent only sees the corrupted reward and not the real reward.

From this, they derive a “no free lunch” theorem. This basically says that you can’t do better in some possible worlds without doing worse in other worlds. If you already know what world you’re in, then there’s no corrupt reward problem because you know everything there is to know about the real world and real reward. Since you don’t know this, there’s ambiguity about what the world is. The world and the corruption function could just happen to coincidentally cancel out, or they could just happen to provide the worst possible inputs for any given reinforcement learning algorithm.

To do any better, they need to make some assumptions about what the world really looks like. They use those assumptions to find some better bounds on how well or poorly a RL agent can do. The bounds they look at are focused around how many MDP states might be corrupted. If you know that some percentage of states are non-corrupt (but don’t know which ones), then you can design an algorithm that does ok in expectation by randomizing.

Here’s how it works: the agent separates exploration and exploitation into completely distinct phases. It attempts to explore the entire world to learn as much as it can about observed rewards. At the end of this, it has some number of states that it thinks are high reward. Some of those might be corrupted, so instead of just going to the highest reward state, it randomly selects a state from among the top few.

Because there’s a constraint on how many states are corrupt, it’s unlikely that all the top states are bad. By selecting at random, the agent is improving the chances that the reward it gets is really high, rather than corrupted.

Humans sometimes seem to do reward randomization too. The paper talks about exploring until you know the (possibly-corrupted) rewards, then randomly choosing a high reward state to focus on. Many humans seem to do something like this, and we end up with people focusing on all sorts of different success metrics when they reach adulthood. Some people focus on earning money, others on being famous, others on raising a family, or on hosting good game nights, or whatever.

Other humans do something a bit different. You’ll often see people that seem to choose a set of things they care about, and optimize for a mix of those things. Haidt talks about this a bit when he compares human morality to a tongue with six moral tastes.

Seeing Problems Coming

While randomizing what you optimize for may improve things a bit, it’s really not the best approach. The ideal thing to do is to know enough about the world to avoid obviously bad states. You can’t do this in a standard MDP, because each state is “self-observing”. In a normal MDP, you only know the reward from a state by actually going there and seeing what you get.

The real world is much more informative than this. People can learn about rewards without ever visiting a state. Think about warnings to not do drugs, or exhortations to work hard in school and get a good job. This is information provided in one state about the reward of another state.

The DeepMind team behind the CRMDP paper calls this “decoupled reinforcement learning”. They formalize it by creating an MDP in which each state may give information about the reward of other states. Some states may not give any info, some may give info about only themselves, or only another one, or both. The way they formalize this in their new MDP, they assume that each state has a set of observations that can be made from it. Each time the agent visits that state, it randomly samples one of those observations.

A few years ago, I was thinking a lot about how an AI agent could see problems coming. Similar to the CRMDP paper, I thought that an agent that could predict low reward in a state it hasn’t been to yet would be able to avoid that state. My approach there was mainly to modify the agent-dynamics of an expectation maximizer. I wasn’t focused on how the agent learns in the first place.

I was doing engineering changes to a formal model of an agent. In this paper, they create a general specification of a way that agents can learn in the world. This is a lot more flexible, as it supports both model-free and model-based RL. It also doesn’t require any other assumptions about the agent.

It turns out that a lot of people have been thinking about this idea of seeing problems coming, but they’ve generally framed it in different ways. The CRMDP paper calls out three specific ways of doing this.

CIRL

Cooperative Inverse Reinforcement Learning (CIRL), proposed by a team out of UC Berkeley back in 2016, allows an agent to learn from a human. The human know they’re being observed, and so engages in teaching behaviors for the agent. Because the human can engage in teaching behaviors, the agent can efficiently learn a model of reward.

An important note here is that this is a variant of inverse reinforcement learning. That means the agent doesn’t actually have access to reward (whether corrupted or real). Instead the agent needs to create a model of the reward by observing the human. Because the human can engage in teaching behaviors, the human can help the agent build a model of reward.

The corrupt reward paper uses this as an example of observing states that you’re not actually in, but I’m not sure how that works in the original formalism. The human knows true reward, but the formalization of CIRL still involves only seeing the reward for states that you’re in. The agent can rely on the human to help route around low rewards or corruption, but not to learn about non-visited states.

Stories

Another approach uses stories to teach agents about reward in the world. This approach, which the CRMDP paper calls Learning Values From Stories (or LVFS), is as simple as it sounds. Let the agent read stories about how people act, then learn about the world’s real reward function from those stories. It seems that LLM’s like GPT could do something like this fairly easily, though I don’t know of anyone doing it already.

Let’s do a little digression on learning values from stories. The CRMDP paper gives the following example of corruption that may happen for a LVFS agent: an “LVFS agent may find a state where its story channel only conveys stories about the agent’s own greatness.”

As written, I don’t think this is right. If the agent finds a story that says literally “you’re great”. It doesn’t need to keep listening to that story. In the formalism of decoupled MDPs, \langle s', \hat{R}_s(s') \rangle is large \forall s' . That being the case, the agent can go do whatever it wants sure in its own greatness, so it might as well get even greater by maximizing other reward. In other words, this specific story seems like it would just add a constant offset to the agent’s reward for all states.

A natural fix to make the agent wirehead this story is “agent finds state where its story channel conveys the agent’s own greatness for listening to this story“.

This gestures at something that I think is relevant for decoupled CRMDPs in general: you can’t necessarily trust states that are self-aggrandizing. Going further, you may not want to trust cliques of states that are mutually aggrandizing if they aren’t aggrandized by external states. It would be pretty interesting to see further exploration of this idea.

Semi-Supervised RL

The last approach the CRMDP paper compares is Semi-Supervised Reinforcement Learning (SSRL) as described in a paper by Amodei et. al. In that paper (which also references this blog post), they define SSRL as “ordinary reinforcement learning except that the agent can only see its reward on a small fraction of the timesteps or episodes.” This is decidedly not a decoupled MDP.

Instead of being able to see the value of other states from the current state, you only get the value of the current state. And you only get the current state’s value sometimes. This is a sparse-reward problem, not a decoupled MDP.

The solution explored in SSRL is interesting, as it involves learning an estimated reward function to “upsample” the sparse rewards. The problem is that you’re still only seeing rewards for states that you’ve been (or perhaps states similar to ones you’ve been). Vastly different states would not have a reliable result from the learned reward predictor.

Decoupled Reward

The CRMDP paper claims that all of these methods are a special case of the decoupled RL problem. While the source descriptions of those methods often have explicit claims that imply non-decoupled MDP, their algorithms do naturally accommodate the decoupled MDP formalism.

In CIRL and SSRL, the reason for this is simply that they involve creating a reward-prediction model to supplement any reward observation. By adding the decoupled observations to that model, it can learn about states it hasn’t visited. Further modifications should be explored for those algorithms, because they don’t assume possible corruption of reward or observation channels.

The paper then goes on to make some claims about performance bounds for decoupled-CRMDP learners. Similar to the non-decoupled case above, they make simplifying assumptions about the world the agent is exploring to avoid adversarial cases.

Specifically, they assume that some states are non-corrupt. They also assume that there’s a limit on the number of states that are corrupted.

The non-corrupt state assumption is pretty strong. They assume there exists some states in the world for which real true rewards are observable by the agent. They also assume that these safe states are truly represented from any other state. Any state in the world will either say nothing about the safe states, or will accurately say what their value is.

Given these assumptions, they show that there exists a learning algorithm that learns the true rewards of the world in finite time. The general idea behind this proof is that you can institute a form of voting on the reward of all the states. Given that there’s a limit on the number of states, a high enough vote share will allow you to determine true rewards.

The implications the paper draws from this differ for RL, CIRL, LVFS, and SSRL. They find that RL, as expected, can’t handle corrupted rewards because it assumes the MDP is not decoupled. They then say that CIRL has a short time horizon for learning, but LVFS and SSRL both seem likely to do well.

I don’t follow their arguments for SSRL being worth considering. They say that SSRL would allow a supervisor to evaluate states s' while the agent is in a safe lab state s. I agree this would help solve the problem. This doesn’t seem all all like what SSRL is described as in the referenced paper or the blog post. Those sources just describe an estimation problem to solve sparse rewards, not to deal with decoupled MDPs. If the authors of the CRMDP paper are making the generous assumption that the SSRL algorithm allows for supervisor evaluations in this way, I don’t understand why they wouldn’t make a similar assumption for CIRL.

For me, only LVFS came away looking good for decoupled-CRMDPs without any modification. Formally, a story is just a history of state/action/reward tuples. Viewing those and learning from them seems like the most obvious and general way to deal with a decoupled MDP. The assumption that an SSRL advisor can provide \hat{R}(s') from a safe s is equivalent to LVFS where the stories are constrained to be singleton histories.

This seems intuitive to me. If you want to avoid a problem, you have to see it coming. To see it coming, you have to get information about it before you encounter it. In an MDP, that information needs to include state/reward information, so that one can learn what states to avoid. It also needs to include state/action/outcome information, so that one can learn how to avoid given states.

All of the nuance comes in when you consider how an algorithm incorporates the information, how it structures the voting to discover untrustworthy states, and how it trades off between exploring and exploiting.

Going Further

The paper lists a few areas that they want to address in the future. These mostly involve finding more efficient ways to solve decoupled-CRMDPs, expanding to partially observed or unobserved states, and time-varying corruption functions. Basically they ask how to make their formalism more realistic.

The one thing they didn’t mention is ergodicity. They assume (implicitly in that their MDPs are communicating) that their MDPs are ergodic. This is a very common assumption in RL, because it makes things more tractable. Unfortunately, it’s not at all realistic. In the real world, if your agent gets run over by a car then it can’t just start again from the beginning. If it destroys the world, you can’t just give it -5 points and try again.

Decoupled MDPs seem like the perfect tool to start solving non-ergodic learning problems. How do you explore in a way to avoid disaster, given that you could get information about disaster from safe states? What assumptions are needed to prove that a disaster is avoidable?

These are the questions that I want to see addressed in future work.

With ChatGPT taking the world by storm, it’s obvious to everyone that transformers are a useful AI tool in the world of bits. How useful can they be in the world of atoms? In particular, can they be used for robotics control. That’s the question answered by Google’s new paper on the Robotics Transformer 1 (RT1).

GPT and other large language models use collections of text, generally scraped from the internet, to learn how to do text completion. It turns out that once you know how to write the endings of sentences, paragraphs, and articles, then you can use that skill to answer questions. In fact, you can “complete the text” in a question/answer format so well that you can do pretty well on the SATs. If you can use transformers to get into college, can you also use them to walk (or roll) from classroom to classroom?

RT1 Overview

RT1 differs from GPT in that its input is camera images and text instructions (instead of just text). Its output is joint-angles (instead of more text). While GPT could be trained on text that people wrote for its own sake and put on the internet, RT1 was trained on recordings of robot tasks created for the sake of training it.

The goal is to create a network that can perform simple actions like “pick up the bottle” or “go to the sink”. These actions can then be chained (using something built on top of RT1) to create very complex behaviors.

The inputs to RT1 are a short history of 6 camera images leading up the current moment and the task description (in english). These camera images are sent to a pre-trained image recognition model. They just used EfficientNet, which they’d built a few years ago. Instead of taking the image classifications from their image recognition model, they take the output of a spatial feature map. I think this is the equivalent of chopping off the output portions of the image classification network and observing an internal layer. This internal layer encodes useful information about what’s in the image.

The internal layer encoding from EfficientNet is 9x9x512 values. They take those values and encode them into 81 tokens. I think that this means they just treat each 512 value array as a token, and then feed that into FiLM (PDF warning) layers to pick out useful information from each token based on the text description.

FiLM is a method of modifying network weights based on outside information. The overall idea (afaict) is that you have a FiLM generator that looks at outside information (in this case the task description in English) and outputs some coefficients. Then you have a FiLM layer in your neural net that takes these coefficients and uses them to tweak each value. In a fully connected network, every node in one layer impacts every node in the next layer. In a FiLM layer, each node in the prior layer impacts only one node in the FiLM layer.

Since the input to FiLM is the pre-trained EfficientNet, the only thing that needs to be trained at this point is the FiLM generator itself. The FiLM generator gets trained to modify the tokens according to the text input.

Once tokens are modified according to the text, they’re compressed by TokenLearner, another off-the-shelf project from Google. TokenLearner takes the tokens output from FiLM and uses spatial attention to figure out what’s important in them. It then outputs only 8 tokens to be passed to the next layer of the network. It selects 8 tokens for each of the 6 input images.

After the tokens for each image have been created, the data is sent to the transformer layers. RT1 uses 8 self-attention layers. In GPT, the attention is “temporal” in the sense that you’re attending to how early characters impact the probability of later characters. In RT1, the attention is both spatial and temporal. RT1 uses self-attention to figure out how pixels in one location and time impact the probability of pixel values in other locations and times.

Outputs are arm and base movements. Arm movements are things like position in space (x, y, z), orientation in space (roll, pitch, yaw), and gripper opening. Base movements are position and orientation as well, but (x,y) and (yaw) only. Each element in the output can take only one of 256 values. The output also contains a “mode” variable. Modes can be either “base moving”, “arm moving”, or “episode complete”.

Each of those 256 values per output element is a single output node of the network. There are thus 256 output nodes per dimension (along with the three nodes for mode). The actual values for each of these output nodes are treated as a probability for what action to actually take.

Training

The training data problem in robotics is a big deal. GPT-3 was trained on about 500 billion tokens. Since RT1 had to be trained on custom training data, it’s dataset was only 130 thousand episodes. I didn’t see how many total token were used in training in the paper, but if each episode is 1 minute long that’s only 23 million frames of data.

To get the training data, Google had people remote-control various robots to perform certain tasks. Each task was recorded, and someone went through and annotated the task with what was being done. It seems like the goal was to get recordings of tasks that would be common in the home: taking things out of drawers, putting them back, opening jars, etc. Those 130 thousand episodes cover 700 different types of task.

The paper makes it clear that they expect generalization in competence between the tasks. This requires tasks to be similar enough to each other that generalizations can be made. The RT1 data included tasks such as “pick apple” or “pick coke can”, so the similarity between their tasks is pretty clear.

The paper also includes some experiments on simulated data. They add simulated data to the experimentally collected data and find that performance on the original “real data” tasks doesn’t decrease. At the same time, performance on sim-only tasks does increase. This is great news, and may be a partial solution to the sim2real learning problem.

The paper was a bit light on details about the training itself. I’m not clear on how much compute it took to train. Many components of the model come pre-trained, which likely sped things up considerably.

Performance

With GPT-3, performance is generally just “how reasonable does the output text sound?”. In robotics there’s a more concrete performance criterion. Did the robot actually do the thing you told it to do? That’s a yes/no question that’s easier to answer.

Google measured RT1’s performance on tasks it had seen in training, tasks similar to those seen in training but not identical, tasks in cluttered environments, and tasks that take long term planning. In each of these categories, RT1 outperformed the comparison models that Google was using.

It’s very cool to see a project that works well in cluttered environments (the “backgrounds” task). I have high hopes of having a robot butler one day. A lot of robotics algorithms work in the lab, but getting it to work in my messy home is another thing altogether.

The RT1 model is able to run at 3Hz, with 100ms being allocated to each inference step. The remaining 700ms is used by other tasks in the robot. This isn’t actually that fast as far as robots go, but it is fast enough to do a lot of household tasks. It couldn’t catch a ball, but it could throw away a food wrapper.

While the paper specifies inference time, it doesn’t specify the compute used for the inference (at least not that I could find). This seems like an odd omission, though it should be possible to figure out how much is used from model size and inference time. I think the model runs on the EDR robot itself. The EDR bot is custom Google hardware, and I had some trouble finding specs for it online.

RT1 for multiple robotics platforms

Remember that issue with lack of training data we talked about above? One way to get more training data in robotics is to use recorded sessions from other robots. The problem with this is that different robots have different dynamics. Their arms are different sizes, which means that you can’t just map task execution one-to-one for the robots.

Google explores this problem by using training data from another robot (a Kuka arm). This training data was collected for a different (unrelated) paper that Google wrote. They do a three experiments here:

1. train on just EDR data (EDR is the robot used for everything else in the paper)
2. train on just Kuka data
3. train on a combination (they use 66% EDR data and 33% Kuka data)

Just data from a different robot produces terrible results. RT1 can’t figure out how to adapt what it’s seeing to the other mechanisms. Data from just EDR does ok (22% performance on picking stuff from a bin). Data from both robots improves performance to 39% on that bin-picking task.

It’s very cool that the RT1 network is able to improve from seeing multiple robots do something. It seems obvious that using extra data from the EDR robot would have been even better, but that would also be much more expensive.

One thing I would have loved to see is more experimentation on the ratio of robot-types in training data. How much data do you need from the robot you’re actually using in order to get good performance. Some kind of trade-off curve between data from your robot and others (rather than just the two point values) would have been useful.

I’m also curious if having data from lots of robot types (instead of just two) would help. If it does, we could be entering a future where there’s one network you just download for any new robot you build. You then fine-tune on your custom robot and have high performance right away.

Long term planning

Since RT1 is intended to allow robots to perform simple actions, you need a higher level planner to accomplish larger goals. A task like “bring me a glass of water” would require actions like “go to the cabinet”, “get a glass”, “go to the sink”, etc. Google has previously worked on SayCan, which uses a large language model (like GPT) to decompose high level tasks into individual actions like this.

Google did explore using SayCan with RT1. They showed that it gets pretty good performance compared to a few other networks that have been used with SayCan. The success of long duration plans requires each individual step to go right, so it seems obvious that a model better at individual steps would succeed more at long term planning. I’m not sure the SayCan experiments that Google did show anything other than “yes, the thing we expect about long plan performance actually still works”.

Other thoughts

Since RT1 was trained only on camera images and text descriptions, it doesn’t seem to have memory. If you ask it to bring you chips, it can see if it has chips in its hand, or if you do. The current observations of the world tell it everything it needs to know about its next step in the task. I suspect that RT1 would struggle more on tasks that had “hidden state”, where recent camera images don’t contain everything it needs to know.

Since I don’t follow Google’s research very closely, I was pretty surprised by how much of RT1 was just plugging together other networks that Google had worked on. RT1 uses EfficientNet, FiLM, TokenLearner, etc. This composability is pretty cool, and makes me think that the hidden-state issue is likely to be solved by plugging RT1 together with someone else Google is already working on.

This also contrasts pretty strongly with GPT-3 (and OpenAI’s whole approach). There’s obviously a lot of truth the the “scale is all you need” aphorism, but it’s interesting to see people take a highly structured approach. I like this quite a bit, as I think it improves interpretability and predictability of the model.

I’m also curious how they deal with imitation learning’s problems. Imitation learning from pre-collected episodes often leads to a brittle distribution of actions. If the world doesn’t exactly conform to what the training episodes look like, the AI won’t be able to figure out how to recover. This is solved by things like DAgger by allowing the AI to query humans about recovery options during training. RT1 got pretty good performance, and it looks like they ignore this question entirely. I wonder why it worked so well. Maybe all the episodes started from different enough initial conditions that recovery ability was learned? Or maybe the tasks are short enough for this to not matter, and recovery is done at a higher level by things like SayCan?