(Somewhat) More Optimistic
I am working on a book on Artificial Intelligence and Human Extinction Risk. That’s the title, in fact. Who can write a book with a title like that and not get depressed? I was depressed as hell in December (three months ago). It seemed like every new piece of evidence we turned up was even more damning. Literally. We were damned.
Going in to Christmas, I vowed to lighten up and not be a burden to my friends and family. Sure, I had a relapse or two. At my brother’s sixtieth birthday, I ranted at some unknown couple about the end of days, sending them scurrying to the buffet and then home. At a talk at the university I grabbed the mic at the end of question and answer time and blurted out that we were engaged in “the worst thing humans have ever done,” terrifying a roomful of undergraduates and making my colleagues think I was a loon. But mostly I kept it together. I wasn’t, however, any less pessimistic.