Unthinkable as it may be, humanity, every last person, could someday be wiped from the face of the Earth. We have learned to worry about asteroids and supervolcanoes, but the more-likely scenario, according to Nick Bostrom, a professor of philosophy at Oxford, is that we humans will destroy ourselves.
Bostrom, who directs Oxford's Future of Humanity Institute, has argued
over the course of several papers that human extinction risks are
poorly understood and, worse still, severely underestimated by society. Some of these existential risks are fairly well known,
especially the natural ones. But
others are obscure or even exotic. Most worrying to Bostrom is the
subset of existential risks that arise from human technology, a subset
that he expects to grow in number and potency over the next century.
Despite his concerns about the risks posed to humans by technological
progress, Bostrom is no luddite. In fact, he is a longtime advocate of
transhumanism---the effort to improve the human condition, and even
human nature itself, through technological means. In the long run he
sees technology as a bridge, a bridge we humans must cross with great
care, in order to reach new and better modes of being. In his work,
Bostrom uses the tools of philosophy and mathematics, in particular
probability theory, to try and determine how we as a species might
achieve this safe passage. What follows is my conversation with
Bostrom about some of the most interesting and worrying existential
risks that humanity might encounter in the decades and centuries to
come, and about what we can do to make sure we outlast them.
Some have argued that we ought to be directing our resources toward humanity's existing problems, rather than future existential risks, because many of the latter are highly improbable. You have responded by suggesting that existential risk mitigation may in fact be a dominant moral priority over the alleviation of present suffering. Can you explain why?
Bostrom: Well suppose you have a moral view that counts future people as being worth as much as present people. You might say that fundamentally it doesn't matter whether someone exists at the current time or at some future time, just as many people think that from a fundamental moral point of view, it doesn't matter where somebody is spatially---somebody isn't automatically worth less because you move them to the moon or to Africa or something. A human life is a human life.
If you have that moral point of view that future generations matter in proportion to their population numbers, then you get this very stark implication that existential risk mitigation has a much higher utility than pretty much anything else that you could do. There are so many people that could come into existence in the future if humanity survives this critical period of time---we might live for billions of years, our descendants might colonize billions of solar systems, and there could be billions and billions times more people than exist currently. Therefore, even a very small reduction in the probability of realizing this enormous good will tend to outweigh even immense benefits like eliminating poverty or curing malaria, which would be tremendous under ordinary standards.
In the short term you don't seem especially worried about existential risks that originate in nature like asteroid strikes, supervolcanoes and so forth. Instead you have argued that the majority of future existential risks to humanity are anthropogenic, meaning that they arise from human activity. Nuclear war springs to mind as an obvious example of this kind of risk, but that's been with us for some time now. What are some of the more futuristic or counterintuitive ways that we might bring about our own extinction?
Bostrom: I think the biggest existential risks relate to certain future technological capabilities that we might develop, perhaps later this century. For example, machine intelligence or advanced molecular nanotechnology could lead to the development of certain kinds of weapons systems. You could also have risks associated with certain advancements in synthetic biology.
Of course there are also existential risks that are not extinction risks. The concept of an existential risk certainly includes extinction, but it also includes risks that could permanently destroy our potential for desirable human development. One could imagine certain scenarios where there might be a permanent global totalitarian dystopia. Once again that's related to the possibility of the development of technologies that could make it a lot easier for oppressive regimes to weed out dissidents or to perform surveillance on their populations, so that you could have a permanently stable tyranny, rather than the ones we have seen throughout history, which have eventually been overthrown.
And why shouldn't we be as worried about natural existential risks in the short term?
Bostrom: One way of making that argument is to say that we've survived for over 100 thousand years, so it seems prima facie unlikely that any natural existential risks would do us in here in the short term, in the next hundred years for instance. Whereas, by contrast we are going to introduce entirely new risk factors in this century through our technological innovations and we don't have any track record of surviving those.
Now another way of arriving at this is to look at these particular risks from nature and to notice that the probability of them occurring is small. For instance we can estimate asteroid risks by looking at the distribution of craters that we find on Earth or on the moon in order to give us an idea of how frequent impacts of certain magnitudes are, and they seem to indicate that the risk there is quite small. We can also study asteroids through telescopes and see if any are on a collision course with Earth, and so far we haven't found any large asteroids on a collision course with Earth and we have looked at the majority of the big ones already.
You have argued that
we underrate existential risks because of a particular kind of bias called
observation selection effect. Can you explain a bit more about that?
Bostrom: The idea
of an observation selection effect is maybe best explained by first considering
the simpler concept of a selection effect. Let's say you're trying to estimate
how large the largest fish in a given pond is, and you use a net to catch a
hundred fish and the biggest fish you find is three inches long. You might be
tempted to infer that the biggest fish in this pond is not much bigger than three
inches, because you've caught a hundred of them and none of them are bigger than three inches. But if it turns out that your net could only catch fish up to a
certain length, then the measuring instrument that you used would introduce a
selection effect: it would only select from a subset of the domain you were
trying to sample.
Now that's a kind of standard fact of statistics, and there
are methods for trying to correct for it and you obviously have to take that
into account when considering the fish distribution in your pond. An
observation selection effect is a selection effect introduced not by
limitations in our measurement instrument, but rather by the fact that all
observations require the existence of an observer.
This becomes important, for instance, in evolutionary
biology. For instance, we know that intelligent life evolved on Earth. Naively,
one might think that this piece of evidence suggests that life is likely to
evolve on most Earth-like planets.
But that would be to overlook an observation selection effect. For no matter how small the proportion
of all Earth-like planets that evolve intelligent life, we will find ourselves
on a planet that did. Our data point-that intelligent life arose on our
planet-is predicted equally well by the hypothesis that intelligent life is
very improbable even on Earth-like planets as by the hypothesis that
intelligent life is highly probable on Earth-like planets. When it comes to
human extinction and existential risk, there are certain controversial
ways that observation selection effects might be relevant.
Bostrom: Well, one
principle for how to reason when there are these observation selection effects
is called the self-sampling assumption, which says roughly that you should
think of yourself as if you were a randomly selected observer of some larger
reference class of observers. This assumption has a particular application to
thinking about the future through the doomsday argument, which attempts to show
that we have systematically underestimated the probability that the human
species will perish relatively soon.
The basic idea involves comparing two different hypotheses
about how long the human species will last in terms of how many total people
have existed and will come to exist. You could for instance have two
hypothesis: to pick an easy example imagine that one hypothesis is that a total of 200 billion humans will have ever existed at the end of time, and the other hypothesis
is that 200 trillion humans will have ever existed.
Let's say that initially you think that each of these
hypotheses is equally likely, you then have to take into account the
self-sampling assumption and your own birth rank, your position in the sequence of people who have lived and who will ever live. We estimate currently that there have, to date, been
100 billion humans. Taking that into account, you then get a probability shift in favor of the smaller hypothesis, the hypothesis that only
200 billion humans will ever have existed. That's because you have to reason that if
you are a random sample of all the people who will ever have existed, the chance that
you will come up with a birth rank of 100 billion is much larger if there are
only 200 billion in total than if there are 200 trillion in total. If there are
going to be 200 billion total human beings, then as the 100 billionth of those
human beings, I am somewhere in the middle, which is not so surprising. But if
there are going to be 200 trillion people eventually, then you might think that
it's sort of surprising that you're among the earliest 0.05% of the people
who will ever exist. So you can see how reasoning with an observation selection
effect can have these surprising and counterintuitive results. Now I want to
emphasize that I'm not at all sure this kind of argument is valid; there are some deep
methodological questions about this argument that haven't been resolved,
questions that I have written a lot about.
See I had understood observation selection effects in this context to work somewhat differently. I had thought that it
had more to do with trying to observe the kinds of events that might cause
extinction level events, things that by their nature would not be the sort of
things that you could have observed before, because you'd cease to exist after the initial observation. Is there a line of thinking to that effect?Bostrom: Well,
there's another line of thinking that's very similar to what you're describing that
speaks to how much weight we should give to our track record of survival. Human
beings have been around for roughly a hundred thousand years on this planet, so
how much should that count in determining whether we're going to be around another
hundred thousand years? Now there are a number of different factors that come
into that discussion, the most important of which is whether there are going to
be new kinds of risks that haven't existed to this point in human history---in
particular risks of our own making, new technologies that we might develop this
century, those that might give us the means to create new kinds of weapons or
new kinds of accidents. The fact that we've been around for a hundred
thousand years wouldn't give us much confidence with respect to those risks. But, to the extent that one were focusing on risks from nature, from asteroid
attacks or risks from say vacuum decay in space itself, or something like
that, one might ask what we can infer from this long track record of survival.
And one might think that any species anywhere will think of themselves as
having survived up to the current time because of this observation selection
effect. You don't observe yourself after you've gone extinct, and so that complicates the analysis for certain kinds of risks.
A few years ago I wrote a paper together with a physicist at
MIT named Max Tegmark, where we looked at particular risks like vacuum decay, which is
this hypothetical phenomena where space decays into a lower energy state, which
would then cause this bubble propagating at the speed of light that would destroy
all structures in its path, and would cause a catastrophe that no observer
could ever see because it would come at you at the speed of light, without
warning. We were noting that it's somewhat problematic to apply our
observations to develop a probability for something like that, given this
observation selection effect. But we found an indirect way of looking at
evidence having to do with the formation date of our planet, and comparing it
to the formation date of other earthlike planets and then using that as a kind
of indirect way of putting a bound on that kind of risk. So that's another way
in which observation selection effects become important when you're trying to estimate
the odds of humanity having a long future.
Nick Bostrom is the director of the Future of Humanity Institute at Oxford.
One possible strategic
response to human-created risks is the slowing or halting of our technological
evolution, but you have been a critic of that view, arguing that the permanent
failure to develop advanced technology would itself constitute an existential
risk. Why is that?Bostrom: Well,
again I think the definition of an existential risk goes beyond just
extinction, in that it also includes the permanent destruction of our potential
for desirable future development. Our permanent failure to develop the sort of
technologies that would fundamentally improve the quality of human life would
count as an existential catastrophe. I think there are vastly better ways of
being than we humans can currently reach and experience. We have fundamental
biological limitations, which limit the kinds of values that we can instantiate
in our life---our lifespans are limited, our cognitive abilities are limited,
our emotional constitution is such that even under very good conditions we
might not be completely happy. And even at the more mundane level, the world
today contains a lot of avoidable misery and suffering and poverty and disease,
and I think the world could be a lot better, both in the transhuman way, but
also in this more economic way. The failure to ever realize those much better modes
of being would count as an existential risk if it were permanent.
Another reason I haven't emphasized or advocated the
retardation of technological progress as a means of mitigating existential risk
is that it's a very hard lever to pull. There are so many strong forces pushing
for scientific and technological progress in so many different domains---there
are economic pressures, there is curiosity, there are all kinds of institutions
and individuals that are invested in technology, so shutting it down is a very
hard thing to do.
What technology, or
potential technology, worries you the most?Bostrom: Well, I
can mention a few. In the nearer term I think various developments in biotechnology
and synthetic biology are quite disconcerting. We are gaining the ability to
create designer pathogens and there are these blueprints of various disease
organisms that are in the public domain---you can download the gene sequence
for smallpox or the 1918 flu virus from the Internet. So far the ordinary
person will only have a digital representation of it on their computer screen,
but we're also developing better and better DNA synthesis machines, which are machines
that can take one of these digital blueprints as an input, and then print out
the actual RNA string or DNA string. Soon they will become powerful enough
that they can actually print out these kinds of viruses. So already there you
have a kind of predictable risk, and then once you can start modifying these
organisms in certain kinds of ways, there is a whole additional frontier of
danger that you can foresee.
In the longer run, I think artificial intelligence---once it
gains human and then superhuman capabilities---will present us with a major
risk area. There are also different kinds of population control that worry me, things
like surveillance and psychological manipulation pharmaceuticals.
In one of your papers
on this topic you note that experts have estimated our total existential risk
for this century to be somewhere around 10-20%. I know I can't be alone in
thinking that is high. What's driving that?Bostrom: I think
what's driving it is the sense that humans are developing these very potent
capabilities---we are doing unprecedented things, and there is a risk that
something could go wrong. Even with nuclear weapons, if you rewind the tape you
notice that it turned out that in order to make a nuclear weapon you had to
have these very rare raw materials like highly enriched uranium or plutonium,
which are very difficult to get. But suppose it had turned out that there was
some technological technique that allowed you to make a nuclear weapon by
baking sand in a microwave oven or something like that. If it had turned out
that way then where would we be now? Presumably once that discovery had been
made civilization would have been doomed.
Each time we make one of these new discoveries we are
putting our hand into a big urn of balls and pulling up a new ball---so far
we've pulled up white balls and grey balls, but maybe next time we will pull
out a black ball, a discovery that spells disaster. At the moment we have no
good way of putting the ball back into the urn if we don't like it. Once a
discovery has been published there is no way of un-publishing it.
Even with nuclear weapons there were close calls. According
to some people we came quite close to all out nuclear war and that was only in
the first few decades of having discovered the new technology, and again it's a
technology that only a few large states had, and that requires a lot of
resources to control---individuals can't really have a nuclear arsenal.
The influenza virus, as viewed through an electron microscope.
Can you explain the
simulation argument, and how it presents a very particular existential risk?Bostrom: The
simulation argument addresses whether we are in fact living in a simulation as
opposed to some basement level physical reality. It tries to show that at least
one of three propositions is true, but it doesn't tell us which one. Those
1) Almost all civilizations like ours go extinct
before reaching technological maturity.
2) Almost all technologically mature civilizations
lose interest in creating ancestor simulations: computer simulations detailed
enough that the simulated minds within them would be conscious.
3) We're almost certainly living in a computer
The full argument requires sophisticated probabilistic
reasoning, but the basic argument is fairly easy to grasp without resorting to
mathematics. Suppose that the first proposition is false, which would mean that
some significant portion of civilizations at our stage eventually reach
technological maturity. Suppose that the second proposition is also false,
which would mean that some significant fraction of those (technologically mature) civilizations retain
an interest in using some non-negligible fraction of their resources for the
purpose of creating these ancestor simulations. You can then show that it would
be possible for a technologically mature civilization to create astronomical
numbers of these simulations. So if this significant fraction of civilizations
made it through to this stage where they decided to use their capabilities to
create these ancestor simulations, then there would be many more simulations
created than there are original histories, meaning that almost all observers
with our types of experiences would be living in simulations. Going back to the
observation selection effect, if almost all kinds of observers with our kinds
of experiences are living in simulations, then we should think that we are
living in a simulation, that we are one of the typical observers, rather than
one of the rare, exceptional basic level reality observers.
The connection to existential risk is twofold. First, the
first of those three possibilities, that almost all civilizations like ours go
extinct before reaching technological maturity obviously bears directly on how
much existential risk we face. If proposition 1 is true then the obvious
implication is that we will succumb to an existential catastrophe before
reaching technological maturity. The other relationship with existential risk
has to do with proposition 3: if we are living in a computer simulation then
there are certain exotic ways in which we might experience an existential
catastrophe which we wouldn't fear if we are living in basement level physical
reality. The simulation could be shut off, for instance. Or there might be
other kinds of interventions in our simulated reality.
Now that does seem to
assume that a technologically mature civilization would have an interest in creating these simulations in the first place. To say that these
civilizations might "lose interest" implies some interest to begin
with. Bostrom: Right
now there are certainly a lot of people that, if they could, would be very
happy to do this for all kinds of reasons---people might do it as a sort of
scientific study, they might do it for entertainment, for art. Already you have
people building these virtual worlds in computer games, and the more realistic
they can make them the happier they are. You could have people pursuing virtual
historical tourism, or people who want to do this just because it could be
done. So I think it's safe to say that people today, had they the capabilities,
would do it, but perhaps with a certain level of technological maturity people may
lose interest in this for one reason or another.
Your work reminds me a
little bit of the film 'Children of Men,' which depicted a very particular
existential risk: species-wide infertility. What are some of the more novel
treatments you've seen of this subject in mainstream culture?Bostrom: Well,
the Hollywood renditions of existential risk scenarios are usually quite bad.
For instance, the artificial intelligence risk is usually represented by an
invasion of a robot army that is fought off by some muscular human hero
wielding a machine gun or something like that. If we are going to go extinct
because of artificial intelligence, it's not going to be because there's this
battle between humans and robots with laser eyes. A lot of the stories you see
in fiction or in films are subject to the good story bias; there are
constraints on what makes for a good story. Usually there has to be a
protagonist and the thing you're battling has to be evil, and there are going
to be ups and downs, and the humans prevail in the end. So there's a filter for
the scenarios that you're going to see in media representations.
Aldous Huxley's Brave New World is interesting in that it
created a vivid depiction of a scenario in which humans have been biologically
and socially engineered to fit into a dystopian social structure, and it shows how
that could be very bad. But on the whole I think the general point I would make
is that there isn't a lot of good literature on existential risk, and that one
needs to think of these things not in terms of vivid scenarios, but rather in
more abstract terms.
Last week I
interviewed Cary Fowler with the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. His project is a
technology that might be interpreted as looking to limit existential risk. Are
there other technological (as opposed to social or political) solutions that
you see on the horizon?Bostrom: Well
there are things that one can do, some that would apply to particular risks and
others that would apply to a broader spectrum of risk. With particular risks,
for instance, one could invest in technologies to hasten the time it takes to
develop a new vaccine, which would also be very valuable to have for other
reasons unrelated to existential risk.
With regard to existential risk stemming from artificial
intelligence, there is some work that we are doing now to try and think about
different ways of solving the control problem. If one day you have the ability
to create a machine intelligence that is greater than human intelligence, how
would you control it, how would you make sure it was human-friendly and safe? There
is work that can be done there.
With asteroids there has been this Spaceguard project that
maps out different asteroids and their trajectories, that project is certainly
motivated by concerns about existential risks, and it costs only a couple of
million dollars per year, with most of the funding coming from NASA.
Then there are more general-purpose things you can do. You
could imagine building some refuge, some bunker with a very large supply of
food, where humans could survive for a decade or several decades if there were
a large impact of some kind. It would be a lot cheaper and easier to do that on
Earth than it would be to build a space colony, which some people
But to me the most important thing to do is more analysis,
specifically analysis to identify the biggest existential risks and the types
of interventions that would be most likely to mitigate those risks.
A telescope used to track asteroids at the Spaceguard Centre in the United Kingdom.
I noticed that you
define an existential risk as potentially bringing about the premature
extinction of Earth-originating intelligent life. I wondered what you mean by
premature? What would count as a mature extinction?
you might think that an extinction occurring at the time of the heat death of
the universe would be in some sense mature. There might be fundamental physical
limits to how long information processing can continue in this universe of
ours, and if we reached that level there would be extinction, but it would be
the best possible scenario that could have been achieved. I wouldn't count that
as an existential catastrophe, rather it would be a kind of success scenario.
So it's not necessary to survive infinitely long, which after all might be
physically impossible, in order to have successfully avoided existential risk.
In considering the long-term development of humanity, do you put much stock in specific schemes
like the Kardashev Scale, which plots the advancement of a civilization
according to its ability to harness energy, specifically the energy of its
planet, its star, and then finally the galaxy? Might there be more to human
flourishing than just increasing mastery of energy sources?
there would be more to human flourishing. In fact I don't even think that
particular scale is very useful. There is a discontinuity between the stage
where we are now, where we are harnessing a lot of the energy resources of our
home planet, and a stage where we can harness the energy of some increasing
fraction of the universe like a galaxy. There is no particular reason to think
that we might reach some intermediate stage where we would harness the energy
of one star like our sun. By the time we can do that I suspect we'll be able to
engage in large-scale space colonization, to spread into the galaxy and then
beyond, so I don't think harnessing the single star is a relevant step on the
If I wanted some sort of scheme that laid out the stages of
civilization, the period before machine super intelligence and the period after
super machine intelligence would be a more relevant dichotomy. When you look at
what's valuable or interesting in examining these stages, it's going to be what
is done with these future resources and technologies, as opposed to their structure. It's possible that the
long-term future of humanity, if things go well, would from the outside look
very simple. You might have Earth at the center, and then you might have a
growing sphere of technological infrastructure that expands in all directions
at some significant fraction of the speed of light, occupying larger and larger
volumes of the universe---first in our galaxy, and then beyond as far as is
physically possible. And then all that ever happens is just this continued
increase in the spherical volume of matter colonized by human descendants, a growing
bubble of infrastructure.
Everything would then depend on what was happening inside
this infrastructure, what kinds of lives people were being led there, what
kinds of experiences people were having. You couldn't infer that from the
large-scale structure, so you'd have to sort of zoom in and see what kind of
information processing occurred within this infrastructure.
It's hard to know what that might look like,
because our human experience might be just a small little crumb of what's possible.
If you think of all the different modes of being, different kinds of feeling and experiencing,
different ways of thinking and relating, it might be that human nature
constrains us to a very narrow little corner of the space of possible modes of
being. If we think of the space of possible modes of being as a large
cathedral, then humanity in its current stage might be like a little cowering infant
sitting in the corner of that cathedral having only the most limited sense of
what is possible.
Einstein’s gravitational waves rest on a genuinely radical idea.
After decades of anticipation, we have directly detected gravitational waves—ripples in spacetime traveling at the speed of light through the universe. Scientists at LIGO (the Laser Interferometic Gravitational-wave Observatory) have announced that they have measured waves coming from the inspiral of two massive black holes, providing a spectacular confirmation of Albert Einstein’s general theory of relativity, whose hundredth anniversary was celebrated just last year.
Finding gravitational waves indicates that Einstein was (once again) right, and opens a new window onto energetic events occurring around the universe. But there’s a deeper lesson, as well: a reminder of the central importance of locality, an idea that underlies much of modern physics.
The bureau successfully played the long game in both cases.
The story of law enforcement in the Oregon standoff is one of patience.
On the most obvious level, that was reflected in the 41 days that armed militia members occupied the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge near Burns. It took 25 days before the FBI and state police moved to arrest several leaders of the occupation and to barricade the refuge. It took another 15 days before the last of the final occupiers walked out, Thursday morning Oregon time.
Each of those cases involved patience as well: Officers massed on Highway 395 didn’t shoot LaVoy Finicum when he tried to ram past a barricade, nearly striking an FBI agent, though when he reached for a gun in his pocket they finally fired. Meanwhile, despite increasingly hysterical behavior from David Fry, the final occupier, officers waited him out until he emerged peacefully.
Most people know how to help someone with a cut or a scrape. But what about a panic attack?
Here’s a thought experiment: You’re walking down the street with a friend when your companion falls and gashes her leg on the concrete. It’s bleeding; she’s in pain. It’s clear she’s going to need stitches. What do you do?
This one isn’t exactly a head-scratcher. You'd probably attempt to offer some sort of first-aid assistance until the bleeding stopped, or until she could get to medical help. Maybe you happen to have a Band-Aid on you, or a tissue to help her clean the wound, or a water bottle she can use to rinse it off. Maybe you pick her up and help her hobble towards transportation, or take her where she needs to go.
Here’s a harder one: What if, instead of an injured leg, that same friend has a panic attack?
Ben Stiller’s follow-up to his own comedy classic is a downright bummer, no matter how many celebrity cameos it tries to cram in.
You don’t need to go to the theater to get the full experience of Zoolander 2. Simply get your hands on a copy of the original, watch it, and then yell a bunch of unfunny topical lines every time somebody tells a joke. That’s how it feels to watch Ben Stiller’s sequel to his 2001 spoof of the fashion industry: Zoolander 2 takes pains to reference every successful gag you remember from the original, and then embellish them in painful—often offensive, almost always outdated—fashion. It’s a film that has no real reason to exist, and it spends its entire running time reaffirming that fact.
The original Zoolander, to be fair, had no business being as funny as it was—it made fun of an industry that already seems to exist in a constant state of self-parody, and much of its humor relied on simple malapropisms and sight gags. But it was hilarious anyway as a candid snapshot of the fizzling-out of ’90s culture. Like almost any zeitgeist comedy, it belonged to a particular moment—and boy, should it have stayed there. With Zoolander 2, Stiller (who directed, co-wrote, and stars) tries to recapture the magic of 2001 by referencing its past glories with increasing desperation, perhaps to avoid the fact that he has nothing new to say about the fashion industry or celebrity culture 15 years laters.
Today’s empires are born on the web, and exert tremendous power in the material world.
Mark Zuckerberg hasn’t had the best week.
First, Facebook’s Free Basics platform was effectively banned in India. Then, a high-profile member of Facebook’s board of directors, the venture capitalist Marc Andreessen, sounded off about the decision to his nearly half-a-million Twitter followers with a stunning comment.
“Anti-colonialism has been economically catastrophic for the Indian people for decades,” Andreessen wrote. “Why stop now?”
After that, the Internet went nuts.
Andreessen deleted his tweet, apologized, and underscored that he is “100 percent opposed to colonialism” and “100 percent in favor of independence and freedom.” Zuckerberg, Facebook’s CEO, followed up with his own Facebook post to say Andreessen’s comment was “deeply upsetting” to him, and not representative of the way he thinks “at all.”
The number of American teens who excel at advanced math has surged. Why?
On a sultry evening last July, a tall, soft-spoken 17-year-old named David Stoner and nearly 600 other math whizzes from all over the world sat huddled in small groups around wicker bistro tables, talking in low voices and obsessively refreshing the browsers on their laptops. The air in the cavernous lobby of the Lotus Hotel Pang Suan Kaew in Chiang Mai, Thailand, was humid, recalls Stoner, whose light South Carolina accent warms his carefully chosen words. The tension in the room made it seem especially heavy, like the atmosphere at a high-stakes poker tournament.
Stoner and five teammates were representing the United States in the 56th International Mathematical Olympiad. They figured they’d done pretty well over the two days of competition. God knows, they’d trained hard. Stoner, like his teammates, had endured a grueling regime for more than a year—practicing tricky problems over breakfast before school and taking on more problems late into the evening after he completed the homework for his college-level math classes. Sometimes, he sketched out proofs on the large dry-erase board his dad had installed in his bedroom. Most nights, he put himself to sleep reading books like New Problems in Euclidean Geometry and An Introduction to Diophantine Equations.
By mining electronic medical records, scientists show the lasting legacy of prehistoric sex on modern humans’ health.
Modern humans originated in Africa, and started spreading around the world about 60,000 years ago. As they entered Asia and Europe, they encountered other groups of ancient humans that had already settled in these regions, such as Neanderthals. And sometimes, when these groups met, they had sex.
We know about these prehistoric liaisons because they left permanent marks on our genome. Even though Neanderthals are now extinct, every living person outside of Africa can trace between 1 and 5 percent of our DNA back to them. (I am 2.6 percent Neanderthal, if you were wondering, which pales in comparison to my colleague James Fallows at 5 percent.)
This lasting legacy was revealed in 2010 when the complete Neanderthal genome was published. Since then, researchers have been trying to figure out what, if anything, the Neanderthal sequences are doing in our own genome. Are they just passive hitchhikers, or did they bestow important adaptations on early humans? And are they affecting the health of modern ones?
Jim Gilmore joins Chris Christie and Carly Fiorina, and leaves the race after a poor showing in New Hampshire.
Jim Gilmore’s candidacy this year was improbable—but even more improbable was the minor cult of personality that developed around it.
The former Virginia governor never had a chance. Not, like, in the sense of Lindsey Graham, a candidate with national standing but no path to the presidency. More in the George Pataki sense: a guy who had no real business in race, but was running anyway. Except that Gilmore made Pataki look like a juggernaut. Also, Pataki saw the writing on the wall and had the sense to drop out in late December. Gilmore soldiered on, and ended up as the last of the truly longshots to leave.
The result was that Gilmore turned into a sort of folk hero. Not for voters, mind you—he managed only 12 votes in Iowa and 125 in New Hampshire, and his campaign was funded largely by loans from himself. Because of his low support in the polls, Gilmore only made the cut for the very first kid’s-table debate in August, and then again for the undercard in late January. Other than that, he was shut out completely.
A robotic road safety worker in India, a sacrificial llama in Bolivia, a sea otter receives a valentine, a deadly earthquake in Taiwan, a leopard attack in India, and much more.
A murmuration of starlings over Israel, a robotic road safety worker in India, a sacrificial llama in Bolivia, border barriers between Tunisia and Libya, a sea otter receives a valentine, a deadly earthquake in Taiwan, the annual Shrovetide football match in England, a leopard attack in India, and much more.
The country’s growth is slowing. The wrong response might make the problem worse.
An anxious superpower is confounded by a troubled economy. For a generation, its growth has been envied; now that growth is decelerating sharply. For decades, it has shaped and guided its economy via tight control of its banks; now that lever is malfunctioning. For years, it has carefully managed its exchange rate and limited the flow of capital across its borders; now the dam is cracking. To anyone who keeps up with the news, the superpower would seem easy to identify: China. But for those with a long memory, it could just as well be the United States of the Nixon era.
Like China today, the United States of the 1970s experienced an abrupt economic slowdown. Its economy had expanded by 4.4 percent a year, on average, during the go-go ’50s and ’60s, but growth slowed by about one-quarter during the following decade, to 3.2 percent a year. Even though growth of more than 3 percent may sound robust by today’s standards, at the time it felt ghastly. Time magazine lamented in 1974 that “middle-class people are being pushed into such demeaning economies as buying clothes at rummage sales”; a year or so later, its cover asked, “Can Capitalism Survive?” In September 1975, after President Gerald Ford survived two attempts on his life in quick succession, an adviser named Alan Greenspan responded with a memo about the “nihilism, radicalism, and violence” that seemed to grip some Americans. When New York City flirted with bankruptcy, its plight was taken as a symbol of broader moral and cultural decay.