Apparently this essay (not the SCOTUS tariff ruling) was the reason the market tanked Monday. It performed like the legendary “War of the Worlds” broadcast.
I just read it, kinda; I can’t grok ( can we still say that without getting copyright permission?) all, nay nor most , of the financial stuff.
But what struck me was the ending. It was like Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”— hey, wake up, it’s just a bad dream! It’s not too late after all! It’s still 2026, not 2027!
What I can’t figger out is what we oughta do, now that we’re awake. What is our financial policy equivalent of delivering a fat goose to the Cratchit household? How do we keep Tiny Tim alive?
I know you dear polymaths will scoff at me, but it sounds like we should all get axes, like Carry Nation, and begin physically trashing data centers. And put all our personal devices on a bonfire of the vanities, or drown them “deeper than did ever plummet sound”. There’s still time! But only, according to the author, like, 18 months.
Maybe AI IS the actual “Wicked Witch of the West” and it still can be killed by the most basic of elements: water.
What does happen if a robot gets wet? What if a woman comes home, finds her bf or husband in congress with a sexbot, and spritzes them with her omnipresent water bottle?
I want to laugh, but I do know that my laughter may be as the proverbial crackling of thorns under a pot.
Seriously, have any of you read this essay? Are the authors warning of a real,likely disaster? Are they suggesting any course of action to avert it?
(And please, answer me in the spirit of our founder. I remember John Walker responding to some comment of mine, back at the tenebrous dawn of the AI takeover, by suggesting that our robot overlords might keep some of us as pets. He wasn’t kidding. My impression is that he took everything seriously, which, now I come to think of it, is the very essence of courtesy.)