Wow. I get involved in interesting conversations with some frequency; I don’t think it’s because I avoid verification or am too credulous. I think your explanations are a false dichotomy.
First, a lot of conversations involve expertise that I don’t have, and I find interesting. Jobs that are not mine are often interesting; I usually try to ask about what things about someone else’s job are fun or interesting.
I’m always happy to talk about my job; being a prosecutor means you’ve got a storehouse of stories.
In conversations where I am relatively equally situated with my counterpart as far as knowledge, it’s pretty easy to disagree while having a great conversation. I met a guy in September of ’08 after internet discussions on a topic unrelated to politics, and we ended up discussing Biden-Palin for two hours. It was a really fantastic conversation, and we voted opposite ways in the election.
We did this because we conceded points that were true, and we weren’t on The Only Right Team of Properness; we were talking about ideas and facts that we mostly both knew. We also didn’t have our head in the sand. And when one of us gave a factual statement outside the others’ knowledge, the other tended to accept it (I told the story of the missing pallets of hundred dollar bills, which he hadn’t heard.)
Now, I’ve certainly corrected false statements of fact in conversation (ranging in tone from, “Are you sure about that?” to “That’s verifiably false.”) I try not to make false statements of fact, but I have been wrong, and I make it a point to admit wrongness when I’m wrong. (In some circles, given my general propensity for being right and my assertion of a general propensity for being right, this leads to much rejoicing, on the order of Sir Robin’s minstrels getting eaten.)
But there’s something really fun about electric conversations that I think you’re missing here. Fun and funny conversations.… I couldn’t live well without them. And I’m not too credulous. And I take other people—well, many other people—seriously.
And when one of us gave a factual statement outside the others’ knowledge, the other tended to accept it
But you’re sure to accept a lot of false statements that way. Why are you not worried about it?
But there’s something really fun about electric conversations that I think you’re missing here.
Thinking about why conversations might be fun, I can see two reasons:
The “game” aspect (i.e., signaling/status/alliance). I tried to explain earlier why this aspect doesn’t hold much interest for me.
Obtaining novel information. Once I realized how unreliable most people’s beliefs are, the anxiety of accepting false information interferes too much with this “fun”. Also, I can get a much bigger “information high” from reading something like this.
Is there some other element of fun conversation that I might be missing?
I think there’s a lot more to insight than true or false.
Hearing a perspective or a personal experience does broaden your knowledge. In the same way that reading fiction can be enlightening—you are still learning, but using the part of your mental equipment designed for subconscious and tacit social exchange. In my experience, most of the occasions when I changed my mind for the better resulted from hearing someone else’s point of view and feeling empathy for it.
Indeed. I find that often (though by no means always) it’s interesting to find out why and how someone comes to believe something that, to me, is obviously wrong. The transition between “people are mad and stupid” to “there’s method to this madness” is interesting and useful, even if it doesn’t lead to “fixing the mind” of your immediate interlocutor. At the very least, it gives you a subject to think about later, to try and find out ways of fixing the beliefs of others, in future conversations.
(I often have insights on the correct, or at least a good, way of answering a fallacy quite a while after having a conversation. I can cache them for later, and sometimes get to use them in later conversations. Gathering such pre-cached insights can make you seem deep, which at least makes people more attentive to what you say.)
Once I realized how unreliable most people’s beliefs are, the anxiety of accepting false information interferes too much with this “fun”.
Are you sure that you’re not being biased here? If people really are so unreliable, even when they are serious and upfront, how do they ever get anything done in practice?
Or could it be that you’re failing to employ the standard heuristics for judging the reliability of people’s claims? (Note that this also involves judging whether what’s been said was even meant to be said authoritatively. People often say things without implying that they believe them firmly and on good evidence.)
Is there some other element of fun conversation that I might be missing?
What’s the fun element in board game called “go”? I find that particular game really fun to play, and really interesting, but it seems rather pointless to try to argue if it’s “objectively” interesting or fun, or even what specific aspects make it fun and interesting to me. It just is.
You can replace “go” with any fun and entertaining thing that you do. How would you defend that your fun thing against someone who came along and wanted to know, just like you do now, why and how is that fun thing really fun?
Is it because they are too credulous, and haven’t developed an instinctive skepticism of every new idea that they hear? Or do they just not take the other person’s words seriously (i.e., “in one ear, out the other”)?
Also, willingness to humor the claim other makes for the sake of conversation isn’t on that list, as it’s neither “not taking other seriously” nor “being too credulous”.
What’s the fun element in board game called “go”? I find that particular game really fun to play, and really interesting, but it seems rather pointless to try to argue if it’s “objectively” interesting or fun, or even what specific aspects make it fun and interesting to me. It just is.
If other people find some activity fun but I don’t, it might be that I’m doing it wrong, and with the correct understanding I can make it fun for myself.
On the other hand it might be that others only find it fun because they’re being insufficiently reflective. Maybe if they understood better what they’re really doing, they wouldn’t find it fun anymore, and would spend the time furthering some other goal instead (hopefully one that better matches my own purposes, like working to answer scientific/philosophical questions that I’m interested in, or reducing existential risk :)
I’d like to understand my values, and human values in general, both for the purpose of FAI theory, and to satisfy my philosophical interests. “Fun” is obviously a part of that.
Maybe if they understood better what they’re really doing, they wouldn’t find it fun anymore, and would spend the time furthering some other goal instead (hopefully one that better matches my own purposes, like working to answer scientific/philosophical questions that I’m interested in, or reducing existential risk)
I have this weird problem, based on the way my utility function seems to be set up—I want people to do what they really enjoy, even at the cost of them not working on my favorite projects.
So, on the one hand, I would like people to be sufficiently reflective to figure out what they really enjoy doing. On the other hand, if reflection just destroys people’s existing, flawed sources of fun without providing an alternative source of fun, then I wouldn’t want to encourage it.
Imagine a 50-something small business owner with a community college education—maybe he runs a fast food restaurant, or a bike repair shop—who really likes his local sports team. He goes to or watches most of their home games with a few other friends/fans and gets really excited about it and, on balance, has a lot of fun. If I could somehow motivate him to reflect on what professional spectator sports are like, he might not enjoy it as much, or at all.
But what good would that do him? Wouldn’t he be equally likely to plow his new-found surplus energy into, say, watching TV, as to suddenly discover existentialist risks? Even if he did work on existential risks, is there any reason to think that he’d enjoy it? I feel like differences in what people choose to do for fun might reflect differing theories about what is fun, and not just a failure to reflect on one’s activities. Even if the masses’ theories about what is fun are philosophically indefensible, they may nevertheless be real descriptions about what the masses find to be fun, and so I have trouble justifying an attempt to take away that fun without letting go of my commitment to egalitarianism.
I think it would depend on how his pleasure in spectator sports is eliminated. Does he simply find out that spectator sports are pointless, or does he find out that his leisure time can have more to it than spectator sports?
I assume it would be the former, no? Aren’t most people aware that they have a choice of hobbies, even if they don’t realize why/that the one they’ve chosen is particularly banal?
Wow. I get involved in interesting conversations with some frequency; I don’t think it’s because I avoid verification or am too credulous. I think your explanations are a false dichotomy.
First, a lot of conversations involve expertise that I don’t have, and I find interesting. Jobs that are not mine are often interesting; I usually try to ask about what things about someone else’s job are fun or interesting.
I’m always happy to talk about my job; being a prosecutor means you’ve got a storehouse of stories.
In conversations where I am relatively equally situated with my counterpart as far as knowledge, it’s pretty easy to disagree while having a great conversation. I met a guy in September of ’08 after internet discussions on a topic unrelated to politics, and we ended up discussing Biden-Palin for two hours. It was a really fantastic conversation, and we voted opposite ways in the election.
We did this because we conceded points that were true, and we weren’t on The Only Right Team of Properness; we were talking about ideas and facts that we mostly both knew. We also didn’t have our head in the sand. And when one of us gave a factual statement outside the others’ knowledge, the other tended to accept it (I told the story of the missing pallets of hundred dollar bills, which he hadn’t heard.)
Now, I’ve certainly corrected false statements of fact in conversation (ranging in tone from, “Are you sure about that?” to “That’s verifiably false.”) I try not to make false statements of fact, but I have been wrong, and I make it a point to admit wrongness when I’m wrong. (In some circles, given my general propensity for being right and my assertion of a general propensity for being right, this leads to much rejoicing, on the order of Sir Robin’s minstrels getting eaten.)
But there’s something really fun about electric conversations that I think you’re missing here. Fun and funny conversations.… I couldn’t live well without them. And I’m not too credulous. And I take other people—well, many other people—seriously.
--JRM
But you’re sure to accept a lot of false statements that way. Why are you not worried about it?
Thinking about why conversations might be fun, I can see two reasons:
The “game” aspect (i.e., signaling/status/alliance). I tried to explain earlier why this aspect doesn’t hold much interest for me.
Obtaining novel information. Once I realized how unreliable most people’s beliefs are, the anxiety of accepting false information interferes too much with this “fun”. Also, I can get a much bigger “information high” from reading something like this.
Is there some other element of fun conversation that I might be missing?
I think there’s a lot more to insight than true or false.
Hearing a perspective or a personal experience does broaden your knowledge. In the same way that reading fiction can be enlightening—you are still learning, but using the part of your mental equipment designed for subconscious and tacit social exchange. In my experience, most of the occasions when I changed my mind for the better resulted from hearing someone else’s point of view and feeling empathy for it.
Indeed. I find that often (though by no means always) it’s interesting to find out why and how someone comes to believe something that, to me, is obviously wrong. The transition between “people are mad and stupid” to “there’s method to this madness” is interesting and useful, even if it doesn’t lead to “fixing the mind” of your immediate interlocutor. At the very least, it gives you a subject to think about later, to try and find out ways of fixing the beliefs of others, in future conversations.
(I often have insights on the correct, or at least a good, way of answering a fallacy quite a while after having a conversation. I can cache them for later, and sometimes get to use them in later conversations. Gathering such pre-cached insights can make you seem deep, which at least makes people more attentive to what you say.)
Are you sure that you’re not being biased here? If people really are so unreliable, even when they are serious and upfront, how do they ever get anything done in practice?
Or could it be that you’re failing to employ the standard heuristics for judging the reliability of people’s claims? (Note that this also involves judging whether what’s been said was even meant to be said authoritatively. People often say things without implying that they believe them firmly and on good evidence.)
What’s the fun element in board game called “go”? I find that particular game really fun to play, and really interesting, but it seems rather pointless to try to argue if it’s “objectively” interesting or fun, or even what specific aspects make it fun and interesting to me. It just is.
You can replace “go” with any fun and entertaining thing that you do. How would you defend that your fun thing against someone who came along and wanted to know, just like you do now, why and how is that fun thing really fun?
http://lesswrong.com/lw/1yz/levels_of_communication/
Also, willingness to humor the claim other makes for the sake of conversation isn’t on that list, as it’s neither “not taking other seriously” nor “being too credulous”.
If other people find some activity fun but I don’t, it might be that I’m doing it wrong, and with the correct understanding I can make it fun for myself.
On the other hand it might be that others only find it fun because they’re being insufficiently reflective. Maybe if they understood better what they’re really doing, they wouldn’t find it fun anymore, and would spend the time furthering some other goal instead (hopefully one that better matches my own purposes, like working to answer scientific/philosophical questions that I’m interested in, or reducing existential risk :)
I’d like to understand my values, and human values in general, both for the purpose of FAI theory, and to satisfy my philosophical interests. “Fun” is obviously a part of that.
I have this weird problem, based on the way my utility function seems to be set up—I want people to do what they really enjoy, even at the cost of them not working on my favorite projects.
So, on the one hand, I would like people to be sufficiently reflective to figure out what they really enjoy doing. On the other hand, if reflection just destroys people’s existing, flawed sources of fun without providing an alternative source of fun, then I wouldn’t want to encourage it.
Imagine a 50-something small business owner with a community college education—maybe he runs a fast food restaurant, or a bike repair shop—who really likes his local sports team. He goes to or watches most of their home games with a few other friends/fans and gets really excited about it and, on balance, has a lot of fun. If I could somehow motivate him to reflect on what professional spectator sports are like, he might not enjoy it as much, or at all.
But what good would that do him? Wouldn’t he be equally likely to plow his new-found surplus energy into, say, watching TV, as to suddenly discover existentialist risks? Even if he did work on existential risks, is there any reason to think that he’d enjoy it? I feel like differences in what people choose to do for fun might reflect differing theories about what is fun, and not just a failure to reflect on one’s activities. Even if the masses’ theories about what is fun are philosophically indefensible, they may nevertheless be real descriptions about what the masses find to be fun, and so I have trouble justifying an attempt to take away that fun without letting go of my commitment to egalitarianism.
I think it would depend on how his pleasure in spectator sports is eliminated. Does he simply find out that spectator sports are pointless, or does he find out that his leisure time can have more to it than spectator sports?
I assume it would be the former, no? Aren’t most people aware that they have a choice of hobbies, even if they don’t realize why/that the one they’ve chosen is particularly banal?
I don’t think most people are good at breaking habits to find what they’d be enthusiastic about.