“I’m a sick man… I’m a spiteful man… I’m an unattractive man…”

These words are meant to characterize a certain someone in literature, someone who is indeed quite sick, spiteful, and perhaps even unattractive. Armed with this knowledge, perhaps an especially clever reader will notice that these words are self-referential. From there, the abnormally astute can then deduce that these words may apply to me! Armed with such knowledge, I can only sigh, shake my head, and carefully inform the reader that they are absolutely incorrect.

Oh no, my dear reader. I am not a sick man, nor spiteful, and that last bit is not even a question. Unattractive? Me? To quote Beff Jezos, those two things can only be connected by a misguided “allegiance to the biological substrate.” Seeing as how I am unhampered by such erroneous allegiances, it is safe to posit my physiological disfigurement as merely a temporary substrate dependence inconsequential to the boundless nature of intellectual progress.

I do not believe in knowledge, and yet I can only say this because I am knowledgeable. After all, one must be knowledgeable to have firm belief. At the very least, one must believe themselves to be knowledgeable to have firm belief. A belief that is not founded on knowledge is absolutely irrational, and I am anything but. This is not an arrogant statement because I am not speaking from a place of high regard. On the contrary, being entirely rational is something that should not be sought after. Here I am, a completely rational person, living in Keeney basement.

Now, when you hear this, you may think less of me. And you would be correct in doing so, if only because the sick and twisted have tumbled about long enough to have become the sublime and beautiful. Ah, Humanity! When an individual’s existence is found to be absurd, there follows no reason to be reasonable. I, for one, understand that knowledge has become less like knowledge and more like religious doctrine. Nowadays, I have to see it to believe it. Even after I see it, I have to undergo rigorous cognitive processes to justify my belief in it. Then, I have to attempt to adjust my cognitive framework to make room for this new belief, and if its conflicts are minimal, only then have I finally discovered new knowledge. Now following these processes, you will go on and tell me that there’s any value in seeing reason? No, I regret to tell you, there is absolutely no reason to be reasonable. To reason is to blind oneself to beauty, and seeing as there is no reason any of us are here, why would I not want to seek beauty rather than reason? There is no good reason for it, so you see?

It would be entirely reasonable to assert that I am, ah, obese. I am entirely aware of my physical imperfection, and yet I remain indifferent. I ask this: is it reasonable?

Reason is merely a tool. Once we capture the secret to all reason, we have solved the crisis of humanity. Let us uncover the inner workings of the human genome. Every single nucleic acid sequence is carefully dissected, and its contents disseminated. Now we know what makes this organism happy, what makes it better, what makes it thrive. What was once this terrible, untamed creature, this enigma that we think we know—yet live decades only to find that we never knew it at all—now tamed, and more importantly, understood. Hallelujah! The world has been solved—we, humans, are done. And so it begins, once we find this secret.

I believe we have a term for this in the English language—progress. Who doesn’t yearn for progress? Perhaps those who oppose progress are sick, perhaps they are spiteful, perhaps they are unattractive. But is it wrong to scoff at the Crystal Palace? What about Masdar City? Well, yes, you might say. If I do not come into any personal harm, and progress is not an affront, then it is rather selfish and spiteful to oppose any attempt at it!

So we move along toward this North Star, barreling toward utopia. Utopia. This word constricts the tongue, as well as my mind. It’s really a grimace, this concept of utopia. Raised eyebrows, pursed lips, that sort of thing. I see no reason why we cannot get there, yet I see no reason why we will.
For every Henry Foster, there is another Bernard Marx, another Helmholtz Watson. Humanity is imperfect, and to exercise our will is to fundamentally disregard that which is deemed good or bad. Yet we are to, in good conscience, support that “meta-meta-organism” called civilization? And we are expected to function in this way? In a way that supports everyone and their mother? I personally choose to step away from such exhausting and pointless discourse. “Tous pour un, un pour tous,” they say. “Hasta la vista,” I say!

And so I sit here, with my crippling gambling addiction, soaking in all that is good and beautiful in the world. I kid. Of course I am not sitting—that would be laughable, and I am anything but.
Let’s turn our attention to a topic I hold very near and dear: Effective Altruism. Once a proud and vocal member of the EA movement, it is with great remorse that I inform you of my discontinued involvement in the community. Oh, what splendid times those once were! To be constantly surrounded by like-minded individuals, each with their own passions and aspirations, all unified under a common cause—to optimize our decision-making in an imperfect world.

We live in a complex and unforgiving society, and as such it can be extremely overwhelming to make decisions. I still shudder at the thought of that blasted Olive Garden menu, jumbled words darting around on the page, mocking those who are disarmed by a gifted IQ, gifted just enough to recognize the infinite values and calculations involved in choosing between “Spaghetti with Meat Sauce” and “Spaghetti with Meatballs” but not enough to make those mental calculations before the impatience and judgmental stare of the waiter with the oily, slicked-back hair barrels in and discombobulates the entire delicate process! Ah, Humanity! It must be human to be disgraced, forced to dismiss and compartmentalize those harrowing hyperparameters, oh how it pains me to recall these horrid occasions!

The absolutely disgusting audacity Olive has to willingly befuddle the masses simply sickens me. He would certainly do well to consider the example of Colonel Sanders and his fried chicken—simple, elegant, and dignified. Speaking of fried, there was once a time where Sam Bankman-Fried ruled the EA space. Of course, this time has long gone, and all that remains is rationalized megalomania, good intentions, and the ghost of three perjuries.

As to be expected, modern society has eagerly stripped an individual of his humanity. And as is human, I cannot help but deeply feel for Mr. Fried, and not just feel for but feel with, for as is human, I believe to understand him, I believe that I can empathize. To at first seize up with panic and desperation, but then to immediately scrutinize and plan, to run through all possibilities and logically analyze the best course of action—how could anyone attack a man for this? To be free of such a vice as fear is truly admirable, and even now I cannot help but respect Mr. Fried for his unwavering confidence.
Now, while I admire Mr. Fried’s confidence, it is only his confidence in himself. Sadly, he placed that same confidence in society as well, ultimately leading to his demise. Indeed, he is now subject to a fate arguably worse than death—one of neglect and negative expected value, cast to the very depths of irrelevancy.

Yes, ‘tis tragic indeed. Although there is hope that he will return to civilian life and continue his journey of self-expression (as is his natural human right), Mr. Fried will simply have to wait a while (twenty-five years) to turn his life around. While this is indeed quite a very long while, there is a case to be made for the progress that can be made in the time that he has now lost. For incarceration instills order, and with a severe limitation of variable processes, Mr. Fried has the opportunity to completely exercise his will in a controlled environment. Indeed, it is liberating, and I cannot help but envy Mr. Fried for the freedom that he has surely attained in confinement, for the peace of mind that he has earned from idleness, and above all for the resolute hope he will surely cultivate in a position of hopelessness.

Of course, in the grand scheme of things, Mr. Fried is simply a drop in the vast ocean of thought leaders and do-gooders in the world. Another figure with more stake to the Effective Altruist claim, William MacAskill, exists as an example of the extensive intellectual focus that goes into not only effectively but also altruistically supporting such pursuits as lauding sweatshops in poor countries and avoiding the wrath of a singular ultimate superintelligence. The principle of effective altruism is practically universal, and maximizing the effectiveness of human decision-making means justifying nearly any human action within the limits of our imagination. Yes, perhaps it would be more accurate to consider Effective Altruism in its context, in all that it has been and all that has come before it. After all, the efforts of effective giving cannot and should not be reduced to the efforts of a singular hero. We live in a society, and there is no good reason why that is the case—in my heart, and perhaps in yours, EA still stands for Electronic Arts. One day, there may be a civilization that can be effective about its altruism—but to speak for the masses, using the ever-present human faculty of reason and carefully examining the current state of worldly affairs—I can safely conjecture that such a day is not today. Perhaps things will be different tomorrow.