Toby Ord Quotes

the view that people in the future matter just as much as us has deep practical implications. We have a long way to go if we are to understand these and integrate them fully into our moral thinking.

The Anthropocene is the time of profound human effects on the environment, while the Precipice is the time where humanity is at high risk of destroying itself.

So if we drop the baton, succumbing to an existential catastrophe, we would fail our ancestors in a multitude of ways. We would fail to achieve the dreams they hoped for; we would betray the trust they placed in us, their heirs; and we would fail in any duty we had to pay forward the work they did for us. To neglect existential risk might thus be to wrong not only the people of the future, but the people of the past.

If all goes well, human history is just beginning. Humanity is about two hundred thousand years old. But the Earth will remain habitable for hundreds of millions more—enough time for millions of future generations; enough to end disease, poverty and injustice forever; enough to create heights of flourishing unimaginable today. And if we could learn to reach out further into the cosmos, we could have more time yet: trillions of years, to explore billions of worlds. Such a lifespan places humanity in its earliest infancy. A vast and extraordinary adulthood awaits.

in 1948 Einstein wrote: I advocate world government because I am convinced that there is no other possible way of eliminating the most terrible danger in which man has ever found himself. The objective of avoiding total destruction must have priority over any other objective.

Humanity is currently in control of its own fate. We can choose our future. Of course, we each have differing visions of an ideal future, and many of us are more focused on our personal concerns than on achieving any such ideal. But if enough humans wanted to, we could select any of a dizzying variety of possible futures. The same is not true for chimpanzees. Or blackbirds. Or any other of Earth’s species.

Consider a child with high longterm potential: with futures open to her in which she leads a great life. It is important that her potential is preserved: that her best futures aren’t cut off due to accident, trauma or lack of education. It is important that her potential is protected: that we build in safeguards to make such a loss of potential extremely unlikely. And it is important that she ultimately fulfills her potential: that she ends up taking one of the best paths open to her. So too for humanity.

As the gap between our power and our wisdom grows, our future is subject to an ever-increasing level of risk.

The human race’s prospects of survival were considerably better when we were defenceless against tigers than they are today, when we have become defenceless against ourselves. —Arnold Toynbee

What makes each of us special, so worthy of protection and celebration is something subtle about us, in the way that the matter of which we are comprised has been so delicately arranged as to allow us to think and love and create and dream.

If we learned that a large asteroid was heading toward Earth, posing a greater than 10 percent chance of human extinction later this century, there would be little debate about whether to make serious efforts to build a deflection system, or to ignore the issue and run the risk. To the contrary, responding to the threat would immediately become one of the world’s top priorities. Thus our lack of concern about these threats is much more to do with not yet believing that there are such threats, than it is about seriously doubting the immensity of the stakes.

Indeed, when I think of the unbroken chain of generations leading to our time and of everything they have built for us, I am humbled. I am overwhelmed with gratitude; shocked by the enormity of the inheritance and at the impossibility of returning even the smallest fraction of the favor. Because a hundred billion of the people to whom I owe everything are gone forever, and because what they created is so much larger than my life, than my entire generation.

Consider, for example, how little we know of how ultraviolet light looks to a finch; of how echolocation feels to a bat, or a dolphin; of the way that a red fox, or a homing pigeon, experiences the Earth’s magnetic field. Such uncharted experiences exist in minds much less sophisticated than our own. What experiences, possibly of immense value, could be accessible, then, to minds much greater? Mice know very little of music, art or humor. Toward what experiences are we as mice? What beauties are we blind to?

One way of looking at our current predicament is that the existing global order splits humanity into a large number of sovereign states, each of which has considerable internal coherence, but only loose coordination with the others. This structure has some advantages, even from the perspective of existential risk, for it has allowed us to minimize the risk that a single bad government could lock humanity into a terrible stable outcome. But as it becomes easier for a single country—or even a small group within one country—to threaten the whole of humanity, the balance may start to shift.

Our galaxy is surrounded by a cloud of about fifty nearby galaxies, known as our Local Group. Foremost among them is the Andromeda Galaxy, a beautiful spiral galaxy, and the only galaxy in our group larger than our own. Gravity is pulling the two toward each other, and in four billion years (before our Sun has died) they will collide and unite. With so much distance between the stars of each galaxy, this collision will do surprisingly little to upset the stars and their planets. Its main effect will be to disrupt the delicate spiral structures of the partners, probably merging into a more uniform elliptical galaxy about three times as large. Eventually (in hundreds of billions of years) all the other galaxies in our group will have merged in too, forming a single giant galaxy.28 Zooming further out, we see many more groups of galaxies, some with as many as a thousand members.29 Eventually these groups resolve into a larger structure: the cosmic web—long, thick threads of galaxies, called filaments. These filaments criss-cross space in a kind of three-dimensional network, as if someone took a random set of points in space and connected each to its nearest handful of neighbors. Where the filaments intersect, space is bright and rich with galaxies.30 Between such filaments are dark and empty expanses, known as cosmic voids. As far as we can tell, this cosmic web continues indefinitely. At the very least, it continues as far as we can see or go. It is these final limits on our knowledge and action that appear to set the ultimate scale in our universe. We have known for almost a century that our universe is expanding, pulling the groups of galaxies apart. And twenty years ago we discovered that this expansion is accelerating. Cosmologists believe this puts a hard limit on what we will ever be able to observe or affect.31 We can currently see a sphere around us extending out 46 billion light years in all directions, known as the observable universe. Light from galaxies beyond this sphere hasn’t yet had time to reach us.32 Next year we will see a little further. The observable universe will increase in radius by a single light year, and about 25 more galaxies will come into view. But on our leading cosmological theory, the rate at which new galaxies become visible will decline, and those currently more than 63 billion light years away will never become visible from the Earth. We could call the region within this distance the eventually observable universe.33 But much more importantly, accelerating expansion also puts a limit on what we can ever affect. If, today, you shine a ray of light out into space, it could reach any galaxy that is currently less than 16 billion light years away. But galaxies further than this are being pulled away so quickly that neither light, nor anything else we might send, could ever affect them.34

humanity spends more on ice cream each year than ensuring the technologies we develop don't destroy us

Confident denouncements by eminent scientists should certainly give us reason to be skeptical of a technology, but not to bet our lives against it—their track record just isn’t good enough for that.3 Of course, there is no shortage of examples of scientists and technologists declaring a new technology to be just around the corner, when in fact it would only arrive decades later; or not at all; or in a markedly different form to the one anticipated.

Of course, such experiments are done in secure labs, with stringent safety standards. It is highly unlikely that in any particular case the enhanced pathogens would escape into the wild. But just how unlikely?

When I was younger, I sometimes took comfort in the idea that perhaps the outright destruction of humanity would not be bad at all.

But by the purest luck, submarine B-59 carried the commander of the entire flotilla, Captain Vasili Arkhipov, and so required his additional consent. Arkhipov refused to grant it. Instead, he talked Captain Savitsky down from his rage and convinced him to give up: to surface amidst the US warships and await further orders from Moscow.2

We might compare our situation with that of people 10,000 years ago, on the cusp of agriculture. Imagine them sowing their first seeds and reflecting upon what opportunities a life of farming might enable, and on what the ideal world might look like. Just as they would be unable to fathom almost any aspect of our current global civilization, so too we may not yet be able to see the shape of an ideal realization of our potential.

If we steer humanity to a place of safety, we will have time to think. Time to ensure that our choices are wisely made; that we will do the very best we can with our piece of the cosmos. We rarely reflect on what that might be. On what we might achieve should humanity’s entire will be focused on gaining it, freed from material scarcity and internal conflict.

When I contemplate the expected timespan that Earth-based life may survive and flourish, the greatest contribution comes from the possibility of humanity turning from its destroyer, to its savior.

These timespans are humbling when we consider our place in the universe so far. But when we consider the potential they hold for what we might become, they inspire.

humanity's attention is scarce and precious, and must not be wasted on flawed narratives or ideas

Nuclear weapons were a discontinuous change in human power. At Hiroshima, a single bomb did the damage of thousands. And six years later, a single thermonuclear bomb held more energy than every explosive used in the entire course of the Second World War.43

In the months after my daughter was born, the magnitude of everything my parents did for me was fully revealed. I was shocked. I told them; thanked them; apologized for the impossibility of ever repaying them. And they smiled, telling me that this wasn’t how it worked—that one doesn’t repay one’s parents. One passes it on.

people have been predicting such failure for so long and with such a poor track record. Thomas Macaulay made this point well: We cannot absolutely prove that those are in error who tell us that society has reached a turning point, that we have seen our best days. But so said all before us, and with just as much apparent reason . . . On what principle is it that, when we see nothing but improvement behind us, we are to expect nothing but deterioration before us?37 And he wrote those words in 1830, before an additional 190 years of progress and failed predictions of the end of progress. During those years, lifespan doubled, literacy soared and eight in ten people escaped extreme poverty. What might the coming years bring?