Implications of AlphaGo’s victory

Many and varied, I guess, and there will be lots of fevered speculation. But I liked this summary by Quartz’s Gideon Lichfield:

“It’s not a human move.”

What shocked the grandmasters watching Lee Sedol, one of the world’s top Go players, lose to a computer on Thursday was not that the computer won, but how it won. A pivotal move by AlphaGo, a project of Google AI subsidiary DeepMind, was so unexpected, so at odds with 2,500 years of Go history and wisdom, that some thought it must be a glitch.

Lee’s third game against AlphaGo is this Saturday. Even if man recovers to beat the machine, what we will remember is that moment of bewilderment. Go is much more complex than chess; to play it, as DeepMind’s CEO explained, AlphaGo needs the computer equivalent of intuition. And as Sedol discovered, that intuition is not of the human kind.

A classic fear about AI is that the machines we build to serve us will destroy us instead, not because they become sentient and malicious, but because they devise unforeseen and catastrophic ways to reach the goals we set them. Worse, if they do become sentient and malicious, then—like Ava, the android in the movie Ex Machina—we may not even realize until it’s too late, because the way they think will be unrecognizable to us. What we call common sense and logic will be revealed as small-minded prejudices, baked in by aeons of biological and social evolution, which trap us in a tiny corner of the possible intellectual universe.

But there is a rosier view: that the machines, sentient or not, could help us break our intellectual bonds and see solutions—whether to Go, or to bigger problems—that we couldn’t imagine otherwise. “So beautiful,” as one grandmaster said of AlphaGo’s game. “So beautiful.”

How AlphaGo works

Very good explainer from the Economist:

AlphaGo uses some of the same technologies as those older programs. But its big idea is to combine them with new approaches that try to get the computer to develop its own intuition about how to play—to discover for itself the rules that human players understand but cannot explain. It does that using a technique called deep learning, which lets computers work out, by repeatedly applying complicated statistics, how to extract general rules from masses of noisy data.

Deep learning requires two things: plenty of processing grunt and plenty of data to learn from. DeepMind trained its machine on a sample of 30m Go positions culled from online servers where amateurs and professionals gather to play. And by having AlphaGo play against another, slightly tweaked version of itself, more training data can be generated quickly.

Those data are fed into two deep-learning algorithms. One, called the policy network, is trained to imitate human play. After watching millions of games, it has learned to extract features, principles and rules of thumb. Its job during a game is to look at the board’s state and generate a handful of promising-looking moves for the second algorithm to consider.

This algorithm, called the value network, evaluates how strong a move is. The machine plays out the suggestions of the policy network, making moves and countermoves for the thousands of possible daughter games those suggestions could give rise to. Because Go is so complex, playing all conceivable games through to the end is impossible. Instead, the value network looks at the likely state of the board several moves ahead and compares those states with examples it has seen before. The idea is to find the board state that looks, statistically speaking, most like the sorts of board states that have led to wins in the past. Together, the policy and value networks embody the Go-playing wisdom that human players accumulate over years of practice.

As I write this, the score in the best-of-five games between AlphaGo and Lee Sedol, who is generally reckoned to be the world’s best player, stands at 2-nil in favour of AlphaGo.

LATER AlphaGo won the third match. Game over.

Why the Trump bandwagon is no longer a joke

David Remnick, writing in the New Yorker:

Trump is no longer hustling golf courses, fake “universities,” or reality TV. He means to command the United States armed forces and control its nuclear codes. He intends to propose legislation, conduct America’s global affairs, preside over its national-intelligence apparatus, and make the innumerable moral and political decisions required of a President. This is not a Seth Rogen movie; this is as real as mud. Having all but swept the early Republican primaries and caucuses, Trump—who re-tweets conspiracy theories and invites the affections of white-supremacist groups, and has established himself as the adept inheritor of a long tradition of nativism, discrimination, and authoritarianism—is getting ever closer to becoming the nominee of what Republicans like to call “the party of Abraham Lincoln.” No American demagogue––not Huey Long, not Joseph McCarthy, not George Wallace––has ever achieved such proximity to national power.

Yep. Trump is all of a piece with the wave of authoritarians and xenophobes who have swept to power in Russia, Poland and Hungary and who loiter at the gates of power in France.

It may be that Trump would lose when the process moves beyond the primaries and the nomination and on to the general election. But it suddenly begins to look a lot scarier. As Tom Friedman observed the other day, a fraudulent “move to the centre” is not beyond Trump’s ingenious, manipulative mind.

It’s easy to ‘explain’ Trump’s ascendancy in terms of the politics of outrage — the rage of people who have been screwed by globalisation and blame the deterioration in their lives on that and on immigration. But, Remnick argues, the story goes back further than that. “The G.O.P. establishment may be in a state of meltdown”, he writes,

but this process of exploiting the darkest American undercurrents began with Richard Nixon’s Southern Strategy and, more lately, has included the birther movement and the Obama Derangement Syndrome. Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz, who compete hard for the most extreme positions in conservatism, decry the viciousness and the vacuousness of Trump, but they started out by deferring to him––and now they ape his vulgarity in a last-ditch effort to keep pace. Insults. Bigotry. Nationally televised assurances of adequate genital dimensions. This is the political moment in which we live. The Republican Party, having spent years courting the basest impulses in American political culture, now sees the writing on the wall. It reads “Donald Trump,” in very big letters.

If this farce pans out as I fear, then the US (and, by implication, the rest of us) could find ourselves in a very strange place. It’s still possible, for example, that Hillary Clinton could be indicted for her amazingly reckless use of a private email server. In which case, what happens? My guess that it might eventually come down to a last minute run by Michael Bloomberg as an independent. I hold no candle for him, but he has held serious public office. And he’s not crazy.

How to sum up

Jeffrey Toobin’s astute summing up of Anton Scalia:

Antonin Scalia, who died this month, after nearly three decades on the Supreme Court, devoted his professional life to making the United States a less fair, less tolerant, and less admirable democracy. Fortunately, he mostly failed. Belligerent with his colleagues, dismissive of his critics, nostalgic for a world where outsiders knew their place and stayed there, Scalia represents a perfect model for everything that President Obama should avoid in a successor. The great Justices of the Supreme Court have always looked forward; their words both anticipated and helped shape the nation that the United States was becoming. Chief Justice John Marshall read the new Constitution to allow for a vibrant and progressive federal government. Louis Brandeis understood the need for that government to regulate an industrializing economy. Earl Warren saw that segregation was poison in the modern world. Scalia, in contrast, looked backward.

Spot on. Wish I’d written that.

Talking to machines

This morning’s Observer column:

Like many people nowadays, I do not talk on my iPhone as much as talk to it. That’s because it runs a program called Siri (Speech Interpretation and Recognition Interface) that works as an intelligent personal assistant and knowledge navigator. It’s useful, in a way. If I ask it for “weather in London today”, it’ll present an hour-by-hour weather forecast. Tell it to “phone home” and it’ll make a decent effort to find the relevant number. Ask it to “text James” and it will come back with: “What do you want to say to James?” Not exactly Socratic dialogue, but it has its uses.

Ask Siri: “What’s the meaning of life?”, however, and it loses its nerve…

Read on