A few examples (in approximately increasing order of controversy):
If you proceed anyway...
- Identify knowledge that may be dangerous. Forewarned is forearmed.
- Try to cut dangerous knowledge out of your decision network. Don’t let it influence other beliefs or your actions without your conscious awareness. You can’t succeed completely at this, but it might help.
- Deliberately lower dangerous priors, by acknowledging the possibility that your brain is contaminating your reasoning and then overcompensating, because you know that you’re still too overconfident.
- Spend a disproportionate amount of time seeking contradictory evidence. If believing something could have a great cost to your values, make a commensurately great effort to be right.
- Just don’t do it. It’s not worth it. And if I found out, I’d have to figure out where you live, track you down, and kill you.
I've observed that quite a bit of the disagreement with the substance of my post is due to people believing that the level of distrust for one's own brain that I advocate is excessive. (See this comment by SarahC, for example.)
It occurs to me that I should explain exactly why I do not trust my own brain.
In the past week I have noted the following instances in which my brain has malfunctioned; each of them is a class of malfunction I had never previously observed in myself:
(It may be relevant to note that I have AS.)
I needed to open a box of plastic wrap, of the sort with a roll inside a box, a flap that lifts up, and a sharp edge under the flap. The front of the box was designed such that there were two sections separated by some perforation; there's a little set of instructions on the box that tells you to tear one of those sections off, thus giving you a functional box of plastic wrap. I spent approximately five minutes trying to tear the wrong section off, mangling the box and cutting my finger twice in the process. This was an astonishing failure to solve a basic physical task.
I was making bread dough, a process which necessitates measuring out 4.5 cups of flour into a bowl. My mind was not wandering to any unusual degree, nor was I distracted or interrupted. I lost count of the number of consecutive cups of flour I was pouring into the bowl; I failed to count to four and a half.
I was playing Puzzle Quest (a turn-based videogame that mostly involves match-3 play of the sort made popular by Bejewled) while reading comments on LessWrong, switching between tasks every few minutes. I find that doing this gives me time to think over things I've just read; it's also fun. At one point, as I switching from looking at a comment I had just finished reading to looking at my TV screen, I suddenly began to believe that matching colored gems was the process by which one constructed sound arguments. In general. This sensation lasted approximately five seconds before reality reasserted itself.
I might not have even really noticed these brain malfunctions if I hadn't spent significant effort recently on becoming more luminous; I'm inclined to believe that there have been plenty of other such events in the past that I have failed to notice.
In any case, I hope this explains why I am so afraid of my own brain.
I have a tendency to do this if I want to solve a basic task and someone is watching me, especially a teacher. (I'm in nursing school, so a lot of my evaluations consist of my teacher watching me assemble equipment, not something I'm talented with to begin with.) Alone, I'll just start experimenting with different ways until I find one that works, but if I'm b... (read more)