There has been a lot of discussion on LW about finding better decision theories. A lot of the reason for the various new decision theories proposed here seems to be an effort to get over the fact that classical CDT gives the wrong answer in 1-shot PD's, Newcomb-like problems and Parfit's Hitchhiker problem. While Gary Drescher has said that TDT is "more promising than any other decision theory I'm aware of ", Eliezer gives a list of problems in which his theory currently gives the wrong answer (or, at least, it did a year ago). Adam Bell's recent sequence has talked about problems for CDT, and is no doubt about to move onto problems with EDT (in one of the comments, it was suggested that EDT is "wronger" than CDT).
In the Iterated Prisoner's Dilemma, it is relatively trivial to prove that no strategy is "optimal" in the sense that it gets the best possible pay-out against all opponents. The reasoning goes roughly like this: any strategy which ever cooperates does worse than it could have against, say, Always Defect. Any strategy which doesn't start off with cooperate does worse than it could have against, say Grim. So, whatever strategy you choose, there is another strategy that would do better than you against some possible opponent. So no strategy is "optimal". Question: is it possible to prove similarly that there is no "optimal" Decision Theory? In other words - given a decision theory A, can you come up with some scenario in which it performs worse than at least one other decision theory? Than any other decision theory?
One initial try would be: Omega gives you two envelopes - the left envelope contains $1 billion iff you don't implement decision theory A in deciding which envelope to choose. The right envelope contains $1000 regardless.
Or, you might not like Omega being able to make decisions about you based entirely on your sourcecode (or "ritual of cognition"), then how about this:in order for two decision theories to sensibly be described as "different", there must be some scenario in which they perform a different action (let's call this Scenario 1). In Scenario 1, DT A makes decision A whereas DT B makes decision B. In Scenario 2, Omega offers you the following setup: here are two envelopes, you can pick exactly one of them. I've just simulated you in Scenario 1. If you chose decision B, there's $1,000,000 in the left envelope. Otherwise it's empty. There's $1000 in the right envelope regardless.
I'm not sure if there's some flaw in this reasoning (are there decision theories for which Omega offering such a deal is a logical impossibility? It seems unlikely: I don't see how your choice of algorithm could affect Omega's ability to talk about it). But I imagine that some version of this should work - in which case, it doesn't make sense to talk about one decision theory being "better" than another, we can only talk about decision theories being better than others for certain classes of problems.
I have no doubt that TDT is an improvement on CDT, but in order for this to even make sense, we'd have to have some way of thinking about what sort of problem we want our decision theory to solve. Presumably the answer is "the sort of problems which you're actually likely to face in the real world". Do we have a good formalism for what this means? I'm not suggesting that the people who discuss these questions haven't considered this issue, but I don't think I've ever seen it explicitly addressed. What exactly do we mean by a "better" decision theory?
Which decision theory should we use? CDT? UDT? TDT? What exactly do we mean by a "better" decision theory?
To get some practice in answering this kind of question, lets look first at a simpler set of questions: Which play should I make in the game PSS? Paper? Stone? Scissors? What exactly do we mean by a better play in this game?
Bear with me on this. I think that a careful look at the process that game theorists went through in dealing with game-level questions may be very helpful in our current confusion about decision-theory-level questions.
The first obvious thing to notice about the PSS problem is that there is no universal "best" play in the game. Sometimes one play ("stone", say) works best; sometimes another play works better. It depends on what the other player does. So we make our first conceptual breakthrough. We realize we have been working on the wrong problem. It is not "which play produces the best results?". It is rather "which play produces the best expected results?" that we want to ask.
Well, we are still a bit puzzled by that new word "expected", so we hire consultants. One consultant, a Bayesian/MAXENT theorist tells us that the appropriate expectation is that the other player will play each of "paper", "stone", and "scissors" equally often. And hence that all plays on our part are equally good. The second consultant, a scientist, actually goes out and observes the other player. He comes back with the report that out of 100 PSS games, the other player will play "paper" 35 times, "stone" 32 times, and "scissors" 33 times. So the scientist recommends the play "scissors" as the best play. Our MAXENT consultant has no objection. "That choice is no worse than any other", says he.
So we adopt the strategy of always playing scissors, which works fine at first, but soon starts returning abysmal results. The MAXENT fellow is puzzled. "Do you think maybe the other guy found out about our strategy?" he asks. "Maybe he hired our scientist away from us. But how can we possibly keep our strategy secret if we use it more than once?" And this leads to our second conceptual breakthrough.
We realize that it is both impossible and unnecessary to keep our strategy secret (just as cryptographer knows that it is difficult and unnecessary to keep the encryption algorithm secret. But it is both possible and essential to keep the plays secret until they are actually made (just as a cryptographer keeps keys secret). Hence, we must have mixed strategies where the strategy is a probability distribution and a play is a one-point sample from that distribution.
Take a step back and think about this. Non-determinism of agents is an inevitable consequence of having multiple agents whose interests are not aligned (or more precisely, agents whose interests cannot be brought into alignment by a system of side payments). Lesson 1: Any decision theory intended to work in multi-agent situations must handle (i.e. model) non-determinism in other agents. Lesson 2: In many games, the best strategy is a mixed strategy.
Think some more. Agents whose interests are not aligned often should keep secrets from each other. Lesson 3: Decision theories must deal with secrecy. Lesson 4: Agents may lie to preserve secrets.
But how does game theory find the best mixed strategy? Here is where it gets weird. It turns out that, in some sense, it is not about "winning" at all. It is about equilibrium. Remember back when we were at the PSS stage where we thought that "Always play scissors" was a good strategy? What was wrong with this, of course, was that it induced the other player to switch his strategy toward "Always play stone" (assuming, of course, that he has a scientist on his consulting staff). And that shift on his part induces (assuming we have a scientist too) us to switch toward paper.
So, how is this motion brought to a halt? Well, there is one particular strategy you can choose that at least removes the motivation for the motion. There is one particular mixed strategy which makes your opponent not really care what he plays. And there is one particular mixed strategy that your opponent can play which makes you not really care what you play. So, if you both make each other indifferent, then neither of you has any particular incentive to stop making each other indifferent, so you both just stick to the strategy you are currently playing.
This is called Nash equilibrium. It also works on non-zero sum games where the two players' interests are not completely misaligned. The decision theory at the heart of Game Theory - the source of eight economics Nobel prizes so far - is not trying to "win". Instead, it is trying to stop the other player from squirming so much as he tries to win. Swear to God. That is the way it works.
Alright, in the last paragraph, I was leaning over backward to make it look weird. But the thing is, even though you no longer look like you are trying to win, you still actually do as well as possible, assuming both players are rational. Game theory works. It is the right decision theory for the kinds of decisions that fit into its model.
So, was this long parable useful in our current search for "the best decision theory"? I guess the answer to that must depend on exactly what you want a decision theory to accomplish. My intuition is that Lessons #1 through #4 above cannot be completely irrelevant. But I also think that there is a Lesson 5 that arises from the Nash equilibrium finale of this story. The lesson is: In any optimization problem with a multi-party optimization dynamics to it, you have to look for the fixpoints.
There's probably no single-player decision theory that, if all players adopted it, would lead to Nash equilibrium play in all games. The reason is that many games have multiple Nash equilibria, and equilibrium selection (aka bargaining) is often "indeterminate": it requires you to go outside the game and look at the real-world situation that generated it.
Here on LW we know how to implement "optimal" agents, who cooperate with each other and share the wins "fairly" while punishing defectors, in only two cases: symmetric games ... (read more)