The Nonlinear Library LW - In Defense of Parselmouths by Screwtape
Nov 16, 2023
14:19
Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: In Defense of Parselmouths, published by Screwtape on November 16, 2023 on LessWrong.
Prerequisites: The Quaker and the Parselmouth.
I.
First, a quick summary.
In the prerequisite post, Benjamin Hoffman describes three kinds of people. These people are hypothetical extremes: they're the social and epistemic equivalents of perfect spheres interacting in frictionless vacuums. There are Quakers, who always tell the truth and keep their word when they say they'll do something. There are Actors, who always say what seems good to say at the moment and who don't reliably keep their word even if they swear and oath. Lastly, there are Parselmouths, who can lie freely to Actors but speak only the truth to other Parselmouths and (by implication) speak only truth to Quakers.
I approve of this distinction. It is abstracted and the real world is never this clear, but in my experience it does get at something useful to understand. I think truthtelling is a powerful institutional advantage, and wish more people were Quakers in this dichotomy. Benjamin points out that Parselmouths are somewhat odd, in that habitually telling lies likely erodes the instinct or maybe even ability to tell the truth; it may not be possible for real people to stay consistently Parselmouths without slowly becoming Actors.
Speaking truth is hard. It's hard work to figure out what the true state of the world is. It's hard to quickly and accurately state what you think is true; the English language makes "I believe there's a ninety percent chance of rain tomorrow" a much longer sentence than "it's going to rain tomorrow." There's a lot of extra emotional sharp elbows you wind up throwing when someone asks you how you liked the (burned and unseasoned) casserole they brought to the potluck.
Quakers of the world, I salute you. Actors of the world, I get it.
My first claim is that it's reasonable to be a Parselmouth.
II.
Storytime! The following story details events that happened about two decades ago, when I was several feet shorter than I am now. Some details have been substantiated by other people who were around at the time, but many likely have morphed over the years.
When I was a kid, I had to get a bunch of shots. My mom took me into the office, and I goofed around in waiting area for a little bit before a nurse waved me past the front desk and Mom and I went in. The nurse sat me down in the doctor's office on a big plastic chair and rubbed my shoulder with something cold while asking my mother questions, then she asked me to sit still for a moment and said "This won't hurt a bit. Are you ready?" I nodded. Then she stabbed me with a needle.
It hurt. I started crying, and continued crying for some time, well after the pain had faded to a dull ache. No amount of consoling from my parents or treats from the nurse changed this. I did not have the ability to articulate what made me upset then, but it was not the pain (even as a child, I had a remarkably high tolerance for pain when it had a purpose) but at confusion. It wasn't supposed to hurt- were they wrong about whether it would hurt? That didn't make sense, sticking a sharp thing into someone usually hurt them, why would someone think it wouldn't? Did I misremember what they said, and they said it would hurt instead of that it wouldn't? Is my memory really that fallible? I was utterly confused, and couldn't make sense of what happened.
With the benefit of years experience, it's obvious what happened. The nurse lied to keep a small child still while giving them a shot. This story would repeat itself for years, and I would be bewildered and confused each time. The hypothesis that someone would simply lie would not occur to me until much later, after an epiphany on how the world regarded truth.
While painful, that understanding turned out to be a useful skele...
Prerequisites: The Quaker and the Parselmouth.
I.
First, a quick summary.
In the prerequisite post, Benjamin Hoffman describes three kinds of people. These people are hypothetical extremes: they're the social and epistemic equivalents of perfect spheres interacting in frictionless vacuums. There are Quakers, who always tell the truth and keep their word when they say they'll do something. There are Actors, who always say what seems good to say at the moment and who don't reliably keep their word even if they swear and oath. Lastly, there are Parselmouths, who can lie freely to Actors but speak only the truth to other Parselmouths and (by implication) speak only truth to Quakers.
I approve of this distinction. It is abstracted and the real world is never this clear, but in my experience it does get at something useful to understand. I think truthtelling is a powerful institutional advantage, and wish more people were Quakers in this dichotomy. Benjamin points out that Parselmouths are somewhat odd, in that habitually telling lies likely erodes the instinct or maybe even ability to tell the truth; it may not be possible for real people to stay consistently Parselmouths without slowly becoming Actors.
Speaking truth is hard. It's hard work to figure out what the true state of the world is. It's hard to quickly and accurately state what you think is true; the English language makes "I believe there's a ninety percent chance of rain tomorrow" a much longer sentence than "it's going to rain tomorrow." There's a lot of extra emotional sharp elbows you wind up throwing when someone asks you how you liked the (burned and unseasoned) casserole they brought to the potluck.
Quakers of the world, I salute you. Actors of the world, I get it.
My first claim is that it's reasonable to be a Parselmouth.
II.
Storytime! The following story details events that happened about two decades ago, when I was several feet shorter than I am now. Some details have been substantiated by other people who were around at the time, but many likely have morphed over the years.
When I was a kid, I had to get a bunch of shots. My mom took me into the office, and I goofed around in waiting area for a little bit before a nurse waved me past the front desk and Mom and I went in. The nurse sat me down in the doctor's office on a big plastic chair and rubbed my shoulder with something cold while asking my mother questions, then she asked me to sit still for a moment and said "This won't hurt a bit. Are you ready?" I nodded. Then she stabbed me with a needle.
It hurt. I started crying, and continued crying for some time, well after the pain had faded to a dull ache. No amount of consoling from my parents or treats from the nurse changed this. I did not have the ability to articulate what made me upset then, but it was not the pain (even as a child, I had a remarkably high tolerance for pain when it had a purpose) but at confusion. It wasn't supposed to hurt- were they wrong about whether it would hurt? That didn't make sense, sticking a sharp thing into someone usually hurt them, why would someone think it wouldn't? Did I misremember what they said, and they said it would hurt instead of that it wouldn't? Is my memory really that fallible? I was utterly confused, and couldn't make sense of what happened.
With the benefit of years experience, it's obvious what happened. The nurse lied to keep a small child still while giving them a shot. This story would repeat itself for years, and I would be bewildered and confused each time. The hypothesis that someone would simply lie would not occur to me until much later, after an epiphany on how the world regarded truth.
While painful, that understanding turned out to be a useful skele...