Longreads + Open Thread

Musk, 1929, AI, Straussianism, Fraud, Banking, Collusion, Microbes, Likes

Longreads

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Books

The Amoeba in the Room: Lives of the Microbes: If you like cosmic horror, at some point you'll end up telling one of your friends to check out H.P. Lovecraft, but if you like having the respect of your friends you'll find some tactful way to warn them that Lovecraft expresses intense antipathy towards basically anyone who isn't a WASP like him (especially if they're WASPs-but-not-like-him). So, with that in mind: this book is fascinating, but periodically goes out of its way to express contempt towards minorities, specifically all of humanity. It's a strange experience to read a book by a unicellular supremacist, but that's what The Amoeba in the Room is.

But if you can set aside the author's seething bigotry, it's a fun work. The core thesis is that our model of biology is partly a legacy of how limited our observations were. It was just a lot easier to study pigs and trees and other human-scale life before the microscope, and every new discovery gets slotted into existing models. But there's a lot more action at the single-cell level, and much more genetic diversity.

But to even talk about that risks accidentally reifying models that only apply at larger scales. For example, we tend to think of leaving things as discrete objects, and even the tricky cases aren't that hard: even if bees need a beehive, you can think of them separately. But when bacteria can share DNA, either by sharing plasmids or by viruses doing the same thing for them. And there's incredibly aggressive selection: the book cites an estimate that every day, viruses kill 20-40% of bacteria.

The Amoeba in the Room ends up providing some sympathetic explanations for the model it's complaining about. At the multicellular level, you can isolate a species from its environment and provide it with unnatural replacements in order to get a rough idea of how it behaves. But it's hard to create a bacterial zoo because the small-scale ecosystem is so complicated, with so many niche players and so much change due to short-term fluctuations; every wave changes the environment in the ocean, every time an earthworm passes through some dirt, it affects which cells will thrive there and which ones suddenly find themselves in a deadly environment.

It's a good book as a whirlwind tour of the invisible world of microbes, by someone who likes them a lot more than he likes us.


Like: The Button That Changed the World: A few weeks ago, The Diff asked readers to recommend profiles of particular products, rather than companies. This book is a fun history of the once-ubiquitous like button, though by the end it's clear why the button is in decline.

The right way to situation the like button in history is that it's an important point on the continuum between the Internet as a peer-to-peer communications medium and the Internet as infrastructure for one-to-many broadcasts. An early Internet user was almost certainly emitting a constant stream of hand-crafted bits of information—replies to emails and Usenet posts, blog entries, comments, etc. But as the Internet gets bigger, two things happened at once: first, the incremental new user was someone who was less excited about typing a lot (all the frenetic writers who longed for an audience had already joined). And second, the scale of the internet and improvements in recommendation systems meant that there was more competition for attention, and there were more interesting things to consume passively.

As we moved along this continuum, there was a lower likelihood of someone going out of their way to write a lengthy message, but there was also growth in the measurable context around any given user-content interaction. If you read a news story online in 1997, CNN.com might have placed a cookie on your machine already, so they might have had the information necessary to know that you were interested in the Middle East but didn't care much about sports, or vice-versa. But they weren't going to customize the homepage for you. Whereas if you read a news story in 2017, there was a good chance that you found it through a social media feed, and that the social media site in question had an extensive psychographic profile that allowed them to show you the 0.01% of content posted by your first- and second-degree connections that you actually cared to see. In an environment like that, the like button is a very valuable bit, a way to say "Yes, good job, you showed me what I wanted to see." But eventually, other signals get robust enough that it's superfluous: looking at what you tap, or even what makes you stop scrolling, or which kinds of stories you read to the end and which you bounce off of in a second—the like ends up being just one bit among many.

The best parts of the book are the early chapters on the history of the like button as a feature (including the javascript that Yelp used to implement it for the first time) and a social history of the thumbs-up gesture, which comes to us by way of 19th-century paintings slightly misinterpreting Roman sources. This gesture made its way through evangelical preachers' sermons, pilots looking for a way to communicate in a noisy environment (yet another case where bits are scarce!), then to hot rod culture and then to everyone. (As with social media, there's a glide path of adoption where visual slang starts out with high-status people like pilots, then to medium-status people, then to everyone.)

The button got implemented in different ways by different companies, sometimes as an anonymous feedback tool and sometimes as a way to offer the minimum viable yes-I-saw-this. Mark Zuckerberg actually spent years vetoing various implementations, mostly on the grounds that it cannibalized things like comments and sharing, before conceding that it's better to get a weak signal than no signal.

But after that, the book is basically fighting a rear-guard action against the decline of the like button's importance. It used to be a big deal, but it can be gamed, and other signals are cleaner. As the authors note late in the book, likes were a good way to bootstrap a model of preferences before people stopped using them so honestly. And now, it's great to own a business that used to rely on the like button, but ideally one that doesn't need it now.

Open Thread

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