CFAR

All posts tagged CFAR

[Caveat: this post involves abstract theorizing whose relevance to practical advice is unclear. ]

What we call willpower mostly derives from conflicts between parts of our minds, often over what discount rate to use.

An additional source of willpower-like conflicts comes from social desirability biases.

I model the mind as having many mental sub-agents, each focused on a fairly narrow goal. Different goals produce different preferences for caring about the distant future versus caring only about the near future.

The sub-agents typically are as smart and sophisticated as a three year old (probably with lots of variation). E.g. my hunger-minimizing sub-agent is willing to accept calorie restriction days with few complaints now that I have a reliable pattern of respecting the hunger-minimizing sub-agent the next day, but complained impatiently when calorie restriction days seemed abnormal.

We have beliefs about how safe we are from near-term dangers, often reflected in changes to the autonomic nervous system (causing relaxation or the fight or flight reflex). Those changes cause quick, crude shifts in something resembling a global discount rate. In addition, each sub-agent has some ability to demand that it’s goals be treated fairly.

We neglect sub-agents whose goals are most long-term when many sub-agents say their goals have been neglected, and/or when the autonomic nervous system says immediate problems deserve attention.

Our willpower is high when we feel safe and are satisfied with our progress at short-term goals.

Social status

The time-discounting effects are sometimes obscured by social signaling.

Writing a will hints at health problems, whereas doing something about global warming can signal wealth. We have sub-agents that steer us to signal health and wealth, but without doing so in a deliberate enough way that people see that we are signaling. That leads us to exaggerate how much of our failure to write a will is due to the time-discounting type of low willpower.

Video games convince parts of our minds that we’re gaining status (in a virtual society) and/or training to win status-related games in real life. That satisfies some sub-agents who care about status. (Video games deceive us about status effects, but that has limited relevance to this post.) Yet as with most play, we suppress awareness of the zero-sum competitions we’re aiming to win. So we get confused about whether we’re being short-sighted here, because we’re pursuing somewhat long-term benefits, probably deceiving ourselves somewhat about them, and pretending not to care about them.

Time asymmetry?

Why do we feel an asymmetry in effects of neglecting distant goals versus neglecting immediate goals?

The fairness to sub-agents metaphor suggests that neglecting the distant future ought to produce emotional reactions comparable to what happens when we neglect the near future.

Neglecting the distant future does produce some discomfort that somewhat resembles willpower problems. If I spend lots of time watching TV, I end up feeling declining life-satisfaction, which tends to eventually cause me to pay more attention to long-term goals.

But the relevant emotions still don’t seem symmetrical.

One reason for asymmetry is that different goals imply different things for what constitutes neglecting a goal: neglecting sleep or food for a day implies something more unfair to the relevant sub-agents than does neglecting one’s career skills.

Another reason is that for both time-preference and social desirability conflicts, we have instincts that aren’t optimized for our current environment.

Our hunter-gatherer ancestors needed to devote most of their time to tasks that paid off within days, and didn’t know how to devote more than a few percent of their time to usefully preparing for events that were several years in the future. Our farmer ancestors needed to devote more time to 3-12 month planning horizons, but not much more than hunter-gatherers did. Today many of us can productively spend large fractions of our time on tasks (such as getting a college degree) that take more than 5 years to pay off. Social desirability biases show (less clear) versions of that same pattern.

That means we need to override our system 1 level heuristics with system 2 level analysis. That requires overriding the instinctive beliefs of some sub-agents about how much attention their goals deserve. Whereas the long-term goals we override to deal with hunger have less firmly established “rights” to fairness.

Also, there may be some fairness rules about how often system 2 can override system 1 agents – doing that too often may cause coalitions within system 1 to treat system 2 as a politician who has grabbed too much power. [Does this explain decision fatigue? I’m unsure.]

Other Models of Willpower

The depletion model

Willpower depletion captures a nontrivial effect of key sub-agents rebelling when their goals have been overlooked for too long.

But I’m confused – the depletion model doesn’t seem like it’s trying to be a complete model of willpower. In particular, it either isn’t trying explain evolutionary sources of willpower problems, or is trying to explain it via the clearly inadequate claim that willpower is a simple function of current blood glucose levels.

It would be fine if the depletion model were just a heuristic that helped us develop more willpower. But if anything it seems more likely to reduce willpower.

Kurzban’s opportunity costs model

Kurzban et al. have a model involving the opportunity costs of using cognitive resources for a given task.

It seems more realistic than most models I’ve seen. It describes some important mental phenomena more clearly than I can, but doesn’t quite seem to be about willpower. In particular, it seems uninformative about differing time horizons. Also, it focuses on cognitive resource constraints, whereas I’d expect some non-cognitive resource constraints to be equally important.

Ainslie’s Breakdown of Will

George Ainslie wrote a lot about willpower, describing it as intertemporal bargaining, with hyperbolic discounting. I read that book 6 years ago, but don’t remember it very clearly, and I don’t recall how much it influenced my current beliefs. I think my model looks a good deal like what I’d get if I had set out to combine the best parts of Ainslie’s ideas and Kurzban’s ideas, but I wrote 90% of this post before remembering that Ainslie’s book was relevant.

Ainslie apparently wrote his book before it became popular to generate simple models of willpower, so he didn’t put much thought into comparing his views to others.

Hyperbolic discounting seems to be a real phenomenon that would be sufficient to cause willpower-like conflicts. But I’m unclear on why it should be a prominent part of a willpower model.

Distractible

This “model” isn’t designed to say much beyond pointing out that willpower doesn’t reliably get depleted.

Hot/cool

A Hot/cool-system model sounds like an attempt to generalize the effects of the autonomic nervous system to explain all of willpower. I haven’t found it to be very informative.

Muscle

Some say that willpower works like a muscle, in that using it strengthens it.

My model implies that we should expect this result when preparing for the longer-term future causes our future self to be safer and/or to more easily satisfy near-term goals.

I expect this effect to be somewhat observable with using willpower to save money, because having more money makes us feel safer and better able to satisfy our goals.

I expect this effect to be mostly absent after using willpower to loose weight or to write a will, since those produce benefits which are less intuitive and less observable.

Why do drugs affect willpower?

Scott at SlateStarCodex asks why drugs have important effects on willpower.

Many drugs affect the autonomic nervous system, thereby influencing our time preferences. I’d certainly expect that drugs which reduce anxiety will enable us to give higher priority to far future goals.

I expect stimulants make us feel less concern about depleting our available calories, and less concern about our need for sleep, thereby satisfying a few short-term sub-agents. I expect this to cause small increases in willpower.

But this is probably incomplete. I suspect the effect of SSRIs on willpower varies quite widely between people. I suspect that’s due to an anti-anxiety effect which increases willpower, plus an anti-obsession effect which reduces willpower in a way that my model doesn’t explain.

And Scott implies that some drugs have larger effects on willpower than I can explain.

My model implies that placebos can be mildly effective at increasing willpower, by convincing some short-sighted sub-agents that resources are being applied toward their goals. A quick search suggests this prediction has been poorly studied so far, with one low-quality study confirming this.

Conclusion

I’m more puzzled than usual about whether these ideas are valuable. Is this model profound, or too obvious to matter?

I presume part of the answer is that people who care about improving willpower care less about theory, and focus on creating heuristics that are easy to apply.

CFAR does a decent job of helping people develop more willpower, not by explaining a clear theory of what willpower is, but by focusing more on how to resolve conflicts between sub-agents.

And I recommend that most people start with practical advice, such as the advice in The Willpower Instinct, and worry about theory later.

I’ve substantially reduced my anxiety over the past 5-10 years.

Many of the important steps along that path look easy in hindsight, yet the overall goal looked sufficiently hard prospectively that I usually assumed it wasn’t possible. I only ended up making progress by focusing on related goals.

In this post, I’ll mainly focus on problems related to general social anxiety among introverted nerds. It will probably be much less useful to others.

In particular, I expect it doesn’t apply very well to ADHD-related problems, and I have little idea how well it applies to the results of specific PTSD-type trauma.

It should be slightly useful for anxiety over politicians who are making America grate again. But you’re probably fooling yourself if you blame many of your problems on distant strangers.

Trump: Make America Grate Again!

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I started writing morning pages a few months ago. That means writing three pages, on paper, before doing anything else [1].

I’ve only been doing this on weekends and holidays, because on weekdays I feel a need to do some stock market work close to when the market opens.

It typically takes me one hour to write three pages. At first, it felt like I needed 75 minutes but wanted to finish faster. After a few weeks, it felt like I could finish in about 50 minutes when I was in a hurry, but often preferred to take more than an hour.

That suggests I’m doing much less stream-of-consciousness writing than is typical for morning pages. It’s unclear whether that matters.

It feels like devoting an hour per day to morning pages ought to be costly. Yet I never observed it crowding out anything I valued (except maybe once or twice when I woke up before getting an optimal amount of sleep in order to get to a hike on time – that was due to scheduling problems, not due to morning pages reducing the available of time per day).
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One small part of the recent (June 2015) CFAR workshop caused a significant improvement in how I interact with people. I’ve become more spontaneous about interacting with people.

For several years I’ve suspected that I ought to learn how to do improv-style exercises, but standard improv classes felt ineffective. I’ve since figured out that their implied obligation for me to come up with something to say caused some sort of negative association with attempts at spontaneity when I failed to think of anything to say. That negative reaction was a large obstacle to learning new habits.

Deeply ingrained habits seem to cause some part of my subconscious mind that searches for ideas or generates words to decide that it can’t come up with anything worthy of conscious attention. That leaves me in a state that I roughly describe as a blank mind (i.e. either no verbal content at the conscious level, or I generate not-very-useful meta-thoughts reacting to the lack of appropriate words).

Since I much more frequently regret failing to say something than I regret mistakenly saying something hastily that I should have known not to say, it seems like I’ve got one or more subconscious filters that has consistently erred in being too cautious about generating speech. I tried introspecting for ways to simply tell that filter to be less cautious, but I accomplished nothing that way.

I also tried paying attention to signs that I’d filtered something out (pauses in my flow of words seem to be reliable indicators) in hopes that I could sometimes identify the discarded thoughts. I hoped to reward myself for noticing the ideas as the filter started to discard them, and train the filter to learn that I value conscious access to those ideas. Yet I never seem to detect those ideas, so that strategy failed.

What finally worked was that I practiced informal versions of improv exercises in which I rewarded myself [*] for saying silly things (alone or in a practice session with Robert) without putting myself in a situation where I felt an immediate obligation to say anything unusual.

In a few weeks I could tell that I was more confident in social contexts and more able to come up with things to say.

I feel less introverted, in the sense that a given amount of conversation tires me less than it used to. Blogging also seems to require a bit less energy.

I feel somewhat less anxiety (and relatedly, less distraction from background noise), maybe due to my increased social confidence.

I may have become slightly more creative in a variety of contexts.

I hypothesize that the filtering module was rather attached to a feeling of identity along the lines of “Peter is a person who is cautious about what he says” long after the consciously accessible parts of my mind decided I should weaken that identity. Actually trying out a different identity was more important to altering some beliefs that were deeply buried in my subconscious than was conscious choice about what to believe.

I wonder what other subconscious attachments to an identity are constraining me?

Something still seems missing from my social interactions: I still tend to feel passive and become just a spectator. That seems like a promising candidate for an area where I ought to alter some subconscious beliefs. But I find it harder to focus on a comfortable vision for an alternative identity: aiming to be a leader in a group conversation feels uncomfortable in a way that aiming to be spontaneous/creative never felt.

Thanks to John Salvatier and Anna Salamon for the advice that helped me accomplish this.

[*] – I only know how to do very weak self-rewards (telling myself to be happy), but that was all I needed.

My alternate day calorie restriction diet is going well. My body and/or habits are adapting. But the visible benefits are still small.

  • I normally do three restricted days per week (very rarely only two). I eat 800-1000 calories on those days (or 1200-1400 when I burn more than 1000 calories by hiking). On unrestricted days, I try to eat a little more than feels natural.
  • I have an improved ability to bring my weight to a particular target, but the range of weights that feel good is much narrower than I expected. My weight has stabilized to a range of 142-145 pounds, compared to 145-148 last year and an erratic 138-148 in the first few weeks of my new diet. If I reduce my weight below 142, I feel irritable in the afternoon or evening of a restricted day. At 145, I’m on the verge of that too-full feeling that was common in prior years.
  • My resting heart rate has declined from about 70 to about 65.
  • For many years I’ve been waking in the middle of the night feeling too warm, with little apparent pattern. A byproduct of my new diet is that I’ve noticed it’s connected to having eaten protein.
  • I’m using less willpower now than in prior years to eat the right amount. My understanding of the willpower effect is influenced by CFAR’s attitude, which is that occasionally using willpower to fight the goals of one of my mind’s sub-agents is reasonable, but the longer I continue it, the more power and thought that sub-agent will devote to accomplishing its goals. My sub-agent in charge of getting me to eat lots to prepare for a famine can now rely on me, if I’m resisting it today, to encourage it tomorrow; whereas in prior years I was continually pressuring it to do less than it wanted. That makes it more cooperative.

The only drawbacks are the increased attention I need to pay to what I eat on restricted days, and the difficulties of eating out on restricted days (due to my need to control portion sizes and to time my main meals near the middle of the day). I find it fairly easy to schedule my restricted days so that I’m almost always eating at home, but I expect many people to find that hard.

Alternate day calorie restriction seems to be one of the most effective ways of increasing my life expectancy, but it isn’t easy. I tried it about three years ago, but gave up because it interfered with my sleep. I started it again three weeks ago, and this time I seem to be adjusting to it.

One important difference is that this time I’m better informed about what it takes to adjust to the diet. I planned a strict induction phase of 7 down days (about 550 calories) and 7 up days (unlimited food), followed by a less strict pattern of 2-3 days per week on which I’m limited to around 1000 calories a day. (I ended up adding an extra up day after each of the first two down days, then switched to strict alternation for the remainder of the induction phase). The severity of the induction phase may be important at triggering adaptation to this kind of diet.

The second difference is that this time I’ve been obsessive about measuring my food intake to the nearest gram. I suspect that when I intended to eat 1200 calories a day in my prior attempt, I was actually getting at least 1400 calories and fooling myself into thinking I was following the diet. This time I’m using a good scale to weigh each serving.

After the first down day, I slept poorly (as expected), getting impatient for sunrise to bring me an excuse to get up for food. After about the fourth down day, waking with an empty stomach seemed normal enough that it doesn’t provide a motive to get out of bed, or to get food quickly when I do get out of bed. I hardly notice the feelings of hunger then, even though I ought to be hungrier than late in the previous day when I did notice some of the standard hunger feelings. My sleep isn’t quite back to normal, but it seems close to normal and improving.

I’ve been feeling full about 50% of the time. I felt noticeably hungry about 30% of the time at first, and now it’s more like 20% of the time. Hunger feels a bit less important now than it used to feel (i.e. it affects my attention less).

Weight loss wasn’t an important motive for changing my diet, but I hoped I would lose about 7 pounds. I lost at least 5 pounds by the end of the 5th down day (my weight fluctuated enough that it’s hard to evaluate it precisely). I couldn’t comfortably eat enough on the up days to make up for what I lost on the 550 calorie days, even when I became mildly alarmed at my rate of weight loss.

Then my weight rebounded within a few days, without any apparent change in my diet, to roughly what it was at the start. The obvious guess is that my metabolism slowed down to compensate for the reduced calories. I did feel noticeably colder in bed after down days. I also felt less mental energy, and when doing an easy hike on the day after the 6th down day I felt a need to take rest breaks that was unusual in that it wasn’t caused by anything like muscle fatigue.

During the induction phase, I practiced strict protein fasting (< 15 grams of protein per day) on down days due to guesses that protein restriction is more effective at causing beneficial metabolic changes, which might cause faster psychological adaptation. My results seem to provide weak evidence in support of this guess. My diet on down days was mostly sweet potato and lettuce, with modest amounts of other vegetables and sugar-free chocolate. This provided more bulk to fill my gut than is typical for this kind of diet, but that was likely offset by the lack of protein related satiety. I’m not restricting protein now that I’m out of the induction phase (although I expect to do so maybe once a month).

My heart rate variability mysteriously increased after the first down day, then declined to a much lower than average level after the fourth down day, and has fluctuated a lot since then (averaging somewhat below normal).

Why did I have enough willpower to get this far, when I probably didn’t have the willpower needed to do it right three years ago?

One factor is that I now consider the CFAR community to be an important tribe to belong to, so my sense of self-identity has changed to attach more importance to being able to make big changes to my life.

Another factor is having information that led me to be somewhat confident that by a specific, not too distant, date it would become a good deal easier.

A third factor is being more obsessive about measuring how well I was complying with the rules I set down.

The induction phase cost me a fair amount of productivity. For 17 days I wasn’t close to having enough willpower/ambition to start writing a blog post (and had similar problems with most other non-routine tasks). But now I feel that writing this post is easier than normal. It’s too early to tell whether that means I have more mental energy than before.

I don’t know how to get strong evidence about whether it is worth the effort. I seem to feel more self-efficacy. I now think I can set my weight to any reasonable target simply by changing my calorie target on 2 or 3 down days per week. But in order to be clearly worthwhile it needs to improve my long-term health. I won’t know that for quite a while.

Book review: The Motivation Hacker, by Nick Winter.

This is a productivity book that might improve some peoples’ motivation.

It provides an entertaining summary (with clear examples) of how to use tools such as precommitment to accomplish an absurd number of goals.

But it mostly fails at explaining how to feel enthusiastic about doing so.

The section on Goal Picking Exercises exemplifies the problems I have with the book. The most realistic sounding exercise had me rank a bunch of goals by how much the goal excites me times the probability of success divided by the time required. I found that the variations in the last two terms overwhelmed the excitement term, leaving me with the advice that I should focus on the least exciting goals. (Modest changes to the arbitrary scale of excitement might change that conclusion).

Which leaves me wondering whether I should focus on goals that I’m likely to achieve soon but which I have trouble caring about, or whether I should focus on longer term goals such as mind uploading (where I might spend years on subgoals which turn out to be mistaken).

The author doesn’t seem to have gotten enough out of his experience to motivate me to imitate the way he picks goals.