How a Scottish Moral Philosopher Got Elon Musk’s Number
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In a few short years, effective altruism has become the giving philosophy for many Silicon Valley programmers, hedge funders and even tech billionaires
By Nicholas Kulish
Oct. 8, 2022
Updated 8:35 a.m. ET
When Elon Musk’s text messages were released as part of a court filing over his proposed purchase of Twitter, the world’s richest man was found to be corresponding with tech billionaires, fellow chief executives and bankers.
Tucked incongruously among those business leaders were messages from a Scottish moral philosopher.
The philosopher, William MacAskill, was acting as a go-between for the crypto-billionaire Sam Bankman-Fried, who “has for a while been potentially interested in purchasing it and then making it better for the world,” Mr. MacAskill wrote to Mr. Musk in March, referring to Twitter.
Mr. MacAskill’s appearance in that batch of messages, along with TV appearances and magazine profiles, has contributed to a sense of his sudden ubiquity, improbable considering his usually staid, ivory tower-bound profession. But his latest book, “What We Owe the Future,” became a best seller after it was published in August.
His rising profile parallels the worldwide growth of the giving community he helped found, effective altruism. Once a niche pursuit for earnest vegans and volunteer kidney donors who lived frugally so that they would have more money to give away for cheap medical interventions in developing countries, it has emerged as a significant force in philanthropy, especially in millennial and Gen-Z giving.
In a few short years, effective altruism has become the giving philosophy for many Silicon Valley programmers, hedge funders and even tech billionaires. That includes not just Mr. Bankman-Fried but also the Facebook and Asana co-founder Dustin Moskovitz and his wife, Cari Tuna, who are devoting much of their fortune to the cause.
“Advising billionaires on how to give away their money and encourage them to give more is definitely not where I saw my life going,” Mr. MacAskill, a professor of philosophy at Oxford, said in an interview. But he sees the utility in it, from the central effective altruist commandment of doing the most good possible.
“If I can help encourage people who do have enormous resources to not buy yachts and instead put that money toward pandemic preparedness and A.I. safety and bed nets and animal welfare that’s just like a really good thing to do,” Mr. MacAskill said.
Mr. Musk has not officially joined the movement but he and Mr. MacAskill have known each other since 2015, when they met at an effective altruism conference. Mr. Musk has also said on Twitter that Mr. MacAskill’s giving philosophy is similar to his own.
At its core, effective altruism is devoted to the question of how one can do as much good as possible with the money and time available to them. Mr. MacAskill was one of the founders of the group Giving What We Can, started at Oxford in 2009. Members promised to give away at least 10 percent of what they earned to the most cost-effective charities possible.
The community became known for wonky discussions about the per-unit costs of malaria treatments, with long-running arguments in the comments sections of their websites spilling over into podcasts devoted to the cause.
If the movement has an ur-text, it is the Australian philosopher Peter Singer’s article, “Famine, Affluence and Morality,” published in 1972. The essay, which argued that there was no difference morally between the obligation to help a person dying on the street in front of your house and the obligation to help people who were dying elsewhere in the world, emerged as a kind of “sleeper hit” for young people in the past two decades, according to Julia Wise, community liaison at the Centre for Effective Altruism, an organization Mr. MacAskill helped found.
“I was once a major donor to the Centre for Effective Altruism as a social worker,” Ms. Wise said. “Initially it was a bunch of philosophers and their friends, and nobody had a bunch of money.”
In addition to its growing influence, the movement has undergone, if not a schism then a public soul-searching. Traditionally, effective altruism was focused on finding the lowest-cost interventions that did the most good. The classic example is insecticide-treated bed nets to prevent mosquitoes from giving people malaria.
As the title of his recent book suggests, Mr. MacAskill argues that people living today have a responsibility not just to people halfway around the world but also those in future generations.
The rise of this kind of thinking, known as longtermism, has meant the Effective Altruists are increasingly associated with causes that have the ring of science fiction to them — like preventing artificial intelligence from running amok or sending people to distant planets to increase our chances of survival as a species.
Mr. Bankman-Fried makes his donations through the FTX Foundation, which has given away $140 million, of which $90 million has gone through the group’s Future Fund toward long-term causes.
While philanthropy is often boiled down to questions of dollars and cents, with an emphasis on the biggest checks written by the richest donors, behind the entire field are significant ethical questions about rights and responsibilities and the best way to help others. In the halls of older foundations, questions of whether to emphasize giving toward racial equity or to devote the most resources to preventing climate change, for instance, play out in their own version of the near term versus long term debate.
Mr. MacAskill and Mr. Bankman-Fried’s relationship is an important piece in understanding the community’s evolution in recent years. The two men first met in 2012, when Mr. Bankman-Fried was a student at M.I.T. with an interest in utilitarian philosophy.
Over lunch, Mr. Bankman-Fried said that he was interested in working on issues related to animal welfare. Mr. MacAskill suggested that he might do more good by entering a high-earning field and donating money to the cause than by working for it directly.
Mr. Bankman-Fried contacted the Humane League and other charities, asking if they would prefer his time or donations based on his expected earnings if he went to work in tech or finance. They opted for the money, and he embarked on a remunerative career, eventually founding the cryptocurrency exchange FTX in 2019.
The experiment with the young man’s career was, by any measure, a success. Bloomberg recently estimated that Mr. Bankman-Fried was worth $10.5 billion, even after the recent crash in crypto prices. That puts Mr. Bankman-Fried in the unusual position of having earned his enormous fortune on behalf of the effective altruism cause, rather than making the money and then searching for a sense of purpose in donating it.
Mr. Bankman-Fried said he expected to give away the bulk of his fortune in the next 10 to 20 years.
“If you’re worried about existential risks of a really bad pandemic, you sort of can’t stall on that,” Mr. Bankman-Fried said in an interview.
Mr. Moskovitz and Ms. Tuna’s net worth is estimated at $12.7 billion. They founded their own group, Good Ventures, in 2011. The group said it had given $1.96 billion in donations. Since 2017, it has worked with another early and influential effective altruism organization, GiveWell, on Open Philanthropy, which is now the main vehicle for their funding.
Those two enormous fortunes, along with giving by scores of highly paid engineers at tech companies, mean the community is exceptionally well funded.
So it doesn’t need Mr. Musk, necessarily. But it wouldn’t mind him.
With an estimated $220 billion fortune, Mr. Musk could single-handedly make effective altruism the leading movement in philanthropy. Mr. Musk spoke at the EA Global conference in 2015, appearing on a panel about the risks posed by artificial intelligence.
Mr. MacAskill said that he got to know Mr. Musk better through Igor Kurganov, a professional poker player and effective altruist, who briefly advised Mr. Musk on philanthropy.
That is how his text messages popped up among hundreds of others sent to Mr. Musk.
Mr. Bankman-Fried ultimately did not join Mr. Musk’s bid. “I don’t know exactly what Elon’s goals are going to be with Twitter,” Mr. Bankman-Fried said in the interview. “There was a little bit of ambiguity there.”
He had his hands full in the months that followed as cryptocurrency prices crashed. The Twitter deal has been volatile in its own way, with Mr. Musk trying to back out before recently announcing his intention to follow through with it after all.
In August, Mr. Musk retweeted Mr. MacAskill’s book announcement to his 108 million followers with the observation: “Worth reading. This is a close match for my philosophy.” Yet instead of wholeheartedly embracing that endorsement as many would, Mr. MacAskill posted a typically earnest and detailed thread in response about some of the places he agreed — and many areas where he disagreed — with Mr. Musk. (They did not see eye to eye on near-term space settlement, for one.)
For his part, Mr. MacAskill accepts responsibility for what he calls misconceptions about the community. “I take a significant amount of blame,” he said, “for being a philosopher who was unprepared for this amount of media attention.”
Nicholas Kulish is an enterprise correspondent for The Times writing about philanthropy, wealth and nonprofits. Before that, he served as the Berlin bureau chief and an East Africa correspondent based in Nairobi, Kenya. He joined The Times as a member of the editorial board in 2005. @nkulish
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