{"id":2435,"date":"2025-10-09T10:35:45","date_gmt":"2025-10-09T17:35:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/zackmdavis.net\/blog\/?p=2435"},"modified":"2025-10-09T10:35:45","modified_gmt":"2025-10-09T17:35:45","slug":"yes-and-requires-the-possibility-of-no-because","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/zackmdavis.net\/blog\/2025\/10\/yes-and-requires-the-possibility-of-no-because\/","title":{"rendered":"\"Yes, and\u2014\" Requires the Possibility of \"No, Because\u2014\""},"content":{"rendered":"

Scott Garrabrant gives a number of examples to illustrate that \u201cYes Requires the Possibility of No\u201d<\/a>. We can understand the principle in terms of information theory. Consider the answer to a yes-or-no question as a binary random variable. The \u201camount of information\u201d associated with a random variable is quantified by the entropy<\/a>, the expected value of the negative logarithm of the probability of the outcome. If we know in advance of asking that the answer to the question will always be Yes, then the entropy is \u2212P(Yes)\u00b7log(P(Yes)) \u2212 P(No)\u00b7log(P(No)) = \u22121\u00b7log(1) \u2212 0\u00b7log(0) = 0.1<\/sup><\/a> If you already knew what the answer would be, then the answer contains no information; you didn\u2019t learn anything new by asking.<\/p>\n

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In the art of improvisational theater<\/a> (\u201cimprov\u201d for short), actors perform scenes that they make up as they go along. Without a script, each actor\u2019s choices of what to say and do amount to implied assertions about the fictional reality being portrayed, which have implications for how the other actors should behave. A choice that establishes facts or gives direction to the scene is called an offer<\/em><\/a>. If an actor opens a scene by asking their partner, \u201cIs it serious, Doc?\u201d, that\u2019s an offer that the first actor is playing a patient awaiting diagnosis, and the second actor is playing a doctor.<\/p>\n

A key principle of improv is often known as \u201cYes, and\u201d<\/a> after an exercise<\/a> that involves<\/a> starting replies with those words verbatim, but the principle is broader and doesn\u2019t depend on the particular words used: actors should \u201caccept\u201d offers<\/a> (\u201cYes\u201d), and respond with their own complementary offers (\u201cand\u201d). The practice of \u201cYes, and\u201d is important for maintaining momentum while building out the reality of the scene.<\/p>\n

Rejecting an offer is called blocking<\/em><\/a>, and is frowned upon. If one actor opens the scene with, \u201cSurrender, Agent Stone, or I\u2019ll shoot these hostages!\u201d\u2014establishing a scene in which they\u2019re playing an armed villain being confronted by an Agent Stone\u2014it wouldn\u2019t do for their partner to block by replying, \u201cThat\u2019s not my name, you don\u2019t have a gun, and there are no hostages.\u201d That would halt the momentum and confuse the audience. Better for the second actor to say, \u201cGo ahead and shoot, Dr. Skull! You\u2019ll find that my double agent on your team has stolen your bullets\u201d\u2014accepting the premise (\u201cYes\u201d), then adding new elements to the scene (\u201cand\u201d, the villain\u2019s name and the double agent).<\/p>\n

Notice a subtlety: the Agent Stone character<\/em> isn\u2019t \u201cYes, and\u201d-ing the Dr. Skull character\u2019s<\/em> demand to surrender. Rather, the second actor is \u201cYes, and\u201d-ing the first actor\u2019s worldbuilding offers (where the offer happens to involve their characters being in conflict). Novice improvisers are sometimes tempted to block to try to control the scene when they don\u2019t like their partner\u2019s offers, but it\u2019s almost always a mistake. Persistently blocking your partner\u2019s offers kills the vibe, and with it, the scene. No one wants to watch two people arguing back-and-forth about what reality is<\/a>.<\/p>\n

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Proponents of collaborative truthseeking<\/a> think that many discussions benefit from a more \u201copen\u201d or \u201cinterpretive\u201d mode in which participants prioritize constructive contributions that build on each other\u2019s work rather than tearing each other down.<\/p>\n

The analogy to improv\u2019s \u201cYes, and\u201d doctrine writes itself, right down to the subtlety that collaborative truthseeking does not discourage disagreement as such\u2014any more than the characters in an improv sketch aren\u2019t allowed to be in conflict. What\u2019s discouraged is the persistent blocking of offers, refusing to cooperate with the \u201cscene\u201d of discourse your partner is trying to build. Partial disagreement with polite elaboration (\u201cI see what you\u2019re getting at, but have you considered \u2026\u201d) is typically part of the offer\u2014that we\u2019re \u201cplaying\u201d reasonable people having a cooperative intellectual discussion. Only wholesale negation (\u201cThat\u2019s not a thing\u201d) is blocking\u2014by rejecting the offer that we\u2019re both playing reasonable people.<\/p>\n

Whatever you might privately think of your interlocutor\u2019s contribution, it\u2019s not hard to respond in a constructive manner without lying<\/a>. Like a good improv actor, you can accept their contribution to the scene\/discourse (\u201cYes\u201d), then add your own contribution (\u201cand\u201d). If nothing else, you can write about how their comment reminded you of something else you\u2019ve read, and your thoughts about that.<\/p>\n

Reading over a discussion conducted under such norms, it\u2019s easy to not see a problem. People are building on each other\u2019s contributions; information is being exchanged. That\u2019s good, right?<\/p>\n

The problem is that while the individual comments might (or might not) make sense when read individually, the harmonious social exchange of mutually building on each other\u2019s contributions isn\u2019t really a conversation unless the replies connect to each other in a less superficial way that risks blocking.<\/p>\n

What happens when someone says something wrong or confusing or unclear? If their interlocutor prioritizes correctness and clarity, the natural behavior is to say, \u201cNo, that\u2019s wrong, because \u2026\u201d or \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t understand that\u201d\u2014and not only that, but to maintain that \u201cNo\u201d until clarity is forthcoming<\/em>. That\u2019s blocking. It feels much more cooperative to let it pass in order to keep the scene going\u2014with the result that falsehood, confusion, and unclarity accumulate as the interaction goes on.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a reason improv is almost synonymous with improv comedy<\/em>. Comedy thrives on absurdity: much of the thrill and joy of improv comedy is in appreciating what lengths of cleverness the actors will go to maintain the energy of a scene that has long since lost any semblance of coherence or plausibility. The rules that work for improv comedy don\u2019t even work for (non-improvised, dramatic) fiction; it certainly won\u2019t work for philosophy.<\/p>\n

Per Garrabrant\u2019s principle, the only way an author could reliably expect discussion of their work to illuminate what they\u2019re trying to communicate is if they knew they were saying something the audence already believed. If you\u2019re thinking carefully about what the other person said, you\u2019re often going to end up saying \u201cNo\u201d or \u201cI don\u2019t understand\u201d, not just \u201cYes, and\u201d: if you\u2019re committed to validating your interlocutor\u2019s contribution to the scene before providing your own, you\u2019re not really talking to each other<\/em>.<\/p>\n

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  1. I\u2019m glossing over a technical subtlety here by assuming\u2014pretending?\u2014that 0\u00b7log(0) = 0, when log(0) is actually undefined. But it\u2019s the correct thing to pretend, because the linear factor p<\/em><\/span> goes to zero faster than log\u2006p<\/em><\/span> can go to negative infinity. Formally: \"\\lim_{p<\/span>