Why AI development won’t stop and what can realistically be done about it.

If war is so terrible, why do we still actively wage it? If nuclear weapons are so powerful and dangerous that we even came up with the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) as a consequence of using them, why do we still keep stockpiles of them? If climate change is a scientifically proven fact whose consequences are not only awful, but global-reaching, why haven’t we successfully addressed it yet? If hunger could have already been eradicated, why haven’t we done so? If many of the most renowned AI scientists have warned against AI’s reckless development , why don’t we pause its development until at least we feel more certain about how to do it safely?

These questions are complex and difficult to address in the world we live in. Or in other words: if these problems were easy to manage, they would already have been solved.

In this post, I am making the claim that two fundamental challenges stand in the way of global coordination: 1) the visibility problem , concerning our ability to understand and agree on the nature and consequences of a threat; and 2) the structural problem , concerning the incentives that drive states to act even against the collective interests of individuals.

It seems to me that most of the current discussion around AI global coordination is missing out on either or both of these problems. Moreover, addressing either in isolation won't be sufficient.

Understanding these two problems helps explain why simply calling for an AI pause is unlikely to succeed—and what a more realistic path toward global coordination might look like. The result is a highly pragmatic (and speculative too, to be fair) take on why we can’t just pause AI development due to the visibility and structural issues and a proposal of the kind of solutions I think are necessary in order to even have a chance at global coordination of the sort needed.

All states affected by a global challenge need to recognize it as both real and global. They also need to see themselves as sufficiently responsible for addressing it to take action. If they are expected to contribute equally, they will probably also need to perceive the challenge as similarly serious. Otherwise, they will not feel compelled to make comparable contributions.

States operate within an anarchic international order . There is no authority above states that can enforce laws and treaties, even when mutually interested states have signed them. Moreover, states ultimately pursue their own survival. They may care about the well-being of neighboring states, or even all states, but their primary responsibility lies within their own borders, and their survival comes first. States must also contend with substantial uncertainty about other states’ intentions. This uncertainty is a complex product of anarchy, states’ ability to wage war, their pursuit of survival, and other factors. Nonetheless, states cooperate and compete in this environment, both economically and militarily. They recognize that survival is best secured by being strong relative to their competitors. This is Realism 101. Within international relations scholarship, there is plenty of nuance and disagreement, for example about how much domestic affairs and international institutions affect states’ behavior. Without going too deeply into theory, however, anarchy, the pursuit of survival, and uncertainty create structural conditions that affect states’ decisions.

When confronted with a global issue, a state must evaluate possible outcomes through both its own perception of the problem and the structural constraints it faces. In academia, this is perhaps best captured by the security dilemma : one state’s decision to arm itself may look like preparation for aggression to its neighbor, even if its intentions are defensive. The neighbor is then motivated to arm itself in response. This creates a competitive spiral in which neither state may seek confrontation, yet both act according to the structure of the international order. The issue extends beyond military power and appears in many kinds of cooperative initiatives. Cooperation on a particular issue is always assessed through a game-theoretic lens: “What do I gain or lose relative to my competitors?” This occurs in many, if not all, areas of international relations, from climate cooperation to support for political movements, and from international aid to aggression.

Think of the structural problem as the rules of the game and the visibility problem as the players’ ability to see what lies ahead.

AI governance is possibly one of the most consequential global challenges we have ever faced. But before turning to it, let’s briefly consider two other examples.

Climate change has posed an important visibility challenge. What would the consequences of inaction be? A decision-maker cannot answer only in general terms: how exactly would inaction affect their state in the years to come? Will it rain more, and by how much? What about heat waves? What consequences should they expect? What specific action would reduce a particular risk by a given amount? How much money should they allocate, and to what or whom? These are real questions that decision-makers have faced when deciding how to respond to climate change, and they are difficult to answer. Climate change illustrates the visibility problem: its effects unfold over years and decades, affect different parts of the world unequally , and involve consequences that are not clearly defined or agreed upon.

From a structural perspective, the problem becomes even muddier. Should all states contribute equally when responsibility for the problem is so unevenly distributed ? If the consequences affect some states more than others, what ensures that less affected states also cooperate, or contribute as much? If reducing my state’s CO₂ emissions means slowing the development that earlier industrialized states benefited from, why should I now have to slow my own progress? How will climate cooperation affect my position relative to competitors in the years to come? Will I be better or worse off?

Those questions have structural reasons behind them and even if states see the challenge as real, they may still strategically “defect” as they see the benefits of doing so, relative to other players, as greater.

A very different example is nuclear weapons. From a state’s decision-making perspective, nuclear weapons differ fundamentally from climate change: their visibility is crystal clear. Their capabilities and consequences were made vivid by the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and by the many nuclear tests that followed. Through this clarity, nuclear weapons became the most effective deterrent. It became clear what the consequences of attacking a nuclear-armed state would be.

This visibility also created a powerful structural incentive for other states to pursue nuclear weapons. The security dilemma associated with nuclear proliferation was particularly vivid during the Cold War. Once the United States had nuclear weapons, the Soviet Union felt threatened and pressured to develop its own. Once both had them, each felt it needed more weapons to ensure that it could retaliate with equal or greater force if attacked. This led to a cycle of nuclear armament in which the destruction of the other side could be assured, giving rise to the concept of mutually assured destruction .

The reason the nuclear standoff never escalated into war, despite its close calls, was that all parties could clearly see the consequences. Unlike climate change, nuclear proliferation was “blessed” with immense visibility for the states involved. Had the consequences been less clear, nuclear weapons would likely have been used. I have simplified the history considerably for the sake of argument, but broadly speaking, this is the main reason nuclear weapons have not been used again in war.

In his September 2026 post We Must Pace the Frontier , Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei proposes slowing AI development through coordination among democracies whilst widening their lead over China. He argues that “these measures increase the leverage held by democracies and make an agreement more likely in the future.” Unfortunately, I think this assessment is overly optimistic. Those same measures could strengthen China’s incentives to accelerate its own development and resist an agreement intended to preserve its competitors’ advantage. I see similar limitations in many proposals from frontier AI lab CEOs, academics, and think tanks. Eliezer Yudkowsky and Nate Soares do a good job of explaining the likely outcome of developing advanced AI, yet they do not propose a structurally compatible solution.

I will explain this using the two foundations laid out earlier: the visibility problem surrounding AI governance and the structural constraints affecting states’ decisions.

First, let me approach the problem from an uncommon angle.

One of the first things people notice about AI is how much it resembles science fiction. Its potential, its lack of precedent, and the speed of its development all contribute to this impression. I want to begin by examining AI’s visibility problem from a communication perspective.

The way language works, in a nutshell, is that you (the emitter) trust someone (the receiver) to have the same knowledge as you do (or close enough) of a certain word and combination of words, when you use them, therefore expecting him to receive the same message as you formulate it in your mind (or as close as possible given your ability to put it into words).

However, language is far from precise. Describing subjective things like emotions or feelings is terribly hard because of the very fact that it is subjective. The words "terrible" and "beautiful" are very imprecise because there is no clear objective way to correlate the word with a real-world "object" as that correlation requires both context and perception.

Similarly, when we are to describe things we have not seen or experienced before, we often “lack words” to describe them. Or we use the wrong words for it. This is, one, because if the "object" to describe has never happened before, then there is no precedent for describing it, and, two, because we are likely to not even understand what the object is, how it came to be or what its purpose is, or other "metadata" that would help us define it.

This is exactly what is happening now with AI. I mean, the very word "AI" is used for very different undefined things. When used to refer to AI as a "whole"—as the industry or as the sum of all models, or the top models—it assumes the receiver understands it as well as you do, which is btw a massive assumption given the novelty, scale and pace of development. Sometimes AI is used anthropomorphically, describing it as if it has drives or agency the way we understand humans do. Some other times it is used to describe capabilities or outcomes in a way that assumes both the emitter and receiver know what they are talking about, often casually jumping into the shoes of the most cutting-edge experts working on AI research. Words such as “think,” “drive,” and “feel” carry associations with humans, living things, agency, or consciousness.

Do you even realize how shocking this is to most? Casually applying concepts tied to humans, or perhaps other living things, to "machines" is a huge leap. So huge, it even creates a disconnection for the receiver. Like a massive "WTF is he even talking about?" It is not only the fact that we have never had "machines plotting before"; it is that the closest thing we have to it is basically Science Fiction, and a much more far-fetched version of it than flying cars btw. So not only do we not have precedents; it is that the closest related thoughts come entirely from imagination and fiction. Linguistically speaking, this makes effective communication using these terms very hard, to put it mildly.

The same happens with artificial general intelligence (AGI) or artificial superintelligence (ASI) . We do not have a clear definition of either, as the very definition often used is vague and non-verifiable (at least not until we are very far beyond the invisible/undefined threshold). Let's take AGI as AI being more intelligent than all the experts in all fields. What does "that" even look like? What even is "it"? It is no wonder that we keep moving the bar by which we would have previously assessed "this is AGI". This is not to say that "AGI" doesn't exist; it is to say we do not know what exactly it even is or means to begin with. The concept is distant from familiar examples, both in its lack of precedent and in its possible effects.

Think of all the terms we use to describe AI and how they are hardly fitting. To say that AI "thinks" would require an accurate description of what thinking for an AI means versus how we understand we think. In fact, it is even more mind-bending than that. Because, to some degree, they seem to think. They seem to feel. At the end of the day, this is what I think of you too. It is only through repetition that I come to assume you are not a simulated NPC but, more likely, someone more closely resembling myself. So where is the threshold, if there is even one, between knowing that you think and knowing that an AI thinks? What’s going to happen when I see a robot that is physically indistinguishable from a human, at least by sight, and acts and talks like a human? So the reason these terms are mind-bending when used around AI is that they are both far (seems SciFi) and so not far (seems more real than yesterday) at the same time.

We use language to the best of our ability. The reason why we sometimes feel "wow, he's such a good speaker or writer" is because we marvel at how others have a much better ability to put into words complex topics than we do. This implies that even though we all use language, we do not use it equally well. Approximation and imprecision are everywhere. Much more so when we do not even know what we are talking about!

The same goes for predictions and percentages of likelihood. A 10% chance of human extinction. Giving it a number like that makes it feel more objective than it really is and at the same time, it comes with its own issues. Assuming we had a crystal ball that would accurately forecast chances of future outcomes, what would be the percentage of human extinction that would warrant action? Moreover, what percentage would warrant what action? Would 5% warrant waging war against states who think 5% is too low and that we should only stop AI development when reaching 15%? Understandably, that % is used to describe the fact that it can happen, but really, the problem is not merely that it can happen; the problem is emotionally reconciling ourselves to the possibility regardless of the percentage.

And one clarification. Even if we could describe "extinction", or death, or consciousness or other difficult terms, it doesn't mean we have an internal model of them; it doesn't mean we "understand" them. Take "a mother losing her son"; we can understand the linguistic meaning of the phrase and intuitively grasp the feelings associated, but we can't understand what it really is unless we have lived through it. We are driven by emotions and feelings, not by reasoning or deterministic goals. This is why stories work well for us btw, because they help build perspective and context around a concept, helping us evoke the same feelings (or close) the emitter wanted to convey much more efficiently than otherwise.

And then comes the harder part. Talking about things when we don't know what we are talking about, in order to do something about them and/or to forecast associated outcomes. I am not even joking. From AI extinction risks to loss of jobs, curing all diseases and extending life, among other wild scenarios. WTF does extinction even mean? We can't even understand what our individual personal death “means”, much less the death of the rest of humans, much less the impossibility of more humans to come after us. The same goes for all the other extreme predictions, whether good or bad. We have a very hard time reconciling ourselves to these concepts because they are so far into imagination land. I mean, when a close relative, someone who we love dearly, passes away, we tend to not believe it or to deny it. It is very hard to swallow that someone who was so dear to us would be gone. It is so hard that it takes painfully living through it to understand it. Try to explain to someone what it feels like. Then take that difficult task and multiply it by n. Or look at it from a very illustrative angle: a news headline stating "Many leading AI labs and AI safety researchers assign a substantial probability, perhaps 5–20%, to AI-driven extinction". Then the next news piece talks about politics or some other irrelevant topic. We are so utterly disconnected from the meaning of such things that we normalize them down to absurdity and ridiculousness.

For published survey results behind this kind of discussion, see Thousands of AI Authors on the Future of AI , which reports responses from 2,778 AI researchers.

This is why humility about AI’s meaning and consequences is imperative. We try to educate one another about concepts that are difficult to internalize, even for those making the arguments. AI’s visibility challenge is immense, and it calls for epistemic humility.

As with climate change, the difficulty of understanding AI’s consequences affects how states are likely to respond. Following others, I would describe AI as a hyperobject . However difficult it is to understand, states cannot afford to dismiss it. They must weigh its potential against their goals: survival and the subsidiary goals that follow from it, such as the pursuit of power.

Much has been said about this, but let me highlight the features most relevant to states’ interests.

All these features are subject to the visibility problem. Nonetheless, states consider, and must consider, them to varying degrees because together they present a potential threat to national security.

If these properties of AI are real, and they seem more plausible with each passing day, states will face structural pressures to act in particular ways.

Eventually, a state will be AGI-pilled enough to realize that just as they themselves are envisioning new uses and possibilities of this technology, so are their competitors. Then, the question will arise: will my competitor achieve a first-strike capability or will I, and what happens then? Nuclear deterrence is beginning to weaken due to the apparently unlimited power-creep nature of AI opening new attack vectors . Eventually, if we are not there already, we will find ourselves in a Cold War 2.0 that will grow more dangerous as AI keeps growing more capable. New capabilities, time compression, autonomous actions, etc.

As states consider these scenarios, they will feel pressure to advance because they cannot allow competitors to become stronger. If a state develops a substantially more powerful AI than its competitors and retains control over it, it will be in a position to impose its will, perhaps even achieve global hegemony or prevent others from ever catching up. This creates incentives to advance despite perceived risks. The economic and military incentives are so immense that slowing or stopping development is not feasible.