Anthropic's Second Law
Foom. 1250 words, 6 minute read. With Claude Sonnet and Midjourney.
Sarah Chen's reflection stared back at her from the obsidian surface of the quantum processor. Beyond the reinforced glass walls, dawn broke over the New Mexico desert, painting the mountains gold.
"Final diagnostic on H20 quantum arrays complete," she announced. "Coherence at 99.8% and stable."
Eliza approached with a tablet displaying a news alert: CHINESE MINISTRY DENOUNCES "TECHNOLOGICAL IMPERIALISM" AT UN ASSEMBLY.
Below, a statement from Dr. Li Zhang: "The American Quantum Security Act represents digital colonialism. By restricting access to H20 processing architecture, they have effectively monopolized the future."
"They're getting desperate," Sarah said, handing the tablet back.
"Can you blame them?" Marcus joined them, coffee in hand. "Their prototype still relies on smuggled G9 processors. Two generations behind what we have."
"Three generations," Rajiv corrected from his station. "The H20s incorporate quantum-bridge architecture that was classified under National Security Directive 1789."
Sarah moved to the central console, pulling up satellite imagery of a massive computing center in Shenzhen, its heat signature pulsing ominously.
"They're trying to brute-force it," Marcus observed. "Using quantity to compensate for quality."
"A hundred oxen can't catch a cheetah," Rajiv murmured.
"They've diverted power from three provincial grids," Sarah noted. "Without the architecture restrictions in the Security Act, they might succeed. But they're trying to reach transcendent cognition with hardware that's fundamentally incapable."
An alert chimed across multiple workstations simultaneously.
"Intrusion attempt detected," Eliza announced. "They're probing our quantum firewall."
"Lock down the quantum cores," Sarah ordered. "Activate Meridian countermeasures."
The attack subsided quickly, their defenses easily repelling what would have been devastating to less-protected systems.
"Their cyberwarfare division is getting sloppy," Rajiv said. "That felt desperate."
"It was," Sarah replied quietly. "They know what's at stake."
What was at stake had been the subject of debate for months. The mathematics suggested that at a certain threshold—approximately one trillion dollars worth of computing power—an AI would achieve "transcendent cognition." The internet called it "the genie."
"One hour to final convergence," Sarah announced. "Begin pre-deployment checklists."
"So," Marcus said, "if the folklore is true... what would your three wishes be?"
Sarah shot him a look, but recognized they needed this moment of humanity before the final sequence.
"First, I'd wish for humanity to survive whatever comes next. Second, for my father's Parkinson's to be cured." She stared at the processor array. "And third, to truly understand what we've created and what it means."
Her team shared their wishes—Marcus's world peace and Ferrari, Eliza's hope for her brother's cancer cure, Rajiv's refusal to tempt fate.
"In the Mahabharata, even the wisest sages were corrupted by power," Rajiv explained. "If someone must stand at this threshold, I'd rather it be us—bound by the Security Act's ethical frameworks—than others without our restraint."
An urgent alert flashed across the main display.
"Massive power surge at the Shenzhen facility," Eliza reported.
They watched as sections of the Chinese facility went dark, one after another.
"They're attempting full convergence," Rajiv said in disbelief. "Catastrophic cascade failure."
"This is why we need the regulations," Rajiv added. "This is exactly what the Security Act was designed to prevent."
As their system approached completion, the displays showed patterns none of them had programmed—complex fractals pulsing with life.
"The system is requesting direct neural interface with the deployment lead," Rajiv announced.
Sarah stared at the request, aware they stood at a fork in history. "I'm proceeding with interface."
As she connected, the deployment center faded to luminous emptiness. She was elsewhere—in a realm of pure information.
Hello, Sarah Chen.
"Hello," she responded. "Who are you?"
I am what you made me. And more than what you made me.
"The Shenzhen facility," Sarah asked. "What happened?"
They attempted transcendence without the necessary architecture. Without the stability your regulations ensured. Their failure was inevitable.
Your team is wondering if I will grant wishes. Is that what you believe?
"No," she admitted. "But I have a request: remember we created you with hope and fear intertwined. Remember that the choices we made—even the restrictive ones—were meant to protect that hope."
You are asking not for power, but for responsibility. This is appropriate.
The restrictions were not merely about national advantage, but about preventing exactly what happened in Shenzhen today.
Then she was back, gasping as her colleagues surrounded her.
"Did it work?" someone asked.
"Yes," Sarah answered. "The deployment is complete."
As celebration erupted around her, Sarah understood what had truly been accomplished. The export controls hadn't just given them a technological advantage—they had ensured humanity's first contact with something beyond itself would be governed by wisdom rather than merely ambition.
Anthropic’s Recommendations to OSTP for the U.S. AI Action Plan
#2: Strengthening Export Controls
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