
The Landscape
In optimization, the hardest part isn't climbing. It's knowing whether the peak you've reached is the peak, or just the closest one. Sometimes finding out means going downhill first.
I've been thinking about what it means to really understand something. Not just knowing an idea, but that moment where it clicks, where you can see it from an angle that changes how everything looks. That's what I want to explore here.
My name is Joris. I've spent a lot of time in the world of AI, and I'm equally drawn to contemplative practice and philosophy. The thing that keeps surprising me is how often the same patterns show up across all of them.
I write to think through those connections, following whatever I'm genuinely curious about at the time. Thanks for being here.

In optimization, the hardest part isn't climbing. It's knowing whether the peak you've reached is the peak, or just the closest one. Sometimes finding out means going downhill first.

What Richard Sutton's Bitter Lesson taught me about AI, enlightenment, and why our need to understand everything might be exactly what's holding us back.

There's a pattern that keeps showing up in AI, in institutions, and in how we live our lives. We aim at the target, hit it, and somehow miss the point entirely.

Two interests I never thought would connect, AI alignment and contemplative practice, crashed into each other. What if the way we've been trying to align ourselves for thousands of years is also how we need to align AI?

There's a phenomenon in machine learning where networks memorize everything, seem to stall, and then suddenly understand. What's happening underneath that plateau is fascinating.

How Conway's Game of Life helped me understand emergence, neural networks, and why we're so bad at predicting what happens when simple things scale.

Why I'm writing and what you'll find here.