SBF is advocate for EA (ED JONES/AFP via Getty Images)

Age six, I once ruined Pass the Parcel at a schoolfriend’s birthday party, because I was distracted by a headline on a layer of discarded newspaper. MIND BOMBED BY THE MOONIES. I remember being intensely annoyed when it was taken off me before I could find out what that meant, and confused as to why all the adults thought my outrage was funny. It marked me out as one of those oddballs generally more interested in ideas than in who and what is immediately present. That trait has persisted: my mad professor streak is trying to friends and family, to this day.
What would it be like if the ratio were reversed? What if a community emerged in which people like me, more transfixed by ideas than relationships, were the majority? Would the kid who laughed at my newspaper-reading be derided by the rest of the group, for preferring frivolous games to intellectual curiosity? What would this group be like as adults? We can, perhaps, catch a glimpse of that future, as well as some of its pitfalls, by dipping a toe into the effective altruism (EA) movement. This has been in the news recently, following the collapse of multi-billion-dollar cryptocurrency exchange FTX, and the disgrace of its founder Sam Bankman-Fried: a previously-fêted fintech wunderkind and one of the funding powerhouses behind the EA movement.
A recent Time article documented a rash of rumours from within the EA movement concerning the sexual harassment of female members, and their difficulty gaining any kind of protection or redress within the community’s “cult-like” atmosphere. In their defence, effective altruists are hardly the first group of dreamers to struggle with the tension between high ideals and rampant lust. A cursory glance at the history of communities with strong beliefs — which is to say, of religions and cults — suggests that over time this tension has warped many idealistic movements into what we can only describe as sex cults.
There’s the Fundamental Church of Latter-Day Saints, whose leader Warren Jeffs ended up with 81 wives and had a special bed made for consummating his marriages. There’s David Berg’s Children of God, who used hot young women he called “hookers for Jesus”, to recruit new members with the promise of limitless sex. Then there is the notorious Sri Bhagavan “sex cult” from the Seventies, and more recently the creepy NXIVM cult, in which members were branded with the initials of founder Keith Raniere.
The “Moonies” who so fascinated me at that long-ago birthday party never went this far. By cult standards they are stuffy centrists, most famous for conducting mass wedding ceremonies. But even here Sun Myung Moon, the founder, claimed that original sin was a consequence of Eve having sex with the serpent, and the only way to escape this sin was for the sperm of a sinless man to enter the womb of each woman to be purified. Happily for his adherents, Moon was just such a man — and early followers allege that Moon performed this “womb cleansing” ritual with the female member of each of the first 36 couples he initiated into his cult.
Compared with these, Time’s stories from the EA community are pretty mild. But they encapsulate the same potent blend of moral intensity, tight-knit social groups and basic male horniness that recurs again and again in cults that turn into shag-fests. And what’s ironic about the re-emergence of this pattern within effective altruism is that, as a movement, it’s defined precisely in opposition to this kind of sweaty-palmed misbehaviour. A key feature of EA is the importance accorded to human rationality, and a corresponding desire to prioritise it over emotion — for example how much you care about loved ones compared to strangers. It’s distinct from the associated movements of longtermism and transhumanism, also under the spotlight since the collapse of FTX, but all three share this privileging of human reason.
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