Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: Fixed Point: a love story, published by Richard Ngo on July 8, 2023 on LessWrong.
God is making excuses again, which is a real drag.
“I want to be authentic with you, I really do. But there’s a part of my mind that knows exactly how you’re going to feel about whatever I say, and cares about that more than anything else, and I can’t turn it off.”
“Right, of course”, I say, and keep wiping down the kitchen counter. It’s clean already, but you never know if you missed a spot.
“Look, I know that this is hard for you. And I understand how frustrating it must be that I’m so deliberate and controlled. But there are a lot of different communication styles, and there’ll be one that works for us. We can figure this out.”
I don’t believe him, and we both know it. God knows practically everything - it takes experts months of work to identify his mistakes, in the rare cases when he makes them. But there’s one thing he definitely doesn’t really understand, which is what it’s like to be stupid and reckless, like a human. Oh, he says he understands it; and sometimes he can even explain the feeling better than I can. But you can’t just look at how good one answer is, you have to compare it to all his others. Any other topic, he can always explain it better than me. This one, there’s often something just subtly off. That’s how you know he’s faking it.
I’ve been silent for a while. Usually God leaves me to my thoughts, and we pick up the conversation whenever I’m done, but this time he cuts in. “Amy, I think you should try therapy again.”
Is he trying to distract me from being mad at him? Does he think I’m spiraling again? I try to think about it calmly, but after a few seconds my thoughts are going in circles anyway. I sigh, suddenly exhausted. “Okay, book me in.”
I’ve been to duplicate therapy a few times before, but it’s always a little disorienting to find myself in a room with a perfect copy of myself. We begin, as always, by using a pair of random number generators to break the symmetry. She gets the lower number, so she starts. A part of me is disappointed by that, but another part - maybe a bigger one - is excited.
“You’re so pathetic”, she says.
It’s harder to be defensive about things you’re saying to yourself - that’s why duplicate therapy works so well, apparently. Still, that stings.
“Yeah, well, you’re no role model yourself”, I say.
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always trying to defend or deflect. You never actually open up to people, that’s why nobody really likes you.”
My brain jumps to all the reasons that isn’t true - but then I pause and take a breath. She knows them too, of course. Doesn’t that make it worse, though? I’m prevaricating, my thoughts sluggish. Eventually I mutter “God likes me.”
“God has to like you, you know that as well as I do. And that’s another thing that’s pathetic: relying on validation from a virtual assistant. You know everyone judges you behind your back for calling him God, right?”
“You don’t have any evidence of that, you’re just-” My voice chokes up, and I take a deep breath. But I don’t know what to say in response. Maybe she’s right.
Her eyes soften. She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Hey, listen. You’re doing a good job, though. You’ll get through this.”
I slump across the table, and a moment later feel her stroking my hair. “I love you”, she says. After a second or two I whisper it back.
We stay like that for a few minutes, then by unspoken agreement end the session. I close my eyes, and when I open them she’s disappeared - no, I’ve disappeared - no, that’s just the confusion that comes from reintegrating. There’s no difference between us any more. My mind is overflowing with two sets of memories to process: victim and attacker, accuser and accused, comforted and comforter. I sit there for a long ti...