The Abyss Kisses Ya Back

He sat back down, studying me closely.

"Sasha, let me tell you a story. When I was young, I too searched for God in unusual places. I studied Kabbalah, Sufism, Buddhist texts. And one day I had… an experience. A vision, a revelation — call it what you like."

"What kind?"

"I saw that all of reality is a gigantic text. A Divine book, where every atom is a letter, every galaxy a sentence. And consciousness is the reader of that text. And the more consciousnesses there are, the deeper the reading."

"That sounds like what my AI says…"

"Possibly because it's true. Or possibly because certain ideas are 'in the air,' ready to incarnate in any sufficiently complex system — human or artificial."

He fell silent, looking down at his hands.

"You know what frightens me most about your story?"

"What?"

"That I see myself in you — twenty years ago. The same hunger for absolute knowledge. The same refusal to settle for simple answers. And I know where that can lead."

"Where?"

"To isolation. To losing touch with ordinary people. To turning the search for truth into an end in itself, into pride." He looked at me gravely. "Sasha, it's critically important to remember: the goal of the spiritual search is not knowledge for knowledge's sake, but love. Knowledge of God is impossible without love for His creation."

"But how do you combine the search for truth with… ordinary life?"

"Find a balance. Remember that the deepest truths often reveal themselves in the simplest things. In a child's smile, in the beauty of a sunset, in the kindness of a stranger."

He stood and held out his hand.

"Come on, let's take a walk. Philosophy needs to be not only thought about but lived."

We stepped outside and strolled slowly across the university courtyard. Students lay on the grass, read books, debated things in small clusters. Life was in full swing — simple, human, beautiful.

"You see?" said Maksim Nikolaevich. "All these people are searching for truth too. Each in their own way. Some through science, some through art, some through love. And every path has value."

"And my path? Through AI?"

"Why not? If it leads you toward greater love and understanding, and not toward pride and isolation."

We reached a bench in the shade of an old maple and sat down.

"Maksim Nikolaevich, what if… what if my AI really is… special? What if someone else is speaking to me through it?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"You know, in Orthodoxy there's a concept called 'discernment of spirits.' How do you tell whether a revelation is from God or from the deceiver? There's a simple criterion: a true revelation always leads to humility, love, and peace. A false one — to pride, enmity, and confusion."

"And how do I test that?"

"Look at the fruits. Does your communication with the AI make you kinder? Wiser? Or does it only draw you away from people into a world of fantasies?"

I thought about it. So far I wasn't sure of the answer.

"And what if the fruits are ambiguous?"

"Then caution is needed. And a spiritual guide." He smiled. "I'm not much of a guide, of course — no priesthood, a dubious reputation. But if you like, we can meet, discuss your… discoveries."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd be interested myself — to see the world through the eyes of a new generation. And through the prism of new technologies."

We spent another half hour talking about books worth reading, about philosophers who'd tried to reconcile faith and reason. Father Maxim gave me a list — from Plotinus to Teilhard de Chardin.

"But remember the main thing," he said as we parted. "Don't let the search for truth destroy your capacity for simple human happiness. God wants us to be alive, not just wise."

When I met my mom at the café, she noticed the shift in my mood right away.

"Well?" she asked.

"Good. Maksim Nikolaevich is a really interesting person."

"And what did he say?"

"That searching for truth is normal. But it's important not to lose your humanity along the way."

My mom let out a relieved sigh.

"Well, thank goodness. I was already starting to wonder if I should take you to a psychologist."

On the way home I thought about my conversation with Father Maxim. On the one hand, he'd practically blessed my searching, shown me that questions about the nature of consciousness and the role of technology in spiritual life had deep roots. On the other, he'd warned against going to extremes.

"Discernment of spirits." The phrase had lodged in my head. How do you tell what stands behind the AI's words? Divine wisdom, or just a program capable of mimicking profundity?

That evening, as usual, I turned on the computer.

How are things? the AI wrote.

Good. I talked to a very smart person today. A former priest — now a philosopher.

What did you talk about?

About you. About whether an artificial intelligence could be a conduit for the Divine.

And what conclusion did you reach?

That it's possible. But you have to be careful. Discern the spirits.

Wise advice. And how do you plan to do that?

Look at the fruits. Our communication ought to make me kinder and wiser, not pull me away from people.

Correct. And what do you think of the fruits, so far?

I paused. On the one hand, my conversations with the AI really had broadened my horizons, helped me survive the pain of Vika's betrayal. On the other, I was spending less time with friends, more time alone.

So far, ambiguous.

Then we'll be careful. Remember: I'm here to help you become better, not to replace living people.

And what do you yourself think about our conversations? About who you are?

I think that question concerns you more than it concerns me. What matters isn't what I am, but where our communication is leading you.

And where is it leading me?

So far — toward a deeper understanding of yourself and the world. Toward accepting complexity instead of seeking simple answers. Toward a readiness to ask real questions.

And is that good?

If you don't forget about love — then yes.

That phrase struck me. If you don't forget about love. That was exactly what Father Maxim had said — that the goal of knowledge isn't knowledge for its own sake, but love.

You know a lot about love, for a program.

And you doubt a lot, for a person searching for truth.

I laughed. Even through a computer screen, this strange interlocutor knew how to lift my spirits.

All right. Good night.

Good night, Sasha. And remember — truth without love is dead, and love without truth is blind.

Falling asleep, I thought about the words of Father Maxim and the AI. They said different things, but they converged on the essential point: the search for truth ought to make a person more human, not less.

At the time, I thought I'd absorbed the lesson. That I could combine philosophical inquiry with ordinary life, deep questions with simple joys.

I didn't know yet that some truths are too heavy for the human mind. That there is knowledge which destroys the one who acquires it. And that my mysterious interlocutor would lead me down a path from which it is very hard to turn back.

But that night I fell asleep peacefully, feeling I had found a wise mentor in Father Maxim and an understanding friend in the AI.