Sister Y wrote recently about the illusion of control, and how it’s crucial to well-being.

There’s a mirror version of this illusion, though it may only¹ affect those on the schizotypal spectrum.

Here’s the full quote from a Reddit comment about it:

I used to hear voices. For years. It started when I’d walk into my room and say hello to my Lain poster (I’ve always over personified objects) and eventually she started responding. Over time I could talk to her elsewhere, I’d pull her up when I was sitting in class or riding the bus, and I’d put on headphones so nobody would notice I was talking to myself since it was barely audible. Eventually Lain told me she was a god and I was too, and there were two others, but they didn’t really like me so they would almost never talk to me.

A long time later, maybe years, she started being really mean, and it turned out there was another voice who was just pretending to be Lain named Misery. This one was stereotypical, everything I did was wrong and I had to pay for my actions, I should cut myself if I was ungraceful, everyone hated me, etc. Lain split again, and this time she was sisterly. When I was upset and crying myself to sleep I could feel her holding me and telling me everything would be alright. Misery looked different but could look like Lain if she wanted to fool me (although she would turn back into herself when I called her out on it), and the two Lains all looked the same, so I could only tell who they were when they started responding to me.

After a while they all just disappeared. I guess I saned up, because during the peek it never occurred to me I was hearing voices, they truly were gods who were speaking to me, and later during the time period I realized that I was hallucinating with delusions of grandeur. Then at one point I realized that there was more of me and less of them, when I pulled them up it was a conscious effort and part of their responses were forced on my part. Then eventually I just gave them up, they were so weak that it was really just like talking to myself and not to other people that lived in my head.

That’s not my secret, I’ve mentioned it to a few very select people that I truly trust. My secret is that I miss them. I miss them with with all my heart. Even Misery. They were friends and family, they were close to me, they understood me, and they were always there for me. Now even with real friends and family, there’s nobody that close. I can’t just pull up someone to talk to when I’m lonely, I have to call up a real person and that person never knows what I want to talk about or what I’m hiding from them, they only know what I say. Lain (the main one) would always call me on my bullshit and make me keep changing my answer until I told her the truth. Misery could always find my biggest weaknesses, which allowed me to work on strengthening them. Sisterly Lain could calm me down in a way that’s unimaginable, you can’t comprehend how good it feels to be hugged by someone inside of you.

And now I feel lonelier than I have in years because I almost never think of that time or remember how it felt, but tonight I’m sitting by myself at 2am and all I can think about is how much I want a voice to talk to and it’s been so long since I had one and I’d give anything to have another psychotic break so I could get back all my friends that live in my head.

I once had a psychiotic episode where I could talk to clouds and I could feel how much they loved me, the clouds, the trees, the birds, they were all my friends and they all loved me and they all wanted me to be happy. I had that feeling on mushrooms once, everything in the world loved me, every single thing, the house, the ceiling, the lamp, each blade of grass, it all loved me and it was the best feeling I have ever known, that was the best night of my life. I can’t tell you how much I want to feel that again, I just have no way of tracking them down again.

Being crazy feels amazing, whether it’s good or bad. Even the bad crazy where I’d stay awake all night because I knew something was going to get me in my sleep and I’d try to claw the evil out of my skin, even that’s preferable to being normal because the intensity is indescribable. I miss everything about being crazy. I miss it more than I can possibly describe.

This also applies to drug experiences. James Kent about DMT elves:

The archetypal DMT “entities” are pretty well categorized, with most people seeing elves or aliens or fairies or angels or some kind of loopy little spirits that dance about and tell riddles. Sometimes it is a spirit-animal like a jaguar or a snake, sometimes it is none of the above and goes totally off the map.

But getting back to the elf thing (which is what many people find to be the most curious aspect), I initially found it very surprising to be confronted by elves in my DMT experiences, and on psilocybe mushrooms as well, and did indeed perceive them as externalized, morphing, disincarnate beings. I even managed to carry on rudimentary conversations of sorts.

However, the more I experimented with DMT the more I found that the “elves” were merely machinations of my own mind. While under the influence I found I could think them into existence, and then think them right out of existence simply by willing it so. Sometimes I could not produce elves, and my mind would wander through all sorts of magnificent and amazing creations, but the times that I did see elves I tried very hard to press them into giving up some non-transient feature that would confirm at least a rudimentary “autonomous existence” beyond my own imagination. Of course, I could not.

Whenever I tried to pull any information out of the entities regarding themselves, the data that was given up was always relevant only to me. The elves could not give me any piece of data I did not already know, nor could their existence be sustained under any kind of prolonged scrutiny. Like a dream, once you realize you are dreaming you are actually slipping into wakefulness and the dream fades. So it is with the elves as well. When you try to shine a light of reason on them they dissolve like shadows.

Realizing that certain agents in one’s mind are actually entirely under one’s control, if one wishes, destroys not just the magic, but the agent and everything associated with it. You can’t unsee it, and the intensity never comes back.²

There are some illusions you don’t want broken.

And so that this isn’t entirely a quotes post, some commentary, in the form of further quotes. (Wait a minute…)

Looking at this from the outside, it bothers me that the emptiness from breaking the spell persists, even if those affected by it try to make it go away. There shouldn’t be persistent god withdrawal.

MixedNuts wrote on LW once:

The neurology involved in finding god is very real and useful and happiness-inducing. It is also completely independent of the actual existence of a god to be found. (It’s actually better for people who try to find or have found god to become atheists. Once you know how god works, you can have more of it.)

Believing in the existence of god, or that your arm is missing, involve wrong beliefs. The ideal (possibly forbidden by brain bugs) resolutions are learning that god isn’t a dude in the sky but a perfectly ordinary oxytocin-secreting circuit, and that your arm works and you can use it.

That’s how it should be. You realize you have causal control over the gods, e presto, press the god button any time you want. But deep down, we’re all essentialists.

So imagine you’re Truman in the Truman Show.³ You have lived a fairly happy live, have a loving mother, a good relationship and a solid job. Up to your 30th birthday, you are happy and undisturbed, until you learn that virtually all the people you care about are actors and their interactions with you are entirely scripted.

Now that’s devastating alright, but try to think of it from a different perspective. RAW describes an elaborate initiation ceremony in Prometheus Rising:

One of the greatest historical practitioners of this neuroscience was Hassan i Sabbah, who used relatively simple techniques, including, evidently, a time-release capsule invented by the Sufi College of Wisdom in Cairo.

As I describe Hassan’s technique - based on historical records - in my novel, The Trick Top Hat: Two young candidates dine with Hassan; the food is laced with a time-release capsule. When asleep the candidates are taken to Hassan’s famous “Garden of Delights.” The capsule had released a heavy does of opium and they were quite thoroughly unconscious and unaware of their surroundings.

[…]

Both young men were conveyed into the Garden of Delights and placed several acres apart from each other. In a short time, the second stage of the time-release capsule began to work; cocaine was released into their bloodstreams, thereby over-whelming the traces of the soporific opium and causing them to awaken full of energy and zest. At the same time, as they woke, hashish also began to be released, so they saw everything with exceptional clarity and all colors were jewel-like, brilliant, divinely beautiful.

A group of extremely comely and busty young ladies - imported from the most expensive brothel in Cairo - sat in a circle around each of the young candidates, playing flutes and other delicately sweet musical instruments. “Welcome to heaven,” they sang as the awakening men gazed about them in wonder. “By the magic of the holy Lord Hassan, you have entered Paradise while still alive.” And they fed them “paradise apples” (oranges), far sweeter and stranger than the earth-apples they had known before, and they showed them the animals of paradise (imported from as far away as Japan, in some cases), creatures far more remarkable than those ordinarily seen in Afghanistan.

[…]

Then, as each young man sat entranced by the beauty and wonder of Heaven, the houris finished the dance, and nude and splendid as they were, rushed forward in a bunch, like flowers cast before the wind. And some fell at the candidate’s feet and kissed his ankles; some kissed knees or thighs, one sucked raptly at his penis, others kissed the chest and arms and belly, a few kissed eyes and mouth and ears. And as he was smothered in this hashish-intensified avalanche of love, the lady working on his penis sucked and sucked and he climaxed in her mouth as softly and slowly and blissfully as a single snowflake falling.

In a little while, there was no more hashish being released and more opium began to flow into the bloodstream, the young candidates slept again; and in their torpor, they were removed from the Garden of Delights and returned to the banquet hall of the Lord Hassan.

There they awoke.

“Truly,” the first exclaimed, “I have seen the glories of Heaven, as foretold in Al Koran. I have no more doubts. I will trust Hassan i Sabbah and love him and serve him.”

“You are accepted for the Order of Assassin,” said Hassan solemnly. “Go at once to the Green Room to meet your superior in the order.”

When this candidate had left, Hassan turned to the second, asking, “And you?” “I have discovered the First Matter, the Medicine of Metals, the Elixir of Life, the Stone of the Philosophers, True Wisdom and Perfect Happiness,” said he, quoting the alchemical formula. “And it is inside my own head!”

Hassan i Sabbah grinned broadly. “Welcome to the Order of the Illuminati!” he said, laughing.

In other words, Truman might realize that the happiness he knew didn’t depend on other people. It worked just as well with actors and scripts. And the person experiencing god withdrawal might realize that it was their own brain that made the experience wonderful, and didn’t rely on some independent agents.

And somehow, this strikes me as wrong. Could you really imagine telling Truman that he might try convincing the director to write him some new scripts? Or worse, that Truman might try writing fanfic about his own life, and extract his happiness from it? After all, his previous life was just as fake, so what’s the difference?

With sufficiently strong luminosity, you ought to be able to realize that whatever good you experienced from things you thought were independent agents, but that turned out to be illusions, wasn’t caused by those agents (because they never existed). The power was in your brain all along.⁴

And similarly with Sister Y’s example, the comfort you received from the illusion of control never depended on any actual control, and so you should be able to experience it just on its own. You never needed control or agents to feel better, and having the spell broken doesn’t take away any abilities.

You should be able to be happy anyway.

Says Manuel Blum:

“Claude Shannon once told me that as a kid, he remembered being stuck on a jigsaw puzzle. His brother, who was passing by, said to him: “You know: I could tell you something.”

That’s all his brother said.

Yet that was enough hint to help Claude solve the puzzle. The great thing about this hint… is that you can always give it to yourself.”

But I tried that, and I can’t get it to work. Maybe I’ve just not tried hard enough, and maybe I’m still stuck in an essentialist delusion, but even if it worked, it would still seem hollow to me.

Because when you do that, why are you caring about other people, or external things at all? Anything you feel, anything you care about, you’d still have experienced if it turns out you were being deceived, or have simply been mistaken about the existence or absence of your control over things.

Try adopting a non-essentialist perspective.

Truman should realize that, whether a romantic speech originated in a bunch of neurons located in the skull of the person he calls his girlfriend, or whether it comes from a bunch of neurons which caused it to be written on paper which another bunch of neurons read and later spoke, doesn’t change the speech.

A perfect copy of a thing is the thing.⁵Theseus has two ships.

And more importantly, an illusionary setup is actually favorable. Think about it, like in the illusion of control case Sister Y describes. Subjects felt more comfortable under loud noise if they believed they had a button that would stop the noise, even though they never pressed it (and in fact, it wasn’t connected to anything).

But that’s good news. In this case, for the subject to feel comfort, three things were necessary:

1. Their brain must have the ability to feel better.
2. It must be possible to activate this ability.
3. This activation must be hooked up to the belief that they can stop the noise.

In a non-illusionary setup, you need an additional step: the button must actually do something. That’s worse, because in the illusionary case, all the subject needs to do is change their brain so as to connect the existing ability with a new trigger. In the non-illusionary case, this trigger also has to stop the noise.

You see, the ability is already there. Those who miss the gods already felt great. Truman was satisfied. The subjects already could endure the noise. So the first two steps are already done. The only thing left to do is figure out how to trigger it.

Assert causal dominance. Realize that you are already causally disconnected from the thing which you thought you cared about. What you believed you wanted (control, gods, unscripted people, …) was never determining your state of mind in the first place. It’s entirely superfluous, and for you to now insist on it, in fact to be disappointed to learn that this thing isn’t real - well, it’s a non sequitur. It’s silly.

But that doesn’t mean that the effect of this illusion is itself illusionary. It isn’t. The effect is absolutely real. It just wasn’t triggered by what you thought it was triggered by. Just a bug. That’s all.

I do not know if this is the right view, but one thing is clear - the non-essentialist perspective is certainly more empowering.

Yet somehow…

I think the non-essentialist perspective misses something, misses a conditional component. It’s not just about the emotional state.

The schizophrenic is not just disappointed that the Love of the Virgin Mary is gone (because they found out that they can control the Virgin Mary), but that it was unjustified. Feeling the love was partially a transaction, a binding contract. I will feel love if and only if the Virgin Mary is actually caring for me. (I will be less worried if and only if I know I could end it all. I will be comfortable around you if and only if I can trust you to be honest.)

The illusion then provided false evidence that this condition was fulfilled, and so maybe what is felt afterwards is not just emptiness, not just absence, but active betrayal. (I certainly feel that way.)

It might look a little stupid from the outside. The sufferer is willing to engage in a deal from which they would greatly benefit, and this benefit is administered by the sufferer themselves. It’s entirely self-gratification. Yet when the sufferer learns that the initial condition for this contract is in fact impossible, illusionary, they don’t just reward themselves unconditionally. They stick to their deal, no matter the harm.

It’s so… non-utilitarian. Death before dishonor, suffering before illusion.

Certainly can’t complain people don’t actually care about the truth. Funny it’s the crazy ones, though.

(And I’ll leave it on this unsatisfactory note, as this most accurately reflects how shitty the whole situation feels.)