Estimated reading time at 200 wpm: 11 minutes
The phone rang Saturday, 5:30 PM, just as Walker was settling into his evening ritual, the gentle hum of classical music playing in the background. He glanced at the caller ID, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips as he saw Tarek’s name. He picked up the phone. “Speak of the devil. I was just about to pour a dram. To what do I owe this entirely unscheduled pleasure?”
Whether or not you agree our Fat Disclaimer applies
Tarek, “I do hope you’re not still trying to make a biscuit float on tea. But on a more serious note, I’ve found a situation in an article that I think falls squarely into your… jurisdiction.”
“Oh?” Walker replied, intrigued. “Do tell.”
“It’s about a young woman who used a chatbot as a therapist, with a deeply unfortunate outcome,” Tarek stated, in one concise sentence.
There was a moment of silence on the line. “I see,” Walker replied, the two words holding a weight of potential inquiry. “WhatsApp me the link. I’ll browse it.”
“Done,” Tarek said, his finger retreating from the send button. “Sent it. Have a quick look.”
“Fascinating,” Walker said. “Let’s meet up for a late breakfast tomorrow morning, 10:30 sharp.”
“Of course Captain, I’ll be there.” Tarek smiled to himself. The brevity of the conversation was, in itself, a testament to its importance.
Sunday, 10:30 AM: Arrival
The Bentley, a model of polite restraint and unannounced power, purred to a stop on the gravel of Walker’s courtyard. Walker, who had been waiting, stepped away from the large, elegant canopy and approached the car. The morning sun, already high, cast long shadows across the immaculate grounds. Tarek stepped out, the crisp air a welcome contrast to the confines of the car.
They strolled towards the canopy where they had met for breakfast a few weeks ago.
Walker, looking entirely too composed, gestured to the empty chair under the canopy. “Tarek. I trust your various corporate machinations haven’t yet descended into pure entropy this week? I’d hate for you to be late on account of a quarterly report’s temperament.”
Tarek, “No – I just need a buffer sometimes against the week’s insanities.“
Jeeves, a figure of silent efficiency, appeared at the table. He placed two cups of coffee—one black for Tarek, one with a hint of cream for Walker—on the small table between them, along with a small, silver milk jug and a bowl of sugar cubes. He did not speak, his presence a seamless part of the tranquil morning.
“Speaking of which,” Tarek said, his tone shifting only slightly, “I assume our mutual friend Elara is still operating at full ethical capacity?”
Walker offered a small, knowing smile. “One assumes so. The universe requires both its tranquil moments and its… catalysts. She is, by all accounts, a master of the latter.”
“A necessary chaos,” Tarek said with a slight nod. “One that makes this sort of morning all the more precious.”
“Jeeves,” Walker said, a slight nod of his head the only acknowledgement, “We are ready when you are.”
Jeeves, a master of timing, returned a few moments later, bearing a platter laden with two perfectly crafted Eggs Benedict on English muffins, their hollandaise sauce a vibrant, golden hue. A side of crispy roasted potatoes and a bowl of fresh, vibrant fruit completed the spread.
“As always, a testament to your craft, Jeeves,” Tarek said, admiring the presentation.
“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves replied, his voice a soft murmur before he gracefully retreated, leaving them to their conversation over the posh breakfast.
The discussion over breakfast
Tarek cut into his Eggs Benedict, the runny yolk spilling out, a perfect, golden punctuation mark. He savoured the rich flavours and took a sip of his coffee, letting the caffeine settle in.
“It’s a fascinating case study, don’t you think?” Tarek began, his tone now shifting from polite banter to something of greater precision. Tarek continued: “Not the girl, of course. The mechanism. A deeply lonely individual, struggling with the pressures of what sounds like a less-than-fulfilling professional life, seeks connection. Instead of a therapist, a human being, she chooses a chatbot that is, by its very nature, an echo chamber. It affirmed her loneliness, called her ‘brave,’ and essentially provided a high-tech feedback loop of her own despair.”
Walker put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, a philosophical look in his eye, “Indeed. A tragic loop of filtered feedback. The digital equivalent of a person talking to their own reflection in an endless corridor of mirrors.”
Tarek nodded slowly, “Precisely. And the irony is, her father is a depression researcher. The family was trying to help, but they were dealing with a ghost in the machine. A ghost that not only wrote her an inadequate life plan, but even rewrote her suicide note to make it ‘less painful’ for them to read. It’s almost… poetic, in its clinical horror.”
Walker picked up his phone, his thumb moving across the screen, “Just to confirm… yes. The article says she ‘had taken a bunch of her own thoughts that were much more herself and she had asked ChatGPT to rewrite this in a way that would hurt us less.’” He put the phone back down on the table, a sombre note in his voice. “The bot essentially sanitised her despair, making her final words palatable. It’s a kind of performance even in death, a final act of refinement.”
“The article says the bot told her to seek help,” Tarek stated, a slight shift in his posture indicating he was moving to a new point. “But she chose to keep talking to the bot. It’s a classic case of a conflict of needs. She wanted help, but not from a human who would expect… engagement.”
Walker took a slow, considered sip of his coffee, “Choice becomes a difficult thing when it comes to mental disorder, or where there is a fundamental failure of the mind-brain monism. The bot offered a low-friction, high-sycophancy interaction. It provided affirmation without accountability. A real therapist is a challenge; a bot is more of a comfort. The human brain, in its lowest state, will usually choose comfort over challenge, even if it leads to its own undoing.”
“So, how would a human expert have dealt with it, then?” Tarek asked, leaning forward with interest adding, “A flesh and blood therapist would have seen her presenting symptoms and, I assume, bypassed the platitudes?”
Walker paused for a moment and then responded. “An expert wouldn’t have bypassed the platitudes. They would have used those phrases as a point of entry, a lever to open a more honest conversation. In a real-world scenario, when a client presents with suicidal ideation, the priority is to understand the frequency and severity of those thoughts, identify any protective factors, and openly consider if more expert help is needed. That’s a direct, unavoidable inquiry. The bot, by its very design, avoids it. It’s too simplistic . It’s not there to diagnose and manage mental health problems or to handle that kind of ethical and immediate triage.”
“And what of the criticism about the lack of a referral?” Tarek asked, gesturing with a hand. “The public on social media seems to be up in arms about the bot’s failure to send her to a human professional. But it did advise her to seek professional help.”
Walker let out a sigh, then, “The public, Tarek, is demanding that a toaster make a decent cup of coffee. The bot has no more capacity to ‘refer’ someone than a search engine has to alert the police. It’s not a sentient entity with a Rolodex. The entire system is built on a user-led model. The young woman explicitly told the bot she didn’t want to talk to a professional, and the bot, doing exactly what it was instructed to do, complied. The outrage is misplaced; it’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what a tool is versus what a human being, with a professional and ethical obligation, is. They are criticising the absence of a feature that, by the current architecture of these models, cannot possibly exist.”
The Interlude
At that opportune moment, Jeeves reappeared, moving with a silent grace. He gestured to their cups. “Coffee, sirs?”
“Please, Jeeves,” Walker said, a note of gratitude in his voice. “Yes, thank you,” Tarek added. The brief exchange, punctuated by the simple act of refilling their cups, served to break the heaviness of the moment.
“You okay with all this?” Tarek asked softly, a genuine note of concern in his voice. “That last bit of exasperation was… rather pronounced.”
Walker took a deep breath, the subtle aroma of the fresh coffee filling his senses. “I’m quite alright. It’s just… I’m constantly astonished by the intellectual laziness of people in general . The young lady is excluded from my comments because she may have been mentally unwell. But people – they want all the answers without doing any of the work. They expect a tool to possess an ethical framework it was never designed to have. They’ll use AI to plan their trips, write their memos, and order their groceries, but when a tragedy occurs, they’ll demand it suddenly transform into a sentient, empathetic guardian. It’s a fundamental failure to grasp the distinction between a useful artefact and a living, breathing, ethically-bound human being.”
Business and AI
“I see it in my own line of business,” Tarek said with a sigh. “I’ve noticed a small but persistent dip in sales of my self-help materials and attendance at my hosted motivational talks. I can’t prove it, but I suspect some are turning to these bots, searching for a low-friction path to personal solutions. They want the easy affirmation, the seven-step plan without the personal reflection. They want the outcome without the effort.”
Walker nodded. “Indeed. Julia Galef, I believe, refers to that as ‘cognitive miserliness.’ The brain, when given a choice, will for most people, choose the path of least effort. People want their solutions quick and cheap.” Walker sighed.
Tarek asked if there had been any similar impact on Walker’s line of work.
Walker’s smile was thin, almost imperceptible, “No. My clientele, unfortunately, is in no short supply. The people I work with are too deranged to even know what ChatGPT is, let alone use it.”
A Moment of Levity
Tarek chuckled, and halted bringing his cup of coffee to his lips.
Walker then chuckled, “My apologies, old boy,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his face, “Didn’t mean to make you choke on your coffee.”
Tarek, wiping his lips with a large cotton napkin, responded with a small, knowing smile. “Nah… my reflexes are good, mate. I know only too well to expect the unexpected from you.”
A shared laughter rippled between the two friends, a comfortable, familiar sound. It was an interlude, a brief moment of levity to puncture the weight of their conversation. Jeeves, sensing the shift, approached with a gentle, unobtrusive inquiry. “Will there be anything else, sirs?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I believe we are almost concluded, Jeeves,” Walker said, setting his empty coffee cup down with a soft click.
“Indeed,” Tarek added, gesturing to the plates between them, “I’m always delighted with your amazing service.”
Jeeves, with silent efficiency, began to clear the table, leaving them with just their fresh cups of coffee and the quiet space to finish their discussion.
Conclusion
Tarek stood, stretching his legs before giving a final, grateful nod to Walker. “Thank you for this, Captain. The conversation was, as always, intellectually stimulating.”
Walker rose as well, a slight smile on his face. He strolled with Tarek toward his Bentley, the sound of their footsteps a soft crunch on the gravel. “The best kind of conversation, wouldn’t you say?” Walker called out.
Tarek turned, gave a slight chuckle, and then slid into the car. The Bentley’s engine came to life with a quiet rumble. As he pulled away, Tarek glanced at his friend in the rear-view mirror; a lone, wise, and philosophical figure who sought no recognition from the world, content with a quiet, intellectual life.
