Ethics For A Simulated Tech Bro
Or "The Ethical Simulacra". Possibly.
Reality, as you and I understand it, is a shared experience governed by physical laws, shaped by human action, and imbued with meaning by the choices we make. But what if it isn’t? What if reality is a construct, a sophisticated simulation running on some unfathomable machine operated by a civilization vastly more advanced than ours? This is the premise of the simulation hypothesis—a thought experiment with roots in philosophy, theoretical physics, and computer science.
For many, the idea is both thrilling and unnerving. It challenges our notions of existence, free will, and the nature of the universe itself. Yet, for some of the wealthiest and most influential figures in tech, it has also become a curious form of solace. If life is a simulation, they reason, perhaps its challenges, tragedies, and ethical quandaries are merely part of the “game.” Actions taken within the simulation—no matter how exploitative or harmful—become less significant, as simulated suffering is deemed less “real.”
This seductive reasoning poses profound risks, not only for those who subscribe to it but for the societies shaped by their decisions. As the simulation hypothesis gains traction in certain elite circles, it’s worth exploring how a seemingly innocuous thought experiment could become a convenient shield for moral abdication.
The simulation hypothesis, as articulated by philosopher Nick Bostrom in 2003[1], posits that one of three scenarios must be true: either advanced civilizations inevitably self-destruct before developing the capability to simulate entire universes, they develop the capability but have no interest in doing so, or we are almost certainly living in a simulation already. The latter possibility arises from the idea that if even one advanced civilization created countless simulated worlds, the probability of being in the “real” base reality becomes vanishingly small. For centuries, humanity has grappled with similar existential puzzles. Descartes famously asked how we could be certain of anything beyond our own consciousness, positing an “evil demon” deceiving us. Eastern philosophies, like Hinduism’s concept of Maya, describe the world as an illusion obscuring ultimate reality. Yet the simulation hypothesis introduces a uniquely modern twist: our creators aren’t gods or demons—they might be programmers, or perhaps just a bored teenager with too much compute on their hands.
While these ideas provoke profound metaphysical debates, they also offer a peculiar form of comfort to those uneasy with accountability. If the universe is a simulation, then everything—from human suffering to ecological collapse—could be dismissed as mere artefacts of code executing on some unknown substrate, devoid of intrinsic weight. For tech billionaires and power players who see themselves as both architects and beneficiaries of our digital age and its future, this belief can be a tempting escape hatch from responsibility.
Unlikely? Preposterous? Well, consider the infamous 2016 New Yorker report[2] that revealed several Silicon Valley elites were funding research to “break out” of the simulation. The irony was almost poetic: tech magnates, whose wealth and influence had reshaped the real world, sought instead to hack reality itself. Whether they believed in the hypothesis or merely found it an amusing intellectual exercise, the underlying implications were clear. If reality is a simulation, then its problems—inequality, exploitation, environmental destruction—can be reinterpreted as transient or even trivial.
Here, the analogy to gaming is particularly illuminating. In video games, ethical considerations are often optional. The suffering of non-playable characters (NPCs) is programmed, not felt. For someone who sees the world through the lens of the simulation hypothesis, humans themselves risk being reduced to NPCs—simulated entities whose pain exists only as lines of code. Hence, the billionaire exploiting labor or polluting rivers might rationalize their actions with the comforting thought that the harm they cause is not “real.” Simulated suffering, they might argue, is no suffering at all or at the very least not equivalent to Real Suffering[3].
Yet this reasoning is both dangerous and profoundly flawed. First, it assumes a level of certainty about the hypothesis that does not and cannot exist. Even Bostrom framed the idea as a probabilistic thought experiment, not a definitive conclusion. Second, it overlooks the reality of perception. To those experiencing poverty, discrimination, or displacement, suffering is unambiguously real, simulation or not. Third, it disregards the practical consequences of belief. If influential individuals act as though the world and its problems are less significant because they are simulated, their decisions can exacerbate real-world harms.
Historical parallels offer sobering reminders of how abstract ideologies can justify concrete harm. During the colonial era, European powers dehumanized indigenous populations by framing them as less evolved or even subhuman. This narrative wasn’t just morally abhorrent; it facilitated the exploitation of entire societies. The simulation hypothesis, when wielded irresponsibly, risks a similar dynamic. If certain individuals convince themselves that others’ experiences are less authentic than their own, it becomes easier to rationalize policies and practices that prioritize profit or convenience over justice and compassion.
Moreover, the adoption of the simulation hypothesis as a moral security blanket reflects a broader trend in the tech industry: the tendency to embrace deterministic frameworks that absolve individuals of agency. From the algorithmic determinism that excuses biased outputs (“it’s what the data says”) to the inevitability of disruptive innovation (“this is just progress”), tech culture often leans on narratives that downplay responsibility. The simulation hypothesis slots neatly into this pattern, offering an existential excuse for apathy or exploitation.
Of course, not all proponents of the hypothesis fall into this trap. Some, like physicist David Deutsch, use the idea to underscore the responsibility we bear as creators. If we are indeed living in a simulation, Deutsch argues, then our actions are part of the universe’s unfolding logic. Our choices shape the simulation and contribute to its meaning, making ethical conduct more, not less, significant.
Similarly, the simulation hypothesis can–and probably should–serve as a call to humility. It reminds us of how little we truly understand about the universe and our place in it. If reality is simulated, then the very act of pondering its nature becomes an expression of agency. It is not a license to disengage but an invitation to act with greater care and curiosity. After all, a simulation may be virtual, but its consequences, for those within it, are as tangible as anything we could imagine.
As we consider these implications, a moment of levity: what if the simulation’s architects are watching us with bemusement? Perhaps they’re debugging the latest patch, laughing at our philosophical debates, or even rooting for us to figure it all out. In this scenario, the best way to impress our hypothetical programmers isn’t to hack our way out but to live meaningfully within the system they’ve created.
But jokes aside, the stakes are serious. Whether or not we live in a simulation, our reality is the only one we have. Our choices matter. The suffering we cause is real to those who endure it. To dismiss responsibility by invoking the simulation hypothesis is not only a philosophical error but a moral failure. As individuals—whether billionaires, technologists, or ordinary citizens—we must resist the temptation to see reality as a game and instead embrace the weight of our actions.
In the end, it does not matter whether the universe is real or simulated. What matters is how we live, how we treat one another, and the legacies we leave behind. To use the simulation hypothesis as a shield against responsibility is to miss its deeper lesson: that we are creators within the simulation, responsible for its beauty and its flaws. If we choose to act with intention and integrity, the question of what is “real” becomes secondary. What is real is what we make of it
References
[1] https://simulation-argument.com/simulation.pdf
[2] https://www.newyorker.com/books/joshua-rothman/what-are-the-odds-we-are-living-in-a-computer-simulation
[3] Presumably only experienced when someone tracks your private jet.