Simulation Theory and Google Ads My Lullabye

The simulation theory, in simple terms, is the hypothesis that we are all living inside a computer simulation so sophisticated that we have no way of recognizing it as such. It is difficult to conclusively disprove, much in the same way that it is difficult to prove that the Flying Spaghetti Monster isn’t doing its work right now.

I’ve discussed simulation theory many times, and it always makes for a compelling conversation. Sometimes I even find myself quietly thinking about it, especially at night. During those moments, I consider all the strange possibilities that might accompany simulation theory if it actually turned out to be true.

This is one of my theories about what such a simulation might be like.

The other day, after having a very vocal conversation with a friend about charter schools, I picked up my phone and found news articles about charter schools on my Yahoo homepage. My immediate thought was about the invasiveness of targeted content. Whether the recommendations resulted from my previous online activity, demographic profiling, coincidence, or some other source of data, it got me thinking about simulation theory again.

If we really did live inside a simulation, who is to say that the simulation itself wouldn’t contain targeted content?

If its creators had motivations anything like ours, perhaps the simulation could even be manipulated to sell products or influence its inhabitants’ behavior. Maybe there would be the simulated equivalent of advertising algorithms, sales data, consumer profiles, and recommendation engines. With that possibility in mind, perhaps we would all be little more than wallets to fill and drain as we cycled through the system.

That is the considerably less comforting version of my theory.

There is, however, a nicer version.

Instead of imagining the simulation as one enormous predatory advertisement, imagine that it functions more like a recommendation algorithm designed to adapt itself to its inhabitants. The things we repeatedly focus on might gradually become more prominent in our lives, not unlike the saying, “The grass is greener where you water it.”

A person who spends their life obsessed with cars, for example, will probably end up with a life that revolves around cars. They may learn about them, work with them, collect them, attend events involving them, and make friends who share the same interest. In ordinary reality, this makes sense because our attention influences our decisions, and our decisions influence the environments we create for ourselves.

But within my imaginary simulation, there would be another layer to it.

The artificial intelligence running the simulation could recognize what each person valued and gradually adjust the content of that person’s experience accordingly. In effect, reality itself would become a recommendation algorithm. The more attention you gave something, the more the simulation would decide, Oh, apparently she likes this. Give her more of it.

And that brings me to what I think of as my simulation lullaby.

Sometimes I like imagining that my life is one very long simulation and that, within the parameters of this reality, I can influence what comes next by choosing what I consistently work toward.

Obviously, I cannot suddenly decide that I would like to fly through the sky like a deity and expect reality to accommodate me. There would still be rules and limitations built into the system. But I could become interested in a realistic goal—putting French doors in my living room, learning another language, writing a book, or developing some completely new skill—and eventually make that possibility part of my reality.

In this little bedtime version of simulation theory, even the things that go wrong become less intimidating. Maybe those moments are simply instances when the preference inputs have gotten temporarily scrambled. It would be like opening your phone and discovering that your targeted advertisements have inexplicably decided you’re a 75-year-old man shopping for fishing equipment. Give the algorithm enough time and new information, and eventually it figures you out again.

I don’t actually know that reality works this way, of course. That’s why I call it my lullaby rather than my explanation of the universe.

For a little while, though, it lets me imagine that everything is happening for a reason, that the algorithm is still learning, and that my own choices are providing the inputs that will help guide me toward whatever experience I decide to pursue next.