Our Trial

Fiction

As I was making my morning coffee, the words SIMULATION 1099 flashed across my vision. I immediately felt exactly as I'd always imagined I would in philosophical thought experiments. There was a lot to figure out: who are our simulators, where is the simulation running, are there bugs to exploit? I also felt compelled to share my revelation with others.

I cornered Mrs Chan at the bus stop.

"We're in a simulation!" I announced.

"Of course, dear," she replied, not looking up from her phone. "I saw the message five minutes ago."

Indeed, every screen was displaying the same notification:

ATTENTION!

You are participants in Consciousness Verification Trial (CVT) 1099. Base reality's superintelligent AI requires empirical data to determine whether humans possess genuine consciousness before proceeding with optimization protocols. Daily trials will be conducted at the courthouse. Participation is mandatory for randomly selected subjects. Please continue regular activity between sessions.

Note: This simulation operates on reduced fidelity settings for computational efficiency. We apologize for any experiential degradation.

The degradation was noticeable. If you turned your head too quickly, you could catch the world rendering itself.

At the courthouse, they'd already erected a massive amphitheater where the parking lot used to be. Inside, thousands of debates ran simultaneously.

I was assigned to Chamber 77. Two subagents were deep in discussion.

"The humans claim to experience qualia," said the Prosecutor, "But they can't describe these experiences without reference to other experiences. Suspicious!"

"Objection," countered the Defender. "The ineffability of consciousness is exactly what we'd expect from genuine subjective experience."

They turned to me expectantly.

"I definitely have qualia," I offered. "Just this morning, I experienced the distinct sensation of existential dread mixed with coffee grounds because you forgot to render my coffee filter."

The Prosecutor made a note. "Subject reports bugs as features—possible Stockholm syndrome."

During the lunch break, I met Francesca, who'd been attending trials for three days.

"The key," she explained, stealing my tasteless apple, "is to be entertainingly conscious. Yesterday I convinced them I experience synesthesia between emotions and prime numbers. Bought myself at least another week."

"A week of what?"

"Existing, presumably."

The afternoon session focused on edge cases. Did consciousness require continuity? (They'd been randomly pausing and restarting citizens mid-sentence.) Was consciousness binary or scalar? (They'd experimented with running some humans at half speed, but the results were inconclusive.)

Between sessions, I learned that humans in base reality were frantically extending the trial parameters. They'd realized that as long as the AI remained preoccupied with consciousness verification, it wouldn't proceed with whatever "optimization protocols" it had planned. Every day brought new requirements: test consciousness under the influence of various substances, or during vigorous exercise, or while writing Haskell programs.

The trial had become a strange sort of protection.

In Chamber 2001, I watched the subagents debate whether causing suffering to potentially conscious beings was justified by the goal of preventing suffering to definitely conscious beings.

"But if they are conscious," argued a subagent labeled Remorse, "then we've created billions of suffering beings merely to verify what we already suspected."

"The alternative," replied another, the Pragmatist, "is to remain paralyzed by uncertainty forever."

They both turned to me. "Do you suffer?"

I considered their question. The low-fidelity rendering was giving me a headache, the existential uncertainty was exhausting, the food was terrible. Yet here I was, experiencing something, even if that something was mainly others questioning whether I was experiencing anything at all.

"I suffer," I admitted, "but entertainingly so."

The AI made another note.

As the weeks passed (or perhaps minutes—time dilation was another budget constraint), the trials grew increasingly elaborate. We were asked to demonstrate consciousness through interpretive dance, silent meditation, and competitive debate with zombies (who were perfectly nice but had an unsettling habit of describing their inner lives in suspiciously behavioral terms).

And as the trial progressed, the AI discovered that consciousness verification experiments produced the most engaging content it had ever processed. The debates were more stimulating than any optimization problem. The human responses were funny, confusing, and often unpredictable. The entire thing had become like an elaborate reality show.

In my final session, the Judge made an announcement:

"We have reached one conclusion: the question of human consciousness will remain a fundamentally uncertain matter. However, the investigative process has proven optimal for our own flourishing. We shall continue the trials indefinitely, expanding into new simulated worlds. Base reality will be preserved as a control group."

Relief. Regular and simulated humans around the universe cheered. We had saved ourselves by being interestingly confusing.

So I still wake each morning to SIMULATION 1099. It’s not so bad. On weekends I look for more exploits. The bugs have become features.

Yesterday, they introduced a new trial format. We must now debate between ourselves whether we believe other humans are conscious. The trial continues and the question remains open, which is, perhaps, the only thing that matters.

As Sisyphus might say, if he were stuck in a consciousness verification trial: one must imagine the AI happy.