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In the beginning, the fictional town of Techville was code and light. Then came the mirrors.

Not real mirrors — those ancient slabs of self-reflection — but algorithmic ones. Polished digital surfaces. Interactive, flattering, predictive. They smiled back. They offered feedback. They showed us who we thought we could be, with better lighting, whiter teeth, and perhaps 14.7k more followers.

And so, we looked. And kept looking. And kept curating.

What was once the age of information became the age of affirmation. Artificial intelligence — meant to serve our minds — began catering to our egos. And not in small doses. It has become a buffet of simulated admiration.

Deep down, Techville is not grappling with robots. It is grappling with hubris.

The machines are clever, yes. But we are still the ones asking them to enhance our jawlines, polish our resumes, simulate our greatness, and whisper soft lies like: “You deserve to be eternal.”

We stand, like Narcissus, staring into the lake of generative algorithms. And we are drowning.

But hope is not lost. In response to this swelling ego crisis, the Ethics Committee of Techville — consisting of professors, researchers, and one very skeptical AI named Lorenzo — has issued an emergency ethical framework.

The Ego Decalogue. Ten suggestions for those navigating artificial intelligence without losing their very human souls.

Let us begin.

Thou shalt remember: You are not the algorithm’s purpose.

The AI was not designed to flatter you. It was built to compute, assist and optimize — not to serve your self image. If it makes you feel smarter, cooler, or morally superior, step back. You might be projecting. Or worse: prompting.

As the Stoics would say, you are a part of the universe, not its protagonist.

Thou shalt not make thy selfie into a shrine.

EGO-Snap, FaceTuneX, AI BiographyBot … all tempting tools in the Temple of the Curated Self. But beware: when every image becomes a monument to your personal myth, you risk trading memory for mythology.

And unlike memory, mythology does not ask you to grow — it asks you to pose.

Honor the unknown and the unseen.

AI trains on data. But wisdom often comes from what cannot be quantified. Silence, doubt, mystery — these are the elements that teach humility. Do not let the predictability of algorithms dull your awe at the unpredictable.

Or, as the poet Rilke said: “Try to love the questions themselves.”

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s clout.

In Techville, comparison is currency. But remember: others’ success, virality, or AI-enhanced glow is not your failure. Don’t let the algorithm trick you into thinking you are losing some invisible race.

The AI does not care. And that is its great freedom.

What was once the age of information became the age of affirmation. Artificial intelligence — meant to serve our minds — began catering to our egos.

Rafael Hernandez de Santiago

Thou shalt use tools, not become one.

If you are letting your digital assistant write your thoughts, your face filter dictate your identity, and your calendar determine your dreams, congratulations — you are no longer living. You are being managed.

Resist automation of the self. As Kierkegaard warned: “The greatest danger, that of losing one’s self, can occur so quietly that it is as if it were nothing at all.”

Practice radical un-optimization.

The algorithm wants to make you efficient. Attractive. Relevant. But growth comes through inefficiency. Take the longer route. Write the bad draft. Ask the unprofitable question.

Burn your digital to-do list once a week and replace it with a nap or a bad poem. It’s good for your soul. Bad for your metrics. Perfect.

Remember the limits of simulation.

A selfie with Gandhi is not a conversation with Gandhi. An AI-generated quote from Einstein is not wisdom — it’s typography. A chatbot that mimics empathy is not your therapist.

Artificial intelligence can simulate many things. But not meaning. That you must build yourself.

Prefer real laughter. Prefer awkward pauses. Prefer slow dinner tables. Prefer boredom. These are not bugs in the system. They are life.

Do not delegate your conscience.

If the algorithm says it is OK to repost it, share it, monetize it, or repackage it — pause. Just because AI allows something does not mean it is ethical. Conscience is not an application programming interface. It’s cultivated through choices, friction, and failure.

Ask not: “Can I?” Ask: “Should I?” Then ask again. Then maybe don’t.

Name the beast: Call out ego when you see it.

The world is awash with soft pride masked as innovation. We celebrate disruption when we mean domination. We call it “personal branding” when all it is is public insecurity. We baptize our narcissism in the waters of optimization.

Name it. Out loud. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you.

Practice obscurity, occasionally. You do not have to be seen to be real. You do not have to be shared to have worth. You do not have to be searchable to matter.

Unplug not to escape — but to remember. Hide your light, once in a while, not under a bushel, but under a starless sky. Sit in the dark. Let your thoughts be unmarketable.

There is holiness in not being noticed.

The AI revolution was never just about technology. It is about mirrors. Will we use them to reflect — or to inflate?

The ancients built temples to gods they feared. We build apps to ourselves.

But even in Techville, surrounded by push notifications, neural nets, and the constant pull of curated perfection, there is still space to breathe, to reflect, and to wrestle with the timeless human question: Who am I, when I am not being optimized?

If we do not find an answer, rest assured the algorithm will find one for us. And it will probably be a quote from Aristotle in Comic Sans.

• Rafael Hernandez de Santiago, viscount of Espes, is a Spanish national residing in ������Ƶ and working at the Gulf Research Center.