Responsa
In which I actually acknowledge the existence of other people, sort of.
As far as I’m concerned, identity is a terminal value. Or, at the least, a value so tightly bound up in my vision of human flourishing that we might as well treat it as terminal.
Paperclip maximizers are real.
I mean, I’m happy to be the blue/orange alien monster in anyone’s metaethical passion play, but…
…I can’t be the first person you’ve encountered who feels this way. Or the tenth, or the hundredth.
Spend a while poking at people’s reactions to various potentially-utopian visions. I suspect you’ll be horrified by what you find.