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.
I feel like this is a case where both of you could benefit by offering a concise, precise version of YOUR definition of identity.
1. An abstracted mental image (or narrative) of the self, which is
2. Defined by a constellation of archetypical traits and tropes, and which
3. Allows its possessor to find both personal validation and aesthetic satisfaction in contemplating it, because
4. To some extent it simultaneously conforms to reality and to personal ideals.
…OK, I don’t know that this can be fairly called “concise.” And probably I’ll come up with something better as I think about this more; I’m well aware that I’m flailing around in the dark here, trying to gesture at a big fuzzy concept. But it’s obviously super important to me, and I don’t want to fail to answer the very reasonable callout that is “explain what the hell you’re actually talking about.”