I’m not up on the literature and haven’t thought too hard about it, but I’m currently very much inclined to not accept the premise that I should expect myself to be a randomly-chosen person or person-moment in any meaningful sense—as if I started out as a soul hanging out in heaven, then flew down to Earth and landed in a random body, like in that Pixar movie.
I think that “I” am the thought processes going on in a particular brain in a particular body at a particular time—the reference class is not “observers” or “observer-moments” or anything like that, I’m in a reference class of one.
The idea that “I could have been born a different person” strikes me as just as nonsensical as the idea “I could have been a rock”. Sure, I’m happy to think “I could have been born a different person” sometimes—it’s a nice intuitive poetic prod to be empathetic and altruistic and grateful for my privileges and all that—but I don’t treat it as a literally true statement that can ground philosophical reasoning. Again, I’m open to being convinced, but that’s where I’m at right now.
Indeed. Seems supported by a quantum suicide argument—no matter how unlikely the observer, there always has to be a feeling of what-its-like-to-be that observer.