It’s not just technology that has improved people’s lives; moral change has done so, too. In 1700, women were unable to attend university, and the feminist movement did not exist.If that well-off Brit was gay, he could not love openly; sodomy was punishable by death. In the late 1700s, three in four people globally were the victims of some form of forced labour; now less than 1 percent are. In 1700, no one lived in a democracy. Now over half the world does.

For this reason, even if you think that the absence of future generations is not a moral loss or that the end of civilisation would be a good thing (issues that I discuss in Part IV), it’s still very important to avoid AI takeover or the lock-in of bad values. There will be future generations of intelligent beings either way, and by preventing the takeover of the world by an AI with bad values, you are changing how good or bad the future is over the course of civilisation’s life span. That’s the main effect, rather than any impacts on civilisation’s life expectancy.

The intentions are admirable. But why should we measure human development in this particular way? Some people might suggest that a measure of human development should include personal freedom, or the strength of religious belief (or its absence), or environmental awareness. Why? Or why not? Even if we agree that health, education and income are the relevant criteria, should we measure them in this way, and weight them in this way? Why? Or why not? The problem is not just that these are questions on which people might disagree. The problem is that it is difficult to see any criteria by which their disagreements might be resolved. The supposed objectivity of the measurement of human development— which is calculated to three places of decimals— is spurious.

It may be that in the dream of their orthodoxy some of the great religions lost touch with noble love that inspired and sustained their births in the first place. They lost touch with the suffering of the people, with hunger. They lost touch with the basic compassion

without which even the most beautifully inspired religion becomes an empty shell of dogma.

A cliché about India holds that the loss of life matters less here than in other countries,

because of the Hindu faith in reincarnation, and because of the vast scale of the population. In my reporting, I found that young people felt the loss of life acutely. What appeared to be indifference to other people’s suffering had little to do with reincarnation, and less to do with being born brutish. I believe it had a good deal to do with conditions that had sabotaged their innate capacity for moral action.

In places where government priorities and market imperatives create a world so capricious that to help a neighbor even your own liberty, the idea of the mutually supportive poor community is demolished. The poor blame one another for the choices of governments and markets, and we who are not poor are ready to blame the poor just as harshly.

It is easy, from a safe distance, to overlook the fact that in undercities governed by corruption, where exhausted people vie on scant terrain for very little, it is blisteringly hard to be good.