Self and Substance in Leibniz

SELF AND SUBSTANCE IN LEIBNIZ

Self and Substance in Leibniz by

Marc Elliott Bobro University of Southern Maine, U.S.A.

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Acknowledgements

I thank Kenneth Clatterbaugh, Nicholas Jolley, Robert Coburn, Cass Weller, Jean Roberts, David Keyt, Anthony Savile, Paul Lodge, Donald Rutherford, Edwin McCann, Margaret Wilson, Christia Mercer, Jonathan Bennett, Peter Remnant, Donald Rutherford, Mark Kulstad, Andrew Pessin, Glenn Hartz, John Cottingham, David Lewis, Patricia Kitcher, James Mahoney, Kevin Staley, and two anonymous referees. I mustn’t forget Virginia and our children, Emma, Malcolm, and Cedric. Casco, Maine, United States November 2003

M. E. B.

v

Table of Contents

Introduction

1

1. Am I Essentially A Person?

7

2. What Makes Me A Person?

21

3. What Makes Me The Same Person?

39

4. Could Thinking Machines Be Moral Agents?

60

5. Why Bodies?

80

6. What Makes My Survival Meaningful?

99

Conclusion

118

Appendix A. On Hume Appendix B. On Kant’s Paralogisms

120 124

Bibliography Index of Proper Names

133 142

vii

Introduction

There is a close connection in Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz’s mind between the notions of self and substance. R. W. Meyer, in his classic 1948 text, Leibnitz and the Seventeenth-Century Revolution, writes that “the monad … is nothing but a représentation (in both senses of the French word)1 of Leibniz’s personality in metaphysical symbols; and there was, under contemporary circumstances, no need to ‘introduce’ this concept apart from ‘propounding’ it.”2 It is not clear what Meyer means here except that from the consideration of his own self, in some way Leibniz comes to his concept of simple substance, or monad. Herbert Carr, in an even earlier work, notes that Leibniz held that “the only real unities in nature are formal, not material.… [and] [f]or a long time Leibniz was content to call the formal unities or substantial forms he was speaking about, souls. This had the advantage that it referred at once to the fact of experience which supplies the very type of a substantial form, the self or ego.”3 Finally, Nicholas Rescher, in his usual forthright manner, states that “[i]n all of Leibniz’s expositions of his philosophy, the human person is the paradigm of a substance.”4 He continues, explaining something all students of Leibniz can understand, unfortunately: “Indeed it is only at this level that we humans can gain a cognitive grip on the realm of monads; in all other contexts, individual monads lie entirely outside the realm of our experience and knowledge.”5 Undoubtedly, there is a close connection in Leibniz’s mind between the notions of self and substance. But what is not agreed upon by commentators is the nature of the connection between self and substance. Is a self for Leibniz identical with a particular substance? Or, do selves merely resemble immaterial substances—a helpful device to get a handle on the mysterious monad? Ultimately, are Leibnizian selves best understood as Lockean unities or histories of consciousness? However, like his great rationalist forebears René Descartes and Baruch Spinoza, Leibniz’s answer to this question has not garnered much scholarly attention. (The heretofore closest thing to an adequate discussion of Leibniz’s notions of the self and of personal identity is found in Gaston Grua’s Jurisprudence universelle et Théodicée selon Leibniz.) I remember telling one of my past mentors (a very astute man well-versed in the “rationalists”) what I was currently working on and his response: “I did not even know that Leibniz had a theory of personal identity!” The most complete articulation of Leibniz’s theory comes in Book II, Chapter 27, of the Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain (New Essays on Human Understanding) (completed in 1704, first published in 1765), a point-by-point analysis of John Locke’s theory of personal identity in An Essay Concerning 1

2

Introduction

Human Understanding (second edition, 1694). Many who happen to read Leibniz’s words on personal identity in the Nouveaux essais see Leibniz in basic agreement with Locke, whose own (contemporaneous) theory of personal identity was and still is widely known in philosophical circles. Certainly Leibniz is partly to blame for the (I believe, mistaken) impression that Leibniz is in basic agreement with Locke. We find Leibniz saying to Locke: “I concede …,” “I admit …”. Are such phrases serious? It is hard to tell. Probably, but we have to be careful in concluding as to what Leibniz really concedes to Locke. Often he is conceding something but it is not as generous as it might appear at first glance. (As noted by Gaston Grua, Leibniz often disseminated ideas he found probable or attractive without actually championing such ideas.6) Leibniz can appear overly conciliatory in the Nouveaux essais and even involves himself (as represented by Theophilus) in a sustained dialogue with “Locke” (as represented by Philalethes) at times as if they were proceeding from the same definitions, having the same objectives, and working under the same constraints. The passages on personal identity seem no different; consequently, it can be difficult to discern any substantial disagreement between Leibniz and Locke. No doubt Leibniz and Locke do share some of the same objectives and work under some of the same constraints. But, as we will see, such similarity in project does not translate into similarity of product. 1. Overview of Book So how will we come to see that Leibniz’s theory of personal identity stands on its own—that it offers an original, internally coherent, theory of personal identity? The first chapter “Am I Essentially A Person?” addresses the following question: I am a person, but am I essentially or most fundamentally a person? In other words, can I exist (or did I once exist) without being a person? I will argue that for Leibniz once a person, always a person. This is not true for Locke. So right from the start we find a significant difference between Leibniz and Locke. The second chapter “What Makes Me A Person?” proceeds by showing that by taking the monad, itself an enduring perceiver, as a base and adding certain psychological attributes such as memory, self-consciousness, and rationality, Leibniz arrives at his conception of person. But commentators have charged that Leibniz’s account of the psychological component of personal identity is inconsistent, and a first reading of Leibniz’s Nouveaux essais certainly seems to validate that charge, since he says both that memory is necessary and that it is not. However, I will argue in the second chapter that there is no inconsistency in Leibniz’s account of the psychological component of personal identity since Leibniz distinguishes between what is necessary for being a person from what is necessary for being the same person over time. Monads—Leibnizian simple substances—are seemingly perfect candidates for persons. For, by all accounts, monads are immaterial, enduring substances distinguished by the content and clarity of their internally-driven and incessantly changing perceptions, yet each existing in preestablished harmony with all the others. Leibniz’s monads are really a far cry from anything Locke takes to be a substance. They are certainly not “substrata” or things with “bare substantial

Introduction

3

existence and duration.” Thus, substance in Leibniz’s hands is a much more promising candidate as a condition for personal identity than substance in Locke’s hands. Nevertheless, a number of commentators of Leibniz’s mature metaphysics have hesitated to attribute to him the unequivocal claim that persons are monads at all. They believe that after reading Locke’s Essay, Leibniz is so smitten with Locke’s conception of person as psychologically continuous being, that either Leibniz takes on Locke’s view without ever giving up his earlier understanding of person and as a consequence holds inconsistent views or actually abandons it in favor of Locke’s view that sameness of substance (that is, monadic identity) is not necessary for personal identity. In the third chapter “What Makes Me The Same Person?” I will argue that although Locke’s theory of personal identity certainly had some important influence on Leibniz, Leibniz never abandons his view that sameness of substance is necessary for the continued existence of the same person. Leibniz remains committed both to an immaterialist notion of substance and an immaterialist explanation of thought. The latter claim follows from the former since thought must be caused by a substance. According to Leibniz, the unity of consciousness must necessarily be explained by or caused by a true unity, that is, a simple, indivisible substance.7 Locke, however, is committed neither to an immaterialist notion of substance nor an immaterialist explanation of thought (E II, 27, §§8, 21; E II, 1, §11). At most, Locke holds that a substance is a mere bearer of properties, with no distinguishing features of its own, that uniquely individuates it from other substances. (I say, “at most,” since at least one commentator holds that Locke properly speaking has no theory of substance at all.8) According to Locke, identity of substance (material or immaterial) has nothing to do with psychological identity, that is, of psychological properties, character, personality, memories, disposition, and attitudes.9 As Carol Rovane understands Locke: “the soul affords no explanatory insight into the phenomenological unity of consciousness, or any other form of psychic unity.”10 As a consequence, it is no surprise that Locke comes to reject the view that substantial identity (sameness of substance) is even relevant to personal identity. Such a difference between Leibniz and Locke cannot be overcome, I believe. I will show in the fourth chapter “Could Thinking Machines be Moral Agents?” that the monadic conception of substance is also crucial in grounding Leibniz’s account of what it takes for a person to be morally responsible for past deeds, that is, morally identical with the perpetrator of those deeds. Commentators, however, have pointed to several passages in which Leibniz seems to deny that sameness of substance is necessary for moral identity. One exceptional passage seems to catch Leibniz in saying that a thinking machine could be a genuine moral agent. But this would entail the irrelevance of substance in judgments of moral identity, given that for Leibniz machines are not substances at all, but mere aggregates of matter. All the more reason, these commentators have asserted, to think that Leibniz is smitten by Locke. But I will argue in the third chapter that Leibniz never admits the possibility of thinking machines as

4

Introduction

moral agents. Nevertheless, Leibniz does countenance the logical possibility of thinking machines, that is, mere aggregates of matter endowed with mental states. But there is an apparently serious problem in reconciling Leibniz’s views on moral agency with his monadological metaphysics. Leibniz believes both that there is no genuine causal interaction among monads or simple substances—they are famously “windowless”—and that moral agents do live and participate in a community. However, as argued in the third chapter, all moral agents are monads. So, how is it that non-interactive monads interact, so to speak? In the fifth chapter “Why Bodies?” I will argue that, according to Leibniz, monads cannot be part of the general order or connection of things without existing as united with a body, and hence embodiment is required for participation in a community of moral agents. I will also give an extended case for the surprising, thoroughly unLockean, and rarely defended claim that for Leibniz a disembodied monad could not even qualify for moral agency. This is a major difference between Leibniz’s and Locke’s theories of personal identity that has previously been overlooked—there is definitely more emphasis on body in Leibniz’s theory of personal identity than in Locke’s. True, contrary to Descartes, Locke does not explicitly deny that we will be embodied in the afterlife. In paraphrasing 1 Corinthians 15:44, Locke writes that those with faith can expect to receive heavenly bodies which are “powerful, glorious, and incorruptible” (Wk 8, 174). But Locke does not seem to have independent philosophical reasons for such a view. For he writes to Lord Stillingfleet that “the resurrection of the dead I acknowledge to be an article of the Christian faith: but that the resurrection of the same body, in your lordship’s sense of the same body, is an article of the Christian faith, is what, I confess, I do not yet know” (Wk 4, 303). Now, although his theory of personal identity can accommodate the possibility of Christian resurrection (whether that entails the resurrection of the same body or our acquisition of a qualitatively different body), nevertheless his account is perfectly consistent both with the possibility that we are thinking “machines” (i.e., aggregates of physical particles with the power of thought [E IV, 3, §6]) and that thinking machines do the thinking for us. But more relevant, in recalling the forensic nature of Locke’s theory of personal identity, there is no commitment to the view that genuine moral agents must be embodied. So long as the individual consciously remembers his or her deeds, he or she is responsible for those deeds, whether those memories are being had by an immaterial substance that is embodied, or a material substance, or a disembodied immaterial substance. It is this latter possibility that worries Leibniz. Unlike Locke it appears, Leibniz gives explicitly philosophical reasons for an embodied life, both in the present and the hereafter, independent of Christian faith. Whereas Leibniz rejects the idea that I am not essentially a person, he deeply approves of the Henry More’s and Anne Conway’s anti-Cartesian view that we are always embodied. He does not go so far as More and Conway in saying that spirit and body are merely two aspects of one and the same thing, but he does hold that I am a particular substance that is always united with a body. In fact, I will argue in Chapter 5 that for Leibniz I could not even qualify for moral agency unless I had a body. This is a view that seems

Introduction

5

utterly contrary to Locke’s way of thinking. (But I do not believe that Leibniz would go so far as Aquinas in saying that not only the soul, but also “this flesh, these bones … are the principles of man’s individuality.”11) I think that the issue of embodiment represents a significant divergence between Leibniz’s and Locke’s theories of self and personal identity, and a difference that has heretofore been missed. The above chapters serve to answer not only what Leibniz means by person and moral agent, but also in great part what constitutes the logically necessary and sufficient conditions for the continued existence or survival of a person and a moral agent. But the sixth and final chapter will address the further (and currently popular) question: Under what conditions does a person secure over time what matters in survival? I will argue in “What Makes My Survival Meaningful?” that Leibniz holds first of all that meaningful survival presupposes sameness of substance. For it seems that for Leibniz the promise of sameness of substance might rationally be of some concern to us. Leibniz believes that the promise of the continuation of substance can and should console us—and thereby serve to ground meaningful survival—as long as continuation of substance entails continuation of memory or, in some other way, guarantees knowledge of what we have been. On the other hand, Locke cannot fathom the idea that a guarantee merely of substantial continuity can ground psychological identity, for again, Locke’s account of substance (supposing he has one) is of a bare substratum. Meaningful survival for Leibniz presupposes the memory or knowledge of what we have been (contra Spinoza). In other words, we would have no reason to desire a future state of survival if that state of survival did not guarantee the memory or knowledge of our past. Leibniz believes that this shows that Platonic, Spinozistic, and Cartesian promises of immortality cannot rationally console us. I will argue, however, that Leibniz fails to show that such a claim can be generalized to all situations. But Leibniz’s direct concern is with immortality and the kinds of immortality God might have bestowed upon his subjects. A couple of appendixes can be found at the end of this book. The first sketches some differences between Leibniz and Hume on the question of personal identity. The second tries to draw some contrasts between Leibniz’s arguments for his views on self and substance and those Kant famously criticizes in his “Paralogisms of Pure Reason.” 2. Structure and Scope of Book Let me say a few words on the structure and scope of this book. Suppose that you were given the difficult task of formulating your own theory of personal identity. I believe that you would have to address and hopefully answer the following questions: You are a person, but are you essentially a person? What exactly does it mean to be a person? What are the conditions for remaining the same person over time? Could something non-human be a person?

6

Introduction What relation do bodies have to persons? What is rationally desirable in a person’s survival?

Now, this book does not constitute an attempt at formulating a new theory of personal identity. It attempts to describe a past philosopher’s theory. So what then of the above questions? I maintain that in coming to a good understanding of another’s theory of personal identity—even a theory formulated centuries past— we must be able to answer those same questions. Indeed, sometimes I will refer to recent developments in the literature on personal identity to shed light on Leibniz. I have decided to focus on a single topic. Sure, personal identity inevitably leads to much of the rest of Leibniz’s philosophical system: individuation, force and activity, petites perceptiones, justice, harmony, and theodicy. But I will defer much detail on these issues either to work I have published elsewhere or to work by others. For example, detailed discussion of the problem of individuation will be deferred to a couple of recent books on the topic: McCullough’s Leibniz on Individuals and Individuation and Cover and O’Leary-Hawthorne’s Substance and Individuation in Leibniz. Certainly more could be said on all these topics. However, the general question—What is Leibniz’s theory of personal identity?— is hard enough. And it yields a manageable manuscript. My aim is not to give the definitive account of Leibniz’s theory of personal identity—of self and substance—but to provoke further discussion.

NOTES 1

I take it that Meyer is speaking of représentation both as description and as portrayal. 2 R.W. Meyer, Leibniz and the Seventeenth Century Revolution, 120. 3 Herbert Wildon Carr, Leibniz, 83. 4 Nicholas Rescher, G. W. Leibniz’s Monadology, 82. 5 Rescher, G. W. Leibniz’s Monadology, 82. Compare Benson Mates, The Philosophy of Leibniz, 40. 6 Grua, La Justice humaine selon Leibniz, 213. 7 See Paul Lodge and Marc Bobro, “Stepping Back Inside Leibniz’s Mill.” 8 Edwin McCann. Forthcoming. 9 Harold Noonan, Personal Identity, 46. 10 Carol Rovane, The Bounds of Agency, 27. 11 St. Thomas Aquinas, ST I, 29, 2.

Chapter One

Am I Essentially a Person? You cannot see the spark in flint; you cannot see the soul in man. (Russian Proverb) Our selves appear to be complex things, changing over time, sometimes radically. They also seem to be intimately connected with a particular organism, a body. Certain physical changes in our bodies, brought on by long-term suffering, for instance, seem to affect the way we think of ourselves (or “our selves”) from one time to another. Each of us also seems to possess the peculiar ability to change the kind of being we are, since we have the capacity for reflective self-evaluation— we can, in a way, reflect upon and monitor our own self.1 By actively choosing to form “second-order desires” (to want to be moved by certain desires), we demonstrate that we are complex, changing individuals—not the sort of thing best understood as enduring, or so one argument goes. A possible reply to this line of argument is not hard to fathom. Yes, the reply begins, our selves do appear to us in the way described above. But that description is far from complete. First, our selves, though seemingly complex and changeable, also appear unified over time, as if, to use a scientific analogy, a wide diversity of phenomena is brought into unity. Throughout the process of change, we are selfdetermining individuals, changing but unified as one individual. That is, whether best understood as unified systems, à la David Hume, or actual unities, à la Boethius, our selves endure through change. Given that we do genuinely persist (that is, we are enduring things and change over time), what are we essentially? Let us assume that a genuinely persisting subject must necessarily fall under a substance-concept (to use David Wiggins’ term), one that gives an answer to the question “What is x essentially?” So, for example, if I am essentially a person, then the substance-concept I fall under is person. And, let us call those answers to the question—“What is x merely contingently?”—phase-concepts. So, for example, the concept philosopher is a phase-concept since no one is essentially a philosopher, and all of us began our lives as non-philosophers. It will also be useful to distinguish between permanent and non-permanent phase-concepts. For example: once a father, always a father; but presumably one can cease to be a philosopher. Lest there be any misunderstanding, it follows that one concept cannot serve both as a substanceconcept of x and as a phase-concept of x. Supposing that I am a genuinely persisting subject, what essentially am I? I am most certainly a person, being self-aware, rational, and morally responsible. But am I essentially a person? Can I exist (or did I once exist) without being a person?

7

8

Chapter One

Before we try to determine Leibniz’s answer to this question, it is helpful to consider some fairly clear examples of both affirmative and negative answers from philosophers whose writings Leibniz was closely familiar with. 1. Descartes on the Self According to Descartes, what am I essentially? Certainly not a man. Descartes rejects the Aristotelian answer; I am not a rational animal, except in perhaps a merely contingent or accidental way. Descartes provides us with two reasons why I am not essentially a rational animal. The first sounds like a bit of a cop-out: it is too difficult and time-intensive to nail down the meanings of ‘animal’ and ‘rationality’. He writes in the Second Meditation: “What then did I formerly think I was? A man. But what is a man? Will I say ‘a rational animal’? No; for then I should have to inquire what an animal is, what rationality is, and in this way one question would lead me down the slope to other harder ones…” (AT VII, 25/CSM II, 17). Descartes’ second reason stems from the fact that he denies, at least in a provisional way, that he has a body. In the very process of doubting, Descartes comes to the conclusion that he might exist without a body. This entails that thinking does not require a body or something material; therefore, my body is not essential to me. The fact that I have a body is true only in a contingent or accidental sense. Thus, according to Descartes, I am essentially a thinking thing (a res cogitans), and not essentially material (a res extensa). Descartes writes in Discours de la méthode: I saw that while I could pretend that I had no body and that there was no world and no place for me to be in, I could not for all that pretend that I did not exist. I saw on the contrary that from the mere fact that I thought of doubting he truth of other things, it followed quite evidently and certainly that I existed; whereas if I had merely ceased thinking, even if everything else I had ever imagined had been true, I should have had no reason to believe that I existed. From this I knew I was a substance whose whole essence or nature is simply to think, and which does not require any place, or depend on any material thing, in order to exist. Accordingly the ‘I’—that is, the soul by which I am what I am—is entirely distinct from the body, and indeed is easier to know than the body, and would not fail to be whatever it is, even if the body did not exist. (AT VI, 33/CSM I, 127) “But what then am I?” Descartes answers: “A thing that thinks” (AT VII 28/CSM II, 19). Moreover, Descartes claims that thought is a property essential to me and thought is the only property essential to me: “[T]hought; this alone is inseparable from me. I am, I exist—that is certain. But for how long? For as long as I am thinking. For it could be that were I totally to cease from thinking, I should totally cease to exist. At present I am not admitting anything except what is necessarily true. I am, then, in the strict sense only a thing that thinks; that is, I am a mind, or intelligence, or intellect, or reason…” (AT VII, 27/CSM II, 18).

Am I Essentially A Person?

9

If I cease to be a thinking thing, then I necessarily cease to exist. However, a thinking thing, in Descartes’ view, just is a person. So if I cease to be a person, I necessarily cease to exist. So it follows that I am essentially a person. Never was I a non-person, nor will I ever be a non-person. Person, according to Descartes, is a substance-concept. 2. Conway on the Self The English philosopher Anne Conway, whose work Leibniz had read and admired, gives a fairly clear answer that radically diverges from Descartes’: I am a person, but only contingently so. In essence, I am a living creature (that is, a spiritual body) and according to Conway just about everything counts as a spiritual body. Some caution is needed, however: the term ‘spiritual body’ is perhaps a bit misleading since there is for Conway no essential difference between spirit and body. Contrary to Descartes, she is a monist who holds that body is just condensed spirit while spirit is subtle body. She writes: “life and shape are different attributes of one substance” (CC ix, 8). ‘Shape’, as we might expect, refers to material extension. ‘Life’ Conway explains as: spirit … and light, by which I mean the capacity for every kind of feeling, perception, or knowledge, even love, all power and virtue, joy and fruition, which the noblest creatures have or can have, even the vilest and most contemptible. Indeed, dust and sand are capable of all these perfections through various successive transmutations which, according to the natural order of things, require long periods of time for their consummation… (CC ix, 6) Conway imagines a horse as “a creature endowed by its creator with different degrees of perfection, such as not only bodily strength but also certain notions, so to speak, of how to serve his master. In addition, a horse exhibits anger, fear, love, memory, and various other qualities which are in human beings and which we can also observe in dogs and many other animals” (CC vi, 6). Conway proceeds to argue that a horse (one kind of spiritual body that happens to be a non-person) could eventually become a human (another kind of spiritual body that happens to be a person). Her argument goes something like this: (i) Creatures (that is, spiritual bodies) by their very nature are mutable and can change for the better (CC vi, 6). (ii) Spiritual bodies cannot die naturally (CC vi, 6). (iii) Ultimately, all spiritual bodies all belong to the same order of being (that is, they all have the same essence and differ only by finite degrees (CC vi, 6). (iv) Hence, no particular species x so infinitely excels another, that an individual of any other particular species y cannot at some point be changed by gradations into a member of species x (CC vi, 6f). Conway illustrates: “Thus if someone places a stairs which is infinitely long and has an infinite number of steps, nevertheless the steps are not infinitely distant from each other, for otherwise there would be no possibility of ascent or descent” (CC vi, 6). It is important to be clear that for Conway, (v) even an individual who crosses over into another species, so to speak, preserves its

10

Chapter One

identity. As Jane Duran puts it: “[S]he has a de re view of individual essence.”2 (St. Paul, for example, to employ a person Conway utilizes for such purposes, cannot be changed into another individual.) Now, (vi) a horse is not a mere machine or dead matter, as Descartes famously claims, but has some kind of spirit (CC vi, 6). For example, Conway speaks of horses obeying their masters and thereby achieving a higher moral-slash-spiritual status (CC vi, 6). (vii) Therefore, a horse (say of species x) can eventually, at some point in its moral/spiritual journey, become a human (say of species y) and retain its individual identity (CC vi, 6). (If I understand her correctly, Conway actually says “will,” but this is needlessly too strong for our purposes.) It follows then that at some point in my past, I could have been a horse and therefore (assuming that Gulliver’s Travels is but a fiction) not a person. Moreover, it seems also possible that in the future I will cease to be a person. Nowhere does Conway rule this out. Hence, for Conway I am not essentially a person. In other words, personhood is like fatherhood in the sense that none of us began as fathers, but personhood is not like fatherhood in the sense that once a father, one will always be a father. So, according to Conway, person is a phaseconcept, not a substance-concept. Neither is person a permanent phase-concept. 3. Locke on the Self Conway speaks of a kind of transformation at death, from one kind of spiritual body to another depending on what that body deserves. In the strict sense then, at death individuals do not die; rather, they are reincarnated or resurrected. Yet at death individuals go through a period of spiritual darkness or obscurity, where consciousness lapses. And so during this time I am not a person. But it is not as if I cease to exist during this period. I have one beginning of existence. I begin at the beginning of time,3 and never cease from that point on, though I may cease to be a person. Locke, too, seems to think that person is a phase-concept, but for reasons foreign to Conway. Yes, like Conway, Locke wants to ground a view of the person that is consistent with the dead “rising again” and immortality. And yes, like Conway, Locke believes that I have one beginning of existence. However, unlike Conway, Locke holds that I have no essence at all.4 This needs some explanation. Take this simple history of a Lockean self: I am person A from the time of consciousness t1 till time t2 (t1 < t2). Say that person A ceases to exist at t2. At death, there is no unity of consciousness, no continuing history of consciousness, no conscious being. Locke defines person as “a thinking, intelligent Being that has reason and reflection and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking thing in different times and places” (E II, 27, §9). Now say that at time t3 (t3 > t2) resurrection occurs (brought about by God) and a person B comes into existence. Is person A (who existed from t1 to t2) numerically identical with person B (from t3 on)? Yes, for otherwise person A would not have been properly resurrected. The important question is this: Did I continue to exist between t2 and t3 where there was neither person A nor person B? Did I continue to exist without

Am I Essentially A Person?

11

consciousness? In other words, it is clear for Locke that persons can have two beginnings of existence (that is, can exist in a temporally discontinuous manner, for otherwise he thinks that belief in resurrection is not warranted),5 but can I? If I necessarily cease to exist when the person that I am ceases to exist, then person is a substance-concept. But if I can survive the loss of personhood, then person is a phase-concept. Which is it for Locke? It seems to me that there is nothing in Locke’s chapter on identity and diversity in the Essay concerning Human Understanding that answers this question in a non-ambiguous way. But if we proceed to Locke’s talk of essence in Chapter 6 of Book III, the answer becomes clear: [T]here is nothing I have, is essential to me. An Accident, or Disease, may very much alter my Colour, or Shape; a Fever, or Fall, may take away my Reason, or Memory, or both; and an Apoplexy leave neither Sense, nor Understanding, no nor Life. Other Creatures of my shape, may be made with more, and better, or fewer, and worse Faculties than I have: and others may have Reason, and Sense, in a shape and body very different from mine. (E III, 6, §4) What about Locke’s words to the effect that ‘self’ and ‘person’ are synonymous?: “Person, I take it, is the name for this self. Wherever a Man finds, what he calls himself, there I think another may say is the same Person” (E II, 27, §26). Here, it helpful to understand Locke’s explanation as to how it is that we come to say that something is essential to an individual. Locke explains in Book III, Chapter 6: Let any one examine his own Thoughts, and he will find, that as soon as he supposes or speaks of Essential, the consideration of some Species, or the complex Idea, signified by some general name, comes into his Mind: And ’tis in reference to that, that this or that Quality is said to be essential. So that if it be asked, whether it be essential to me, or any other particular corporeal Being to have Reason? I say no; no more than it is essential to this white thing I write on, to have words in it. (E III, 6, §4) Thus, it seems that the fact that “Person is the name for this self” is to be explained not in terms of selves, referents of the ‘I’, essentially being persons, but instead that whenever one reflects on him or herself and finds a unified history of consciousness (and by reflecting on oneself, one will find such a unity6), one will signify that by some general name—call it ‘person’. The fact that I call myself a person whenever I attend to my mental states therefore tells me nothing about whether I am essentially a person. For if I have no essence, there is nothing that mandates that I am even able to reflect at all times. So, for Locke, persons can come in and out of existence (again, as Locke thinks is demanded by the Christian doctrines of resurrection and immortality7). And, if so, then person is a phaseconcept.

12

Chapter One

4. Leibniz on the Self Contrary to Locke, and in agreement with Descartes and Conway, Leibniz asserts that I do have an essence. In direct response to Locke’s discussion in Book III, Chapter 6 of the Essay, he writes: I believe that there is something essential to individuals, and more than there is thought to be. It is essential to substances to act, to created substances to be acted upon, to minds to think, to bodies to have extension and motion. That is, there are cannot (naturally, at least) stop being of it, no matter what great events may occur in the natural realm. But I agree that some sorts or species are accidental to the individuals which are of them, and an individual can stop being of such a sort. Thus one can stop being healthy, handsome, wise, and even visible and tangible, but one does not stop having life and organs and perception. I have said enough earlier about why it appears to men that life and thought sometimes stop, although really they continue to exist and to have effects. (A vi, 6, 305/NE III, 6, §4) It is true that if I do not have an essence, then I am not essentially a person. But saying that I do have an essence is not tantamount to saying that I am essentially a person. For Conway accepts the former proposition but denies the latter proposition. Recall that for her, I am essentially a spiritual body, which need not be a person. So the question for Leibniz is whether person denotes one of these “sorts or species such that if an individual has ever been of such a sort or species it cannot (naturally, at least) stop being of it, no matter what great events may occur in the natural realm” (A vi, 6, 305/NE III, 6, §4). If it does, then person is a substance-concept. If it does not, then person is a phase-concept, like the sorts or species which are accidental to individuals. So let us see what Leibniz says about the property of personhood: [M]inds must be excepted from the fate of other souls; for it agrees with the divine wisdom both that they are created by God, and that when free from the body they have their own operations, so that they should not be agitated without reason by the innumerable vicissitudes of matter. For God is both the cause of things and the king of minds, and since he himself is a mind, he has a special association with them. Moreover, since each mind is an expression of the divine image (for it can be said that other substances express the universe, but minds express God) it is clear that minds are the most important part of the universe, and that everything was established for their sake…. (GP vii, 315f/PM 83 [1686]) [R]ational souls … are immune from anything which could make them lose the status of citizens of the society of minds, since God has so well provided that no changes of matter could make them lose the moral qualities of their personality. (GP iv, 481/WP 14f NS §8 [1695])

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[M]inds have special laws which raise them above the mechanical operations of matter, and we might say that everything else is made only for them, for even those mechanical operations are arranged for the happiness of the good and the punishment of the wicked” (GP iv, 480/WP 13 NS §5 [1695]). [N]o sleep can last forever; and in the case of rational souls it will be of even briefer duration or almost none at all. These souls are destined always to remain the persons they were in the city of God, and hence to retain their memories, so that they may be more susceptible to punishments and rewards. (A vi, 6, 58/NE Preface [1704]) I am tempted to think that this sample of texts constitutes fairly decisive evidence that for Leibniz person is a substance-concept. I am happy to let Leibniz speak for himself—if he says that whatever property an individual must always have in the natural course of things is to be considered essential, so be it. And so, given that personhood is something I must always have, then I am essentially a person. But I can imagine some hesitation. One might object that the above passages show only that since I am a person, it follows that I must always remain a person. In other words: once a person always a person.8 This certainly gets us the result that person is a permanent phase-concept, but not quite that person is a substance-concept. For it might still be the case that I was once a non-person. 5. A Question that Cannot be Answered? We have seen that according to Leibniz, person is at least a permanent phaseconcept: once a person, always a person. However, the question that earned the title of this chapter—“Am I essentially a person (for Leibniz)?”—is not so easy to determine. In fact, I will attempt to show in what follows that this question is very difficult, if not impossible, to answer. Now, the respective metaphysical systems of Leibniz and Conway share much in common. So perhaps by comparing Leibniz directly to Conway, we can determine where he stands on the nature of the self. He was privy to much of Conway’s philosophy due to his personal contact with Francis Mercury Van Helmont and had read Conway’s Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy, though says little about it. What he does say is sympathetic: My philosophical tenets approach somewhat closely those of the late Countess Conway, and hold a middle position between Plato and Democritus, since I believe that all things take place mechanically as Democritus and Descartes contend, against the views of Henry More and his followers, and yet I also believe that everything takes place according to a living principle and to final causes. All things are full of life and of perception, contrary to the views of the Democriteans. (GP iii, 217/CC xxx [1697]) Leibniz emphasizes the vitalism (that matter-slash-body is itself living and has force and activity and not merely the passive recipient or carrier of external

14

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forces) that he and Conway share, but what would Leibniz say about Conway’s view that I am essentially a living or spiritual creature and was once a non-person? Here is where we might try to pry the two philosophers apart. Conway is very clear as to the natural order of things—there is a continuum. Persons are part of the order of creatures. All creatures, specks of dust, grains of sand, horses, and persons, belong to the same order of being. Conway seems to have a de re view of individual beings, but rejects a de re view of the orders of (created) individual beings.9 Leibniz, on the other hand, seems to presume discrete orders of beings; that is, he seems to have a de re view of different orders of beings, or at least strongly favors it. Persons, Leibniz insists throughout his career, are unique and special—set apart from other kinds of substances. Consider passages from the Discours de métaphysique, the Système nouveau, and the Monadologie: [M]inds are the most perfect beings and best express divinity. …[T]he difference between intelligent substances and substances that have no intelligence at all is just as great as the difference between a mirror and someone who sees” (GP iv, 460/AG 66 DM §35 [1686]). [W]e must not mix up … the mind, or rational soul, which is of a superior order and has incomparably more perfection than those forms which are sunk in matter. In comparison with those, monads or rational souls are like little gods, made in the image of God, and having within them a ray of the divine light. (GP iv, 480/WP 12f NS §5 [1695]). [T]he knowledge of eternal and necessary truths is what distinguishes us from simple animals and furnishes us with reason and the sciences, by raising us to a knowledge of ourselves and of God. And that is what we call the rational soul, or spirit .… It is also through the knowledge of necessary truths and through their abstractions that we rise to reflective acts, which enable us to think of that which is called “I”.… (GP vi, 611/AG 217, M §§29f [1714]) Among other differences which exist between ordinary souls and spirits … there are also the following: that souls, in general, are living mirrors or images of the universe of creatures, but that spirits are also images of the divinity itself… capable of knowing the system of the universe.… That is what makes spirits capable of entering into a kind of society with God, and allows him to be, in relation to them, not only what an inventor is to his machine (as God is in relation to the other creatures), but also what a prince is to his subjects, and even what a father is to his children. (GP vi, 621f/AG 223f M §§83-86 [1714])10 Nicholas Rescher captures the moral of the above passages: “Leibniz maintains that the group of all the monads of the highest level—the rational souls or spirits (esprits)—constitute a special sector of reality. For these intelligent, rational, free

Am I Essentially A Person?

15

agents constitute a separate category of select beings, who share in the salient features of God himself (knowledge, power, morality).11 It is therefore tempting to infer, given that we are of the order or “sector” person, that we are essentially persons. And so, on the premise that Conway holds that there is no real discontinuity between non-persons and persons and that there is a discontinuity for Leibniz, we might conclude that Leibniz would not accept Conway’s view. However, Leibniz’s stance on the order or chain of being is not so clear as we might wish. In fact, it is very hard to tell whether Leibniz holds nature to consist of a continuous or a discrete chain of being. Sure, Leibniz insists that our world possesses maximal variety. But why should we think that variety is contingent on there being discrete orders of being? Indeed, it is a notorious maxim of Leibniz’s that maximum variety is consistent with maximum simplicity, that is, greatest order.12 Moreover, in the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz writes that “the universe contains everything that its perfect harmony could admit. It is agreeable to this harmony that between creatures which are far removed from one another there should be intermediate creatures.… The law of continuity states that nature leaves no gaps in the orderings she follows” (A vi, 6, 307/NE III, 6, §12). And so it is not surprising that Leibniz has been taken to hold, as Donald Rutherford does, that “[i]ntegral to God’s conception of this world … will be a continuous ordering of degrees of perfection, from the lowest ‘brute’ monads to the most elevated rational minds.”13 Thus, it is possible that Leibniz accepts the import (though perhaps not the language) of Conway’s premise iii (that is, that all created substances belong to the same order of being and differ only by finite degrees). So even though persons are special, set apart from other created substances, this does not mean that a member of some less special species cannot reach this level. One might object that the fact (supposing it is one) that Leibniz accepts Conway’s premise iii that all created substances belong to the same order of being does not logically entail proposition iv that no particular species x so infinitely excels another, that an individual of any other particular species y cannot at some point be changed by gradations into a member of species x. For even Rutherford understands those who are tempted along these lines: “The capacity for rationality is intended to establish minds as a separate class of created being altogether: creatures who alone are able to understand the principles of divine justice and who alone merit citizenship in the City of God. The problem is that this appears to imply an infinite gap between rational and nonrational creatures, one that is unbridgeable by any continuous ordering of degrees of perfection. Leibniz never provides a satisfactory account of how this problem might be resolved.”14 So perhaps Leibniz need not accept this inference; however, the fact is that he does speak of individuals of one species coming from or originating in individuals of other species. Maybe for Leibniz none of us were ever horses (presumably, such a phenomenon would violate God’s objectives of maximizing perfection and uniformity). However, according to Leibniz, we do in some sense come from what he calls “spermatic animals.” This is especially apparent in Leibniz’s later writings, such as the Principes de la nature et de la Grace §6:

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The investigations of the moderns have taught us, and reason confirms them, that the living beings whose organs are known to us, that is, plants and animals, do not come from putrefaction or chaos, as the ancients believed, but from preformed seeds, and therefore from the transformation of living beings existing prior to them. There are little animals in the seeds of large animals, which assume a new guise in conception, which they appropriate and which provides them with a method of nourishment and growth, so that they may emerge into a greater stage and propagate the large animal. It is true that the souls of human spermatic animals are not rational and become so only when conception determines them for human nature. (G vi, 601/L 638 [1714])15 The question then is whether Leibniz would accept the special claim that particular persons (you and I) once existed as spermatic animals (non-persons). It is not really in dispute that for Leibniz we came from spermatic animals; the interesting and I think different question is whether we once were those animals from which we originated. To put this question another way: In describing these transformations from spermatic animals to human animals (that is, rational beings or persons), what does Leibniz assume about the continuity of individual identity? 6. From Origin to Identity Anthony Savile attributes to Leibniz that view that we are not essentially persons, based on the fact that for Leibniz we came from spermatic animals. To this extent, Leibniz’s view would thus agree with Conway’s. For, on Savile’s reading of Leibniz, not only do I come from a non-person, but also I am identical with it. How does Savile argue for his interpretation? Well, according to Leibniz, the world contains simple or bare monads (having unconscious perception but lacking memory and awareness), sensitive souls (capable also of consciousness, as expressed in distinct perception and memory), and rational or intelligent souls, minds or spirits (capable even further of self-consciousness or “apperception” and of reason).16 Now, Savile argues that for Leibniz no possible world could contain only bare monads. Be this point as it may, Savile is surely on firmer ground when he insists that any possible world that might be a serious contender for God’s creative choice must contain spirits among its constituency.17 As we have already seen, Leibniz himself says that “spirits are the most important part of the universe” (GP vii, 315/PM 83). But, spirits (rational, intelligent souls, or minds), whether human or superhuman, are persons (GP iv, 460/AG 65f DM §34). Therefore, the best of all possible worlds (and runners-up) must certainly include persons. Let us continue Savile’s line of argument. On several occasions, Leibniz tries to explain how and when spirits or persons come to be, again especially in his later writings. Consider what he says in the Monadologie §82: Rational animals have this peculiarity, namely that their smaller spermatic animals, so long as they remain just that, have ordinary or sensitive souls. But

Am I Essentially A Person?

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as soon as those that are chosen, as it were, to attain human nature by way of actual conception, their sensitive souls are elevated to the rank of reason and to the right of spirits. (GP vi, 621 [1714]) However, there is an ambiguity here. For, as Savile points out, “we are liable to see the generation of spirits and human minds as new creations.… That seems to threaten the idea that God’s unique miraculous work lies at the original creation of the world and that the substances he then elected for existence … are everlasting.”18 But Savile promises us that “if we follow Leibniz’s thought through in all consistency we must abandon the notion that our parents are the true creators of a new spirit and that they produce a body. The monad that is me or you has always existed and has always had its own body.”19 If Savile is right, then Leibniz, like Conway, holds that I am not most fundamentally a person. Indeed, on his interpretation of Leibniz, all of us began our lives as non-persons; before physical conception, I was not a person, for I did not as yet possess the requisite powers of reason and reflection. (Savile also claims that I might cease to be a person, simply by losing these same powers. and “sink back to the state of souls or even bare monads.”20 In other words, in Leibniz’s hands, person is a phase-concept and not even a permanent one at that. But we saw in §5 that this particular inference is faulty—according to Leibniz, once a person always a person. Nevertheless, Savile might be right to think that person is a phase-concept.) So, Savile moves without a hitch from Leibniz’s view that we came from spermatic animals to the idea that we once were those animals. By the way, Alexander Pruss in unpublished work makes the same sort of move. He writes: “Leibniz accepts that there are spermatic animals—presumably found in the sperm—which become the human beings. These spermatic animals have their own central monads, and their central monads become the central monads of the humans. Thus, the origin of the [rational] soul is solved: the soul has existed since the start of the universe and will always exist. So, we pre-existed, as spermatic animals, our conception. We existed when the world started.”21 Have Savile and Pruss got Leibniz right? I see a serious flaw in their argument. I think Savile and Pruss make a logical mistake. The main reason commentators such as Savile and Pruss feel confident in attributing to Leibniz the view that I am not essentially a person is simply that Leibniz seems to be committed (presumably because of simplicity and harmony) to the spontaneous, law-governed generation of rational souls or spirits. From Leibniz’s views on the origin of the rational soul, Savile and Pruss derive Leibniz’s view of the identity of the rational soul. It seems to me, however, that this is a non sequitur. Savile himself does promise us his result “if we follow Leibniz’s thought through in all consistency.” Yet even if Savile and Pruss are right that spirits or persons arise from monads previously in existence, it seems to me that this is logically irrelevant to the question whether I am most fundamentally a spirit or person. The question of how and when rationality or intelligence is imparted into a soul x is logically independent from the question of whether I am fundamentally a rational

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soul. Why? Well, for the simple reason that it has not been shown that I am identical with soul x. We cannot simply move from facts about our origin to facts about our identity. Let me try to make this point in clearer fashion. Savile and Pruss argue from (a) rational souls come from non-rational or sensitive souls or persons come from non-persons to (b) “the monad that is me or you once existed as a non-person.”22 Does b follow from a? I do not think so; for even if a is true it still could be the case that selves are the kinds of things that come into existence only when rational souls come into existence whatever the origin of those rational souls. Just as it could be the case that trees are the kinds of things that come into existence only when a woody perennial plant with one main stem or trunk which develop many branches comes into existence—however these woody perennials came to be. Even though it is without doubt that they come from seeds, trees need not be defined as things that were once seeds. Likewise selves need not be defined as things that were once bare monads (“spermatic animals”) even if they originated from such monads. Hence, the unmediated inference from a to b plainly begs the question at hand—and that is: Was I (who happens to be a person) ever nonrational, i.e., a non-person? Interestingly, Conway’s view might help drive the logical wedge I am trying to place between the origin of something and its identity. While Conway definitely holds that one and the same individual can at one time be a non-person and at another a person, it is far from clear that even she holds that the spirits of humans (persons) are generated in some entirely spontaneous, natural manner. She writes: “[S]ince the human body was made from earth, which, as has been proved, contained various spirits and gave those spirits to all the animals, without doubt the earth gave human beings the best and most excellent spirits which it contained. But all these spirits were far inferior to the spirit of human beings, which they received from above and not from the earth” (CC vi, 6, my emphasis). If “received from above” is taken literally and means something more than the pedestrian “made in God’s image,” Conway would seem to hold that God steps in at conception to impart a rational soul. So, again, we have to be careful to infer one’s views on the identity of something based simply on what they perceive to be the origin of that thing. Accordingly, Leibniz might be inclined towards the natural, spontaneous development of human, rational souls, as Savile and Pruss maintain, but that does not necessarily mean that such souls were indeed once non-human, non-rational souls.23 One might object that even granted the above problems facing Savile’s and Pruss’ argument for their view, it is still possible that their view is correct. Touché. And so I am tempted to think that the question—Am I essentially a person (for Leibniz)?—is very difficult, if not impossible, to answer given what we know of Leibniz’s views on the origin and identity of the self. It appears that Leibniz just does not give us enough to answer this question with any confidence.

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6. Conclusion We saw that, in contrast to Descartes, both Conway and Locke hold that I am not essentially a person, though for different reasons. We also saw that the line of argument commentators extend to show that Leibniz’s view accords with Conway’s and Locke’s fails. Nevertheless, it is possible that Leibniz still agrees with Conway and Locke that I was once a non-person. For Leibniz I do have an essence; however, it is not clear whether that essence includes being a person. For it is very difficult to determine from Leibniz’s writings whether or not the transformation of something into the person that I am necessarily involves a nonrational entity (that is, a non-person) in the past that was identical with me. At the same time, however, we saw that Leibniz would certainly not accept the claim (accepted by Conway and Locke) that I might cease to be a person. According to Leibniz, once a person always a person. Naturally, the central question of the next chapter concerns what it means to be a person.

NOTES 1

See Harry Frankfurt, “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person,” 7. Jane Duran, “Anne Viscountess Conway.” 3 For Conway’s view of creation and time, see CC II. 4 I thank Sean Greenberg and Nicholas Jolley for really making me take this idea in Locke seriously. 5 See Noonan, Personal Identity, 42. 6 For Locke, the point of view of a rational being must be a phenomenologically unified point of view. See Carol Rovane The Bounds of Agency, 20. 7 Again, see Noonan, Personal Identity, 42. 8 Rescher, Leibniz’s Monadology, 239: “[S]pirits never cease to dominate over some body or other—that is, are never reduced to the level of ‘bare monads,’ but are always present as dominant members of some non-trivial organism and constantly retain their potential for higher things.” 9 Duran, “Anne Viscountess Conway.” 10 Also, see GP iv, 461f/AG 67f, DM §36; GP ii, 125/LA 159f (9 October 1687); and, Klopp x, 10/PR 105 (c. 1695). 11 Rescher, Leibniz’s Monadology, 283. 12 David Blumenfeld, “Perfection and happiness in the best possible world,” 389. See GP iv, 43/L 306; GP iv, 238, 241/H 254ff; GP iv, 603/L 639. 13 Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature, 200. 14 Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature, 165. 15 See also NE 316; G iv, 480/L 455; G vi, 543/L 589; G vii, 415f/L 715. 16 See DM §§34ff; G ii, 75, 124f; GP iii, 307; NS §5; M §§82ff; Th §§91, 147; PNG §15; GM iii, 565. 17 Savile, Leibniz and the Monadology, 210. 2

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Savile, Leibniz and the Monadology, 211. Savile, Leibniz and the Monadology, 212, my emphasis. 20 Savile, Leibniz and the Monadology, 213. 21 See www.georgetown.edu/faculty/ap85/LandS.html. 22 Savile, Leibniz and the Monadology, 212. 23 Note that I say that Leibniz “might be inclined” to the natural development of rational souls. For it is not at all clear what Leibniz preferred view really is on this matter. See Daniel Fouke’s article, “Spontaneity and the Generation of Rational Beings in Leibniz’s Theory of Biological Reproduction,” 33-45. 19

Chapter Two

What Makes Me a Person?

[S]ince minds must keep their personality … it is necessary for them to preserve in particular a kind of recollection, consciousness, or power to know what they are.… (Leibniz to Arnauld: GP ii, 125/LA 160) Many of us think that persons are not conventional beings, objects that have no real essence or individual nature, as it were: “The definition of person is not something we conceive for ourselves in the way in which we have conceived for ourselves the nominal essences for hoe and house and more or less effortlessly collect the extension in virtue of that.”1 Rather, we think that persons are unique individuals, each possessing their own character or nature: “[A]n individual person has a set of desires, concerns, or as I will often call them, projects, which help constitute a character.”2 Although philosophers differ as to what constitutes the unique character of an individual person, many seem to agree that this unique character forms the nature of the individual. Thus, each referent of the ‘I’ is not only an individual but also has a certain character distinct from all other referents. Third, we think that persons are agents of some kind, presumably rational (as opposed to non-rational). This idea of person as experiencing, rational agent makes persons the perfect units of social, moral, and legal responsibility. The description of our selves, or of persons in general, is now a bit more complete. To quickly summarize, we normally think of persons as enduring, experiencing, and unique individuals, albeit capable of change. And, there are other features or predicates that come to mind when asked to come up with a full description of our concept of person, or at least of our own selves: self-conscious, rational subjects susceptible to legal and moral accountability and responsibility, and so on. As we saw in the previous chapter, according to Leibniz, we will always be persons, what is Leibniz’s conception of person. Yes, for Leibniz, persons are self-conscious and rational. But what exactly does this mean? In this chapter, I will argue for what I call the abbreviated view, abbreviated because Leibniz often sums up his conception of person by simply saying that that some combination of psychological attributes—memory, self-consciousness, and rationality—is necessary for personhood. But these attributes are not separate ingredients as, say, a brewer would combine malted barley, hops, and yeast. Rather, there are tight conceptual connections between all three psychological attributes. Memory is necessary for self-consciousness which in turn is necessary for rationality. This

21

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Chapter Two

means, of course, that once rationality is specified, any further mention of memory and self-consciousness is redundant. Indeed, the abbreviated view is supported by the fact that “Leibniz tends to interchange different psychological phenomena in different statements of his position” on personhood in a “somewhat casual way.”3 For Leibniz can afford to be somewhat casual in stating his view if the relevant psychological phenomena are as tightly connected conceptually as the abbreviated view claims. For example, a proponent of the abbreviated view might argue, in adducing only rationality as that which distinguishes people from animals, as Leibniz does on occasion, he is saying nevertheless, albeit in an abbreviated fashion, that memory and selfconsciousness are necessary. I will not devote a separate section to demonstrating the casual manner in which Leibniz interchanges different psychological attributes in statements of his account of personhood. For not only does Samuel Scheffler nicely provide such a demonstration,4 but also there is ample opportunity to observe this casualness when discussing the conceptual connections between these psychological attributes. Let us begin with memory. 1. Memory Why memory? There appear to be two reasons why Leibniz thinks that memory is a necessary precondition for personhood. First, according to Leibniz, memory is involved in our awareness, from the first-person standpoint, of our personal identity over time. “The existence of real personal identity … ,” Leibniz asserts, “is proved conclusively enough for ordinary purposes by our memories across intervals …” (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9).5 And so, perhaps it is reasonable enough for Leibniz to make the related, though different claim that memory is a necessary precondition for personhood. Second, just as for Locke before him,6 the notion of personhood has a forensic component to it.7 The class of persons is important for ethics and for law; persons are individuals that are naturally subject to moral and legal strictures. Consider what Leibniz writes in the Discours de métaphysique: But the intelligent soul, knowing what it is and being able to say this little word ‘I’ which means so much, does not merely remain and subsist metaphysically … but also remains the same morally and constitutes the same person. For it is [its] memory or knowledge of this ‘I’ which makes it capable of punishment and reward. (GP iv, 459-460/L 325, DM §34) Here, Leibniz says that without memory we would not be susceptible to reward and punishment; that is, lacking memory, we cannot be held accountable for past actions. Maybe Leibniz’s point is that reward and punishment for actions which we could not remember would seem arbitrary to us, even meaningless. And, presumably, there is something unjust about this. Leibniz writes in the Preface to the Nouveaux essais: “[R]ational souls are destined always to preserve the persona which they have been given in the city of God, and hence to retain their

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memories, so that they may be more susceptible of punishments and rewards” (A vi, 6, 58). (More on this in Chapter 4.) But what kind of memory must persons possess? For (tracking the French language) Leibniz offers three kinds of memory—mémoire, réminiscience, and souvenir.8 Mémoire is that which retains our knowledge. “I am surprised that it has not occurred to you [Locke] that we know an infinity of things which we are not aware of all the time, even when we need them; it is the function of memory [mémoire] to store them …” (A vi, 6, 77/NE I, 1, §5). Mémoire refers to memory as a kind of storehouse, an attribute shared by all substances. Calling it a “storehouse” is a bit misleading, however. Leibniz says that “every substance … expresses, however confusedly, everything that happens in the universe, whether past, present, or future—this has some resemblance to an infinite perception or knowledge” (GP iv, 475/AG 42, DM §9). As Robert McRae explains, “mémoire would be the expression of the past in the present but vanishing perceptions of the soul, an expression of it which is continuously expanding with the passage of time.”9 Now, according to Leibniz, there are two different ways which we may access this “storehouse” or, better yet, become aware of passing perceptions as expressing the past. Interestingly, and crucial for our inquiry, both of these are also kinds of memory. It is good to sort out these notions, and I will try to help. I will say then that it is sensation when one is aware of an outer object, and that remembrance [réminiscience] is the recurrence of it without the return of the object; but when one knows that one has had it before, this is memory [souvenir]. (A vi, 6, 161/NE II, 19, §1) Here, we find Leibniz distinguishing between non-reflexive and reflexive memory, that is, between non-apperceptive and apperceptive memory. My reflexive or apperceptive memory of x involves not only the memory of x, but also the awareness that it is my memory, as my memory that I fenced saber in college. Non-reflexive or non-apperceptive memory, on the other hand, does not also involve the awareness that x is mine. Leibniz calls non-reflexive memory réminiscience and reflexive memory souvenir.10 For Leibniz explains: [It is the function of] recollection [réminiscience] to put them [what is “stored” in mémoire] before us again, which it does often—but not always—when there is need for it to do so. This might best be called souvenir, for recollection [réminiscience] needs some assistance. Something must make us revive one rather than another of the multitude of items of knowledge, since it is impossible to think distinctly, all at once, about everything we know. (A vi, 6, 77/NE I, 1, §5) We can now see why it makes sense for Leibniz to say (famously) that not all memory is conscious: “[W]e see that if, in our perceptions, we had nothing

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distinct or so to speak, heightened and stronger in flavor, we would always be in a stupor. And this is the state of bare monads” (GP vi, 611/AG 216, M §24) For unconscious memory, as it were, is mémoire. When memory is conscious—that is, when that which is “stored” is “accessed”—it is either souvenir or réminiscence, depending on the manner in which it is accessed. Of the three, which kind of memory distinguishes a person from a non-person? In the Discours passage we quoted earlier where Leibniz speaks explicitly of memory as necessary for personal identity, it is souvenir to which he refers: “… c’est le souvenir, ou la connoissance de ce moy, qui la rend capable de chastiment et de recompense” (GP iv, 459f). Consider also the following passage from the correspondence with Antoine Arnauld. [S]ince minds must keep their personality … it is necessary for them to preserve in particular a kind of recollection, consciousness, or power to know what they are .… (GP ii, 125/LA 160 [9 October 1687]) In this letter to Arnauld, Leibniz is fairly clear that again he is referring to souvenir, for he speaks of a particular kind of recollection—“une manière de réminiscience”: a kind that involves the power to know—“le pouvoir de savoir”— what one is. What we have here is not just “mere” reminiscience or recollection. That souvenir is the kind of memory that distinguishes persons from nonpersons is to be expected. First, we are told by Leibniz that all souls have mémoire.11 But not all souls are persons; there are sensitive as well as rational souls in Leibniz’s ontology. Second, as McRae notes, for Leibniz both persons and animals have réminiscence, namely, non-reflexive memory. This is especially evident in Leibniz’s later works such as the Nouveaux essais, Theodicée, Principes de la nature et de la Grace, and the Monadologie. Consider a passage from the Monadologie: “Men act like beasts insofar as the sequences of their perceptions are based only on the principle of memory” (GP vi, 611/L 645, M §28). Leibniz explains two sections earlier: “Thus we see that when animals have a perception of something which strikes them and of which they have previously had a similar perception, they are led by the representation of their memory to expect whatever was connected with it in this earlier perception and so come to have feelings like those which they had before. When one shows a stick to dogs, for example, they remember the pain it has caused them and whine or run away” (GP vi, 611/L 645, M §26).12 This non-reflexive memory, Leibniz continues, is evident “when we expect daylight tomorrow … because this has always happened up to the present” (GP vi, 611/L 645, M §28).13 2. Self-Consciousness Leibniz claims too that self-consciousness is an essential feature of persons. In the above quoted passages from the Discours and the correspondence with Arnauld, Leibniz speaks of self-consciousness, referring to the “knowledge of the self” and the “consciousness or power to know what you are,” respectively. In

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later works, such as the Nouveaux essais and the Theodicée, we find a similar account: I also hold this opinion that consciousness or the sense of I proves moral or personal identity. And that is how I distinguish the incessancy of a beast’s soul from the immortality of the soul of a man: both of them preserve real, physical identity; but it is consonant with the rules of divine providence that in man’s case the soul should also retain a moral identity which is apparent to us ourselves, so as to constitute the same person, which is therefore sensitive to punishments and rewards. (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9) In saying that the soul of man is immortal one implies the subsistence of what makes the personal identity … conserving the consciousness, or the reflective inward feeling, of what it is: thus it is rendered susceptible to chastisement or reward. (GP vi, 151/H 171, Th §89) Why self-consciousness? The reasons are much the same as for souvenir. First, as suggested by the Theodicée passage, self-consciousness is involved in the awareness of our personal identity over time. For ‘self-consciousness’, ‘knowledge of the self’, or ‘the power to know’ what we are, all refer to the idea that we are, in a sense, witness to our acts and cognizant that we performed those acts. The immortal “soul of man” conserves “the reflective inward feeling of what it is.” Second, self-consciousness is tied quite closely to moral agency or responsibility, as evidenced again by both passages.14 As mentioned before, there is a forensic component to personhood; persons, as opposed to animals, have a moral identity as well as a “real, physical” identity, as it were. 15 It should therefore come as no surprise that self-consciousness sounds much like souvenir. But to fully appreciate the tight conceptual connection between souvenir and self-consciousness, look us first look at consciousness. In the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz defines ‘consciousness’ as “a present or immediate memory [souvenir], the memory of what was taking place immediately before” (A vi, 6, 238/NE II, 27, §13). “Consciousness,” notes Leibniz, “may stay silent, as in loss of memory” (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9). Elsewhere, Leibniz says: “Consciousness is reflection on action, that is, memory of our action …” (C 495 [1702-1704]). In other words, Leibniz seems to claim that we cannot be conscious of or reflect on an act (perception) of the mind simultaneously with the occurrence of that act. Hence, Leibniz disagrees with Descartes and Locke who hold that the consciousness of an act and the occurrence of that act might possibly coincide in time.16 This is a view that Leibniz consistently holds throughout his career, not only during the time of the Nouveaux essais. In a very early work, Leibniz writes: “Consciousness is the memory [memoria] of our action” (Gr 181 [1671]). A bit further on, Leibniz says that “[b]y definition consciousness is memory.”17 And, in his Dialogus inter Theologus et Misosophus, Leibniz seems to equate memory and consciousness: “memoria sive conscientia nostra nobis dicet” (Gr 21 [1677-

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1679?]). A decade after the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz says: “[I]t is well to make a distinction between perception, which is the inner state of the monad representing external things, and apperception, which is consciousness or the reflective knowledge of this inner state itself …” (GP vi, 600/L 637, PNG §4). Interestingly, in the same section, Leibniz goes on to point out that apperception or consciousness is “something not given to all souls, nor at all times to a given soul.” Now, the reason apperception or consciousness is not given at all times to a soul is surely that souls can lack memory of their perceptions. This ties nicely in with something Leibniz says early on while he was residing in Paris: “[T]o perceive a perception [percipere enim perceptionem], or to sense that one has sensed, is to remember [meminisse], as Hobbes says” (A vi, 3, 517/SR 73 [April 1676], my emphasis). Mark Kulstad offers a similar interpretation: “[T]here is little doubt that Leibniz sided, early and late, with Aquinas and Hobbes on the matter of consciousness: when we are conscious of an action of the mind, this consciousness itself involves an action of the mind, which action occurs, not at the same time as the original action, but afterwards, as so is a form of memory, a sensing that one has sensed.”18 We are now prepared to connect souvenir with self-consciousness, for Leibniz moves from consciousness to self-consciousness without a hitch. Recall Leibniz’s definition of ‘consciousness’ as expressed in the Nouveaux essais: It is the “present or immediate memory, the memory of what was taking place immediately before …” (A vi, 6, 238/NE II, 27, §13). But what does ‘what was taking place’ refer to? Of course, Leibniz is speaking of the prior actions (perceptions) of the mind, as we saw above. But whose mind? That is to say, when we are conscious of “what was taking place immediately before”—namely, the prior actions of the mind—whose actions are we conscious of? The answer is straightforward for Leibniz: our actions. Consciousness is a memory of our action, a sensing that we have sensed. Continuing a passage we have already encountered, “[c]onsciousness is reflection on action, that is memory of our action, so that we think, that it is ours. This involves true substance itself, or the I” (C 495).19 Now, if consciousness is the “present or immediate memory” that we have acted or sensed, then consciousness would seem to involve a consciousness of self.20 In other words, consciousness does not entail just the memory of “what was taking place,” that is, the memory of actions of the mind, but the memory that these events, these actions, are our events, our actions. “We remember not just a mental action which happens to be ours, but rather remember that it is ours, that, for example, we have thought something.”21 Kulstad pauses: “Perhaps it is not strictly correct to identify consciousness with consciousness of self …”22 For, as [Jonathan] Bennett points out, a conscious being need not be self-conscious; there could exist otherwise sentient beings who have mental states that inform them about their environments yet never think of themselves.23 “[B]ut it is clear,” reaffirms Kulstad, “that the former [consciousness] involves the latter.”24

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In 1698, in a short work reflecting on Locke’s Essay, Leibniz confirms the above account, saying: “It is very true that our perceptions of ideas come either from the external senses or from the internal sense, which one may call reflection; but this reflection does not limit itself solely to the operations of the spirit, as is said [in Locke’s E II, 1, §4]; it extends to the spirit itself, and it is in apperceiving it that we apperceive substance” (A vi, 6, 14). In other words, reflection (in this case, another term for consciousness) does not just involve the memory of the actions of the spirit (the mind or self); it also involves the memory of that which acted, namely, the very mind itself.25 Interestingly, such a view has its contemporary adherents. Roderick Chisholm is perhaps the most well-known. He writes: “In being aware of ourselves as experiencing, we are, ipso facto, aware of the self or person—of the self or person as being affected in a certain way.”26 “The subject,” in other words, “manifests itself as having certain properties—not merely that it manifests certain properties."27 Chisholm himself appeals to Leibniz to make his point.28 All told, the abbreviated view attributes the following argument to Leibniz: (1) Consciousness is the memory (souvenir) of prior action. (2) The prior action which one remembers (via souvenir), one remembers as his or her action. (3) Hence, consciousness is the memory of one’s prior action as one’s own. (4) Therefore, consciousness involves consciousness of our very self, that is, self-consciousness. Let us pause for reflection for a moment. We have learned that there is a close relationship between memory (souvenir) and consciousness and therefore between memory and self-consciousness. Since consciousness is the memory of prior action that is ours, self-consciousness must also include the memory of the self that performed this prior action. Self-consciousness and memory are thus intimately connected. Owing to the above conclusions, it is clear that Leibniz can afford to be somewhat casual in stating his account of the psychological component of personal identity, at least when it comes to memory and self-consciousness. Mentioning only memory (souvenir) seems perfectly acceptable since selfconsciousness follows automatically. On the other hand mentioning only selfconsciousness is likewise acceptable. For it would be redundant to then adduce memory as a further condition. Indeed, Leibniz does not say “memory and selfconsciousness,” or something to that effect, in any of the passages discussed thus far. Nor does he do so in any other when it comes to the psychological dimension of being a person. Rather, he says quite explicitly, “memory or selfconsciousness.” But we have yet to discuss rationality. 29 3. Rationality Boethius famously claims that “[w]e have found the definition of Person, namely: ‘The individual substance of a rational nature’.”30 In other words, that “which is bereft of mind and reason” is not a person. Aquinas takes rationality as

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the chief characteristic of personhood: “Among all other substances individual beings with a rational nature have a special name, and this is ‘person’.”31 Consider also Suárez: person is an Aristotelian first substance of an “intellectual or rational nature.”32 Locke too appears to adduce rationality as a requirement for personhood: we mean by ‘person’ “a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection …” (E II, 27, §9).33 But why rationality? Leibniz’s reasons for holding that rationality is a necessary component of the psychological dimension of being a person should sound very familiar. First, it is another characteristic that distinguishes persons from animals. Consider Leibniz’s words first in a letter to Queen Sophie Charlotte and second in the Monadologie: When these beings have sensation [i.e., the apperception of external things]34 they are called souls, and when they are capable of reason they are called minds. (GP iv, 506/AG 191 [1702]) But it is the knowledge of necessary and eternal truths which distinguishes us from simple animals and gives us reason and the sciences, lifting us to the knowledge of ourselves and of God. And it is this within us which we call the rational soul or spirit. (GP vi, 611/L 645, M §29)35 Leibniz writes elsewhere that “this faculty really is exclusive to man alone and does not appear in any other animals on earth …” (A vi, 6, 475/NE IV, 17, §3).36 Second, surprisingly enough, rationality seems to be involved in the awareness of our personal identity over time. “Consciousness,” Leibniz tells us, “is not the only means of establishing personal identity, and its deficiencies may be made up by other people’s accounts …” (A vi, 237/NE II, 27, §9). “Thus, if an illness had interrupted the continuity of my bond of consciousness, so that I did not know how I had arrived at my present state even though I could remember things further back, the testimony of others could fill in the gap in my recollection” (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9). Now, how am I to “learn from others about my life during my preceding state” (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9), if I cannot reason? Third, rationality for Leibniz is crucially involved in the matter of moral agency or responsibility. In other words, Leibniz has an account of practical rationality. Persons require the ability to judge the value of one action over another. It is our reason that helps us determine whether action x is conducive to an end we desire. The ends themselves might be derived from reason. It is reason also that helps us see that action y is required by a principle from which no one is exempted.37 To understand the close relationship between rationality and self-consciousness (and thereby souvenir), let us say more about what is involved in selfconsciousness. Margaret Wilson notes that there is plenty of evidence in Leibniz’s corpus to suggest both that (a) ‘I’ denotes a particular substance and (b) selfconsciousness is what provides our original and true understanding of the nature of substance in general. To my mind, it is clear that Leibniz does indeed consistently hold both (a) and (b). Regarding (a), Leibniz says in a memo to

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Michel Angelo Fardella that “I am truly a single indivisible substance, unresolvable into many others, the permanent and constant subject of my actions and passions …” (FC 320/AG 104). (In Chapter 3, I will argue extensively for (a) as a proper interpretation of Leibniz.) And, on (b), for example, Leibniz tells us in a letter to Thomas Burnett that “[w]e have [an] idea of substance, which in my opinion comes from the fact that we, who are substances, have an internal sense of it in ourselves” (GP iii, 247/AG 287 [1699]).38 Wilson proceeds to say that “it seems to follow that (for any I) selfconsciousness must be consciousness of a particular simple substance (the one that is me) and further that it must involve consciousness of the identity, simplicity, and substantiality of this entity …”39 I see no good reason to quarrel with this inference, here. For if I just am a substance (with features x, y, and z) and thinking of myself is that which provides me with knowledge of substance in general, then it is reasonable to conclude that in thinking of myself I am thinking of that particular substance which I am identical with and also that I am cognizant to some degree of the features x, y, and z of this substance.40 Leibniz acknowledges that in being conscious of our very self (a substance) we are (as a consequence?) conscious of its categorical features. As Wilson points out, “Leibniz seems also to want to claim [GP ii, 112/LA 144 (9 October 1687)] that we can somehow know from direct experience of ourselves and our perceptions that we are indivisible and hence immaterial substances.”41 Leibniz writes in the Nouveaux essais: [R]eflection is nothing but attention to what is within us, and the senses do not give us what we carry with it already. In view of this, can it be denied that there is a great deal that is innate in our minds, since we are innate to ourselves, so to speak, and since we include Being, Unity, Substance, Duration, Change, Action, Perception, Pleasure, and hosts of other objects related to our understanding …” (A vi, 6, 51/NE Preface) Someone will confront me with this accepted philosophical axiom, that there is nothing in the soul which does not come from the senses. But an exception must be made of the soul itself and its states. Nihil est in intellectu quod non fuerit in sensu, excipe: nisi ipse intellectus. Now the soul includes being, substance, one, same, cause, perception, reasoning, and many other notions which the senses cannot provide. That agrees pretty well with your author of the Essay, for he looks for a good proportion of ideas in the mind’s reflection on its own nature.” (A vi, 6, 110f/NE II, 1, §2) Consider also an oft-quoted letter to Queen Sophie written just before the Nouveaux essais: The thought of myself, who perceives sensible objects, and the thought of the action of mine that results from it, adds something to the objects of the senses.… And since I conceive that other beings can also have the right to say

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Chapter Two ‘I’, or that it can be said for them, it is through this that I conceive what is called substance in general. It is also the consideration of myself that provides me with other notions of metaphysics, such as cause, effect, action, similarity, etc., and even those of logic and ethics. (GP vi, 502/AG 188 [1702])42

But in what sense does self-consciousness yield awareness of identity, simplicity, and substantiality at all? “This is a fundamental unclarity,” Wilson says, “which … Leibniz never directly confronts.” For example, “Leibniz is … extremely inexplicit about the relation between our apprehension (presumably immediate) [that is, not via another perception] of the ‘true unity’ of our conscious perception, and the conclusion that we are immaterial substances.”43 But is Wilson right in thinking that Leibniz fails to show us clearly how in being conscious of our very self we are conscious of its categorical features? Perhaps Leibniz’s account of self-knowledge seems obscure because Leibniz’s answer is so simple and we expect to find something a bit more sophisticated. Consider what Robert Sleigh Jr., Stuart Brown, McRae, and Kulstad have to say about self-knowledge in Leibniz. Sleigh seems to think that mere intuition is all that is involved. He asks: “How did [Leibniz] know that he was a simple substance?”44 Leibniz’s answer, according to Sleigh, is that “a basic brute intuition of the self” is “what … told Leibniz … that he is a simple substance.”45 Brown tells us a bit more: “Leibniz often suggested that humans could grasp the notion of a soul, not through some analytical account of it, but by reflecting on the operations of their own minds.”46 McRae concurs with Sleigh and Brown, I believe, though he assists us more in understanding Leibniz’s view. He writes that ‘[i]nnate’ does not mean ‘imprinted on the mind at birth,’ as it does for Locke [E II, 2, §1], for the metaphysical concepts are results of the mind’s reflection on itself. The mind does not in reflection find the ideas of, say, being, or unity, or action within itself, rather it has a direct apprehension of itself as being, as one, as acting, and as a consequence acquires the ideas of being, or unity, or action.47 That self-consciousness is a direct apprehension or immediate experience of the ego and its action is stressed by Leibniz in using such expressions as ‘le sens interne’ (GP v, 23 Reflections on Locke’s Book), ‘le sentiment du moi’ (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9), ‘les expériences internes immédiates’ (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §14), when referring to consciousness or reflection on the self.”48 McRae’s view, finally, is that Leibniz’s account of self-knowledge is essentially Cartesian.49 “In this conception of innateness Leibniz is almost at one with Descartes. In Meditation III Descartes refers to ideas ‘which seem as though I might have derived them from the idea which I possess of myself, as those which I have of substance, duration, number and such like’.”50 Kulstad concurs with the above commentators though he tends to use different terminology. Kulstad thinks that knowledge of the categorical features of substance, such as simplicity, is a result of reflection and, not just any reflection—“focused” reflection. This is just reflection that attends to the self and its actions, that is, what is “in us,” as opposed to images.51

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Have we forgotten rationality? Not at all. For the above discussion shows that for Leibniz self-consciousness is a necessary precondition of rationality. By being self-conscious one is thus conscious of being, substance, unity, duration, action, etc.. “The ego, by being conscious of itself, becomes a mind [a person] … Leibniz maintains that the mind, or rational soul, is necessarily self-conscious, for it is only as such that it becomes capable of thought or intellection or knowledge of eternal truths”52 regarding themselves and of God. Kulstad notes that “it is arguably focused reflection that is the key to rationality.”53 “Actually it is obvious,” continues Kulstad, “that for Leibniz reflection and reasoning are closely connected. Although his statements of the exact details of the relationship are sometimes confusing, and even at variance with one another, perhaps the following rough sketch, based primarily on the New Essays and related texts, will be helpful. One begins with reflections on the self, for it is there that one finds the primitive ideas, the reflections of which are the basis for all derivative ideas and the necessary truths which can be derived from these. The necessary truths, in turn, provide the unbreakable bonds which serve as links in chains of reasoning. And thus, starting at reflection, we arrive at reasoning.”54 This link between self-consciousness (and thereby souvenir) and rationality becomes even more transparent when we consider Leibniz’s intriguing contrast between réminiscence and rationality. Both are kinds of consecution, according to Leibniz. Réminiscence involves empirical consecutions or connections, namely, “[t]he consecutions of perceptions by which animal souls move ‘from one imagination to another’.” In this sense at least, “[m]emory provides a kind of consecutiveness to souls” (GP vi, 611/L 645, M §26).55 But this is just a “shadow of reasoning” (A vi, 6, 51/NE Preface), as we have already seen.56 On the other hand, Leibniz tells us that “[r]eason is a linking together of truths” (A vi, 6, 199/NE II, 21, 50).57 “A reason is a known truth whose connection with some less well-known truth leads us to give our assent to the latter. … [T]he faculty which is aware of this connection amongst truths, i. e., the faculty for reasoning, is also called ‘reason’ …” (A vi, 6, 475/NE IV, 17, §3). Rational beings could not “see” the necessity governing connections—“these connections themselves constituting necessary and universal truths” (A vi, 6, 476/NE IV, 17, §3)—without souvenir and thus self-consciousness.58 Reason, then, is not an empirical consecution but an a priori one. Thus, reason for Leibniz is not a causal relation as it is for Hobbes and Hume.59 Instead, reason is the logical connection of propositions.

4. Glass Cathedral Objection Not only is the abbreviated view elegant in conception, as an interpretation of Leibniz’s account of the psychological dimension of personhood it has a great deal of textual support. Commentators, such as McRae and Kulstad, have also found themselves attracted to such an interpretation, though they normally do not link it directly to personhood. Moreover, it shows quite nicely that Leibniz can be somewhat casual in stating his view of the psychological dimension of personal

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identity. The abbreviated view therefore provides an answer to Scheffler’s worry, for saying that persons are rational is just an abbreviated way to say that they have memory and self-consciousness.60 But this elegant structure of the abbreviated view, unfortunately, seems rather fragile. Imagine a glass cathedral with an obsidian roof and towering spires of crystal. Imagine further silicate walls and great obsidian buttresses. Now, suppose such an elegant structure were to undergo an attack by marauding forces, who succeed in tearing its buttresses from its walls. Everything would collapse and shatter—the roof, the spires, and the walls. Imagine now the abbreviated view as this glass cathedral with rationality as its roof and spires, and self-consciousness as its walls and memory (that is, souvenir) as its buttresses. But, on occasion, Leibniz appears to deny that souvenir is necessary for personhood. This, of course, is tantamount to tearing the buttresses from the rest of the cathedral since souvenir is necessary for self-consciousness which, in turn, is necessary for rationality. Therefore, if Leibniz denies that souvenir is necessary for personhood, the abbreviated view collapses. But is souvenir necessary for personhood, according to Leibniz? Samuel Scheffler notes that “memory is not a necessary condition of personal identity is an opinion which Leibniz expresses in … the New Essays.”61 Scheffler refers to the following passage. Must it not be agreed that after some passage of time or some great change one may suffer a total failure of memory? They say that Sleidan62 before his death forgot everything he knew, and there are plenty of other examples of this sad phenomenon. Now, suppose that such a man [homme] were made young again, and learned everything anew—would that make a different man? So it is not memory that makes the very same man. (A vi, 6, 114/NE II, 1, §12). Most likely Leibniz is using homme to mean person here since he is directly responding to Locke’s claim that in the case that “Castor and Pollux shared a single soul which acted in their bodies by turn, with each being asleep while the other was awake.… it would make two persons as distinct as Castor and Hercules could be” (A vi, 6, 114/NE II, 1, §12). Scheffler takes Leibniz to be saying that “the idea of a memory loss ‘creating’ two people is so counterintuitive that it constitutes a reductio of the view that memory is a necessary condition of personal identity.”63 To my mind, however, Leibniz is not merely appealing to intuition here. For, in the same section, Leibniz explains why it is that memory loss would not “create” two people. Leibniz does so in terms of his famous doctrine of petite perceptions. “For it must be borne in mind that each soul retains all its previous impressions, and could not be separated into two halves in the manner you [Locke] have described: within each substance there is a perfect bond between the future and the past, which is what creates the identity of the individual. Memory is not necessary for this …” (A vi, 6, 114/NE II, 1, §12).

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But it is crucial here that we not think that Leibniz is ruling out every kind of memory as necessary for personal identity. For, in this passage, Leibniz is specifically referring to souvenir: le souvenir n’est point nécessaire. Indeed, by speaking of retaining all of its previous impressions, and thus by invoking the doctrine of petite perceptions, Leibniz is claiming that personal identity is somehow grounded (at least in part) in mémoire—the “storehouse” of memories or experiences. But this storehouse, it seems, need not be accessed and the stored memories or experiences brought to our attention, so to speak. Similar considerations apply to passages at A vi, 6, 236 and 246 in Book II, Chapter 27 of the Nouveaux essais—both of which speak of souvenir. Nicholas Jolley expresses the worry nicely: “[I]n fact Leibniz does no more than flirt with the Lockian position, and in II, xxvii he chiefly defends a weaker thesis about the role of memory in ascriptions of personal identity. Thus, we find Leibniz stating what has now become the standard criticism [of Locke’s theory of personal identity], that to make memory a necessary condition of personal identity is much too strong: ‘I would not wish to deny, either, that personal identity and even the self persist in us and that I am that I who was in the cradle, merely on the grounds that I no longer remember [je ne me souviens] anything that I did at that time’ [A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9].”64 Jolley concludes as Scheffler did before him that “[t]he dominant position in the New Essays, then, is that memory does not constitute personal identity, nor, strictly speaking, is it even a necessary condition.”65 Again, it is important to note that the kind of memory specifically being discussed here is souvenir, namely, reflexive memory, and not, it seems, mémoire (though Jolley and Scheffler do not make this distinction entirely clear). For, as we noted previously, Leibniz claims that “[a]n immaterial being or spirit cannot ‘be stripped of all’ perception of its past existence. It retains impressions of everything which has previously happened to it … but these states of mind are mostly too minute to be distinguishable and for one to be aware of them .… It is this continuity and interconnection of perceptions which make someone really the same individual …” (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §14). Nevertheless, whether mémoire is necessary for personal identity or not, the problem remains. For how can the abbreviated view stand if souvenir is rejected by Leibniz? For this means that self-consciousness and rationality cannot be necessary since souvenir is necessary for them. But in a number of passages, as we have seen, Leibniz claims that souvenir, self-consciousness, and rationality are necessary. Thus, the mere disclaimer that souvenir is not necessary seems to render Leibniz’s account incoherent. We have gone very quickly from a relatively complete account of the psychological dimension of personhood—the abbreviated view, in which a combination of three psychological attributes is necessary for personhood—to an account in which none of these are necessary! One disclaimer was all that caused this collapse. And, one attribute seems to replace all three: mémoire. But now what distinguishes humans from animals? In fact, as we saw earlier, Leibniz explicitly says that both animals and humans share mémoire and

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even réminiscence, the latter of which gives rise to shadow reasoning—empirical consecution. 5. Resurrecting the Glass Cathedral I believe that Scheffler and Jolley are right—Leibniz does deny that souvenir is a necessary condition of personal identity, at least in the Nouveaux essais. The Sleidan and baby-in-the-cradle examples are clear enough. Leibniz is wary of the Lockean conditional that if B (at t2) is the same person as A (at t1), then B can remember the experiences and actions of A. Such a condition is much too stringent. I do not have to have reflexive memory of event x in order for it to have been mine. Am I no longer the same person when I am asleep? Am I a different person when I have amnesia? Do these Is denote different beings in such circumstances? These kinds of criticisms which Leibniz raises against Locke’s memory condition were (and remain) very commonplace and quite persuasive. Moreover, whether Locke’s memory condition is actually this strong is beside the point. What matters here is how Leibniz understands it. And, he certainly takes it as very strong, entailing the above conditional. But we must be careful not the throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. It should be recognized that what is at stake here in the Nouveaux essais is the strength and specificity of the memory condition, not memory per se. This we have already noted. For Leibniz retains memory in the sense of mémoire, whereas he rejects souvenir which is a more stringent form of memory. Of course, such a clarification fails to resurrect the abbreviated view of personhood which relies fundamentally on souvenir. However, there is another worry. It does not follow from the denial of souvenir as a necessary condition of personal identity (which we have agreed Leibniz does deny) that souvenir is not necessary for personhood. This is an extremely important distinction that, unfortunately, is not often kept in mind. Let me explain. Compare the following two questions: (a) Is it necessarily true that all persons have the attribute of memory? (b) Is it necessarily true that to be one and the same person one needs to have the same memories? Clearly, in part the abbreviated view is an answer to (a), to which it gives an affirmative answer. Accordingly, is the abbreviated view required to answer affirmatively to (b) as well? I do not see that it does. For why could not a seventyyear-old person A have had the attribute of memory (the power of memory) at all times in A’s life, even through its baby-in-the-cradle stage, yet A can no longer remember anything that A did at that time? The explanation is straightforward. An individual’s attributes, at least understood as powers or faculties of that individual, do not necessarily cease to exist when not in use, or when certain contents are lost or gained, replaced or distorted. And, does not Leibniz speak of memory as a power at times? Recall what Leibniz writes about souvenir: “[It is the function of] recollection to put [what is “stored” in mémoire] before us again,

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which it does often—but not always—when there is need for it to do so. This might best be called souvenir, for recollection needs some assistance. Something must make us revive one rather than another of the multitude of items of knowledge …” (A vi, 6, 77/NE I, 1, §5).66 In other words, souvenir is understood here as the power of “reviving” in us some memories, bringing them to consciousness. Moreover, Leibniz consistently treats consciousness, reflection, self-consciousness, and reason themselves as powers. A commentator writes that “for Leibniz, reflection or consciousness is a faculty of spirits by means of which they can perceive themselves and their operations.”67 If so, then why should not a necessary precondition of such powers—namely, souvenir—also be a power? This distinction between memories simpliciter and memory as power (that is, the distinction between having memories and having memory) also makes sense at another level. There is something odd about claiming that personal identity is constituted (even in part) in terms of sameness of the power of memory. Epistemological concerns would seem to abound. Just as Leibniz’s metaphysics make it nigh impossible to reidentify persons by determining that that they are the same simple immaterial substances over time (Chapters 4 and 5 will address this issue in more detail), so too would it be difficult to ascertain that we are identifying the same powers over time. (And, this is on the presupposition that we can even identify simple, immaterial substances and powers at all.) But by acknowledging that persons have a definite forensic component (more discussion of this in Chapters 4 and 5), epistemological concerns are crucial. For it is important to come up with a theory of personal identity in which problems of legal and moral accountability do not arise. On the other hand, when it comes to defining what a person is, there is little problem in stipulating that a power of memory is requisite. For it is one thing to recognize that A has the power of memory; it is altogether another thing to determine that A has the same power of memory A had a year ago. The moral is that we must distinguish between personhood and personal identity. The abbreviated view specifies three necessary (and intimately connected) conditions of personhood, but not of personal identity. Scheffler and Jolley note (correctly) that Leibniz denies one of these conditions (souvenir) as necessary for personal identity. But this is not necessarily to say that Leibniz thereby also denies souvenir as necessary for personhood. The next chapter will consider another purportedly Leibnizian requirement for personal identity: sameness of substance.

NOTES 1

David Wiggins, Sameness and Substance, 173. Bernard Williams, “Persons, Character and Morality,” in The Identities of Persons, ed. A. Rorty,197-216. 2

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3

See Samuel Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 228. 4 See Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 228f. 5 See, for instance, Catherine Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 243. 6 ‘Person’ “is a Forensik Term appropriating Actions and their Merit; and so belongs only to intelligent Agents capable of a Law, and Happiness and Misery” (E II, 27, §26). 7 See Nicholas Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 129. 8 It is very interesting to note that Descartes does not use ‘memoire’ and ‘reminiscience’ in his philosophical writings, or at least I have been unable to locate any instances. This surely tracks his thought that all memory is reflexive. 9 Robert McRae, Leibniz: Perception, Apperception, and Thought, 46. 10 See McRae, Leibniz: Perception, Apperception, and Thought, 45. Also, see Remnant’s and Bennett’s comments in NE liv. 11 See, for instance, GP iv, 475; GP iv, 433f/L 308, DM §9; and, GP vi, 611/L 645, M §28. 12 We will speak of sensation in Chapter 4. 13 Also, see A vi, 6, 143/NE II, 11, §11; A vi, 6, 475f/NE IV, 17, §3; GP vi, 138/H 109f T §65; GP vi, 600f/L 638, PNG §5. 14 Compare GP iv, 462/L 326f, DM §36; GP ii, 125 Letter to Arnauld (9 October 1687). 15 Also, see A vi, 1, 268 and Mark Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, Consciousness, and Reflection, 79. 16 See McRae, Leibniz: Perception, Apperception, and Thought, 44f. 17 Latin memoria needs an infinitive to differentiate between the senses. For example: in memoriam redigere (recall to mind); memoria comprehendere (commit to memory). 18 Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 44. 19 Compare GP iii, 299 Letter to Burnett (1704). 20 See Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 46. 21 Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 59. 22 See Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 47. 23 See Jonathan Bennett, Kant’s Analytic, 105. 24 Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 47. 25 Also, see A vi, 6, 52f/NE Preface; A vi, 6, 110f/NE II, 1, §2. 26 Roderick Chisholm, “On the Observability of the Self,” 18. 27 Chisholm, “On the Observability of the Self,” 21. 28 Chisholm cites, for example, A vi, 6, 218/NE II, 23, §2. 29 Some might object that we are forgetting intelligence. But not only does Leibniz say little concrete about intelligence (for instance, in De Summa Rerum, A vi, 3, 475/SR 27), but also what he does say sounds much like rationality. In private correspondence, Mark Kulstad has confirmed this interpretation. See Gr 583 [1694-1698?]; GP vi, 529/L 554; A vi, 6, 173/NE II, 21, §5; For commentary,

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see Donald Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature, 81-4. It should be pointed out, however, that Leibniz’s conflation of the notions of intelligence and rationality may sound odd to some. Peter van Inwagen, Metaphysics, 119, for instance, points out that certain non-human animals (e.g., chimpanzees) are considered intelligent but not rational. 30 Boethius, Theological Tractates, 92: persona … est naturae rationabilis individua substantia. Boethius said this around the year 500. 31 St. Thomas Aquinas, ST I, 29, 1. 32 Francisco Suárez, Disputationes metaphysicae xxxiv, 1, 3. Also, see Descartes (AT vi, 2/CSM I, 112). 33 E. J. Lowe, Locke on Human Understanding, 103. Also, see Descartes (AT vi, 2/CSM I, 112). 34 See A vi, 6, 52, 161/NE Preface, II, 19, §1. 35 Compare GP iv, 481/WF 14f, NS §8 (1695); A vi, 6, 50f, 475ff; GP vi, 599ff/L 637f, PNG §§4, 5. 36 See Catherine Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 259. 37 See A vi, 6, 187f/NE II, 21, §35. 38 Also, see GP iv, 452/L 320f, DM §27; GP iv, 559f/L 578; GP vi, 502/AG 188; A vi, 6, 85f/NE I, 1, §23; A vi, 6, 105/NE I, 3, §18; GP vi, 612/L 464, M §30. For some interesting commentary, see Stuart Brown, Leibniz, 32f, 37f. 39 M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 341. 40 Chisholm, too, seems to make such a move. In “On the Observability of the Self,” 21, he writes: “[F]rom the fact that we are acquainted with the self as it manifests itself as having certain qualities, it follows that we are acquainted with the self as it is itself. Manifestation, after all, is the converse of acquaintance: x manifests itself to y, if and only if, y is acquainted with x.” 41 M. Wilson, “Leibniz and Materialism,” 507f. 42 Compare GM vi, 241f/L 440f. 43 Wilson, “Leibniz and Materialism,” 508. 44 Robert Sleigh Jr., Leibniz and Arnauld, 76. 45 Sleigh, Leibniz and Arnauld, 76. 46 Stuart Brown, Leibniz, 32. 47 McRae thus assumes a representationalist theory of self-knowledge. But Kulstad disagrees. We will not address this interesting issue. But I think that McRae’s view is supported by Leibniz’s contention that “what comes into the mind is always a concretum” (A vi, 6, 217/NE II, 23, §1). 48 McRae, Leibniz: Perception, Apperception and Thought, 93f. 49 This reading is contrary to Patricia Kitcher’s. See her “Kant’s Paralogisms,” 527f. 50 AT iv, 35. 51 See A vi, 6, 51, 85ff, and 100. 52 McRae, Leibniz: Perception, Apperception and Thought, 97. 53 Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 42. Also, see A vi, 6, 139/NE II, 9, §§13f.

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Kulstad, Leibniz on Apperception, 50. William Uzgalis, in “Paedea and Identity: Meditations on Hobbes and Locke,” World Congress of Philosophy, describes Locke as adding the criterion of consciousness to the criterion of rationality to the definition of person. Whether or not Uzgalis is right, it is certainly interesting to note that in no way does Leibniz add the one criterion to the other. 55 Also, see A vi, 6, 50f/NE Preface; A vi, 6, 475f/NE IV, 17, §3. See McRae, 45. 56 Also, see A vi, 1, 268 New Method (1695-1709? revision of a 1667 work). 57 Also, see GP vi, 69/Preliminary Discourse of Th §1. 58 See McRae, Leibniz: Perception, 46. 59 Look again at the interesting passage at A vi, 6, 475/NE IV, 17, §3. 60 Why not language, asks Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 229, fn. 17. For at A vi, 6, 275/NE III, 1, §2 it looks as if language is necessary for reasoning. I think that this would be an interesting avenue to explore. For example, one might contrast Descartes’ view in the Principia Philosophiae. But let us save it for another time. 61 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 221. 62 German historian, 1506-1556 63 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 222. 64 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 138. 65 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 139. 66 See also GP ii, 125/LA 160 (9 October 1687). 67 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 38.

Chapter Three

What Makes Me The Same Person?

The name ‘tree’ was claimed by its root, trunk, sap, bark, and leaf. Which is the rightful owner? Answer: the root, without which the tree cannot stand. (African Riddle) “What Person stands for,” Locke writes, “is a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider it self as it self, the same thinking thing in different times and places; which it does only by that consciousness, which is inseparable from thinking, and as it seems to me essential to it” (E II, 27, §9). Of course, there is something deeply appealing about such a conception. Sympathetically, William James writes: [T]he continuing identity of each personal consciousness is treated as a name for the practical fact that new experiences look back on old ones, find them warm and appropriate them as mine [and further experiences suggest that] these feelings are the nucleus of me.1 But Locke takes what appears to be an appealing idea to what he thinks is the logical conclusion—that personal identity depends entirely on identity of memory and consciousness. A particular individual A’s actual memory (A’s immediate intuition of herself) of an event is sufficient for its having been an action, thought, or experience of A. Moreover, A’s potential memory (what A has the ability to remember of his or her life) is a necessary condition for personal identity. By virtue of this criteria, it follows that neither living human bodies, which Locke calls men, nor thinking substances, or souls, are to be considered persons. Both Thomas Reid and Bishop Berkeley famously object to Locke's psychological definition of person on the grounds that one’s memory or consciousness of the past can lapse without destroying one’s identity.2 For recall that for Locke memory is a necessary and sufficient condition for personal identity. Not only that, but it seems that Locke was after connectedness of memory over significant periods of time—“if it be possible for the same Man to have distinct incommunicable consciousness at different times, it is past doubt the same Man would at different times make different Persons” (E II, 27, §20).3 Reid’s example is of a general who is conscious of a brave act during his first campaign but has lost the memory of a childhood beating, though he had this last memory at the time of his first campaign. Locke’s criterion, however, makes it true that the general is the same person as the man who acted bravely in his first campaign, and that man is the same person as the boy who was beaten, yet the

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general is not the same person as the boy. But identity is a transitive relation. So the criterion of identity must also be a transitive relation, which Locke’s is not. There are several ways to stretch out Locke’s memory condition so as to cover cases of forgetting. Derek Parfit and Harold Noonan, for example, reinterpret Locke as appealing to a principle of psychological continuity rather than connectedness.4 However, as Andrew Brennan5 points out, this reconstrual seems rather un-Lockean, especially considering the passage quoted above—E II, 27, §20—the point being that Locke wants a memory-criterion where memory is direct. Parfit’s and Noonan’s neo-Lockean accounts, respectively, make connectedness, a direct memory relation itself, unnecessary. In any case, Brennan makes another interesting observation that is more relevant to our interests. He suggests that Leibniz might rescue Locke in a way that would be easier for Locke himself to accept. Locke asks: Whether the same immaterial Being, being conscious of the Actions of its past Duration, may be wholly stripp'd of all the consciousness of its past Existence, and lose it beyond the power of ever retrieving again: And so as it were beginning a new Account from a new Period, have a consciousness that cannot reach beyond this new State. (E II, 27, §14) Leibniz seems to agree with Locke insofar as personal identity implies some kind of psychological connectedness, that is, some direct relation between memory states. But, Leibniz advances the idea that this relation need not be one of which we are presently aware or conscious. An immaterial being or spirit cannot “be stripped of all” perception of its past existence. It retains impressions of everything which has previously happened to it, and it even has presentiments of everything which will happen to it; but these states of mind are mostly too minute to be distinguishable and for one to aware of them, although they may perhaps grow some day. (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27 §14) Although Locke might find Leibniz's suggestion a bit hard to swallow— resulting in a rather pyrrhic philosophical victory—at least the connection between memory states (albeit unconscious) is direct. Brennan writes: A subject who retains previously learned skills, and who can recognize and apply terms to objects in the environment, displays what we might call a lowlevel psychological connectedness with past states, even if these lie beyond reach of the subject’s own present awareness. At this low-level, we have not just the ancestral of a connectedness relation, but a relation very much like the one Locke was interested in. There is still the problem that the imagined subject does not have conscious connection with that subject’s past: but at least there is direct, if unconscious, connection, rather than the complete lack of connection allowed by [Parfit’s and Noonan’s] continuity requirement.6

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So it seems that by employing Leibniz’s suggestion, Locke would possess a ready answer to Reid’s and Berkeley’s objection and, for that matter, Leibniz’s own. For their kind of example does not rule out an unconscious or low-level connection between the memories of the general and that of the child. But that sort of connection suffices to establish the identity of persons over time. Hence, the logical inconsistency disappears and the transitivity of identity is preserved. To further ease Locke into accepting such an augmentation of his view, Leibniz says that “it is unreasonable to suppose that memory should be lost beyond any possibility of recovery, since insensible perceptions, whose usefulness I have shown in so many other important connections, serve a purpose here too— preserving the seeds of memory” (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §14). Locke, it seems, is wary of accepting an account of personal identity in which a man at a later time might be the same person as a man at an earlier time, without being aware of any memory connections between the two. But, comforts Leibniz, while that always remains a possibility, in such an event, that man will become aware of such memory connections, if indeed there are any to begin with. Now, why is this the case? For Leibniz, psychology is grounded in a substance. This helps explain why Leibniz is motivated to hold a substance requirement for personal identity. Motivations notwithstanding, some commentators have noted hesitation and perhaps even inconsistency in Leibniz’s substance requirement for personal identity. I argue in this chapter that those commentators have probably got Leibniz wrong. 1. The Bone of Contention In her influential article, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality In the Paris Notes and After,” Margaret Wilson argues that Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity is incoherent.7 “There is plenty of evidence in Leibniz’s mature writings,”8 Wilson asserts, that he holds the following proposition: (a) I am a particular immaterial substance.9 In other words, I, who am essentially a person according to Leibniz (remember that this was the result of Chapter 1), is identical with a single soul or dominant monad. However, Wilson argues that in his Nouveaux essais Leibniz also holds the following (distinctly Lockean) proposition: (b) It is [logically or] metaphysically possible that I continue as an identical self-consciousness and identical self, independently of this particular substance.10 Wilson points out that there is a prima facie incoherence in the conjunction of (a) and (b). For suppose that I become the mayor of Princeton by taking on the soul (that is, the dominant monad or immaterial substance) of the mayor of Princeton while remaining psychologically connected to my past life. In other

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words, I retain the same self-consciousness but not the same “real” or substantial self. This phenomenon certainly seems possible, if (b) is true. But then how could (a) also be true? As Wilson puts it, “How can it be, from a logical or metaphysical point of view, that I cease to be the substance I am now identical with, and yet continue to exist?”11 Wilson’s charge of incoherence has been echoed by several other Leibniz scholars, including Nicholas Jolley: “[I]t is obviously incoherent to suppose that I could survive as the same person through a change in ‘real’ or substantial identity”12 if that which is denoted by ‘I’ is a particular substance. Hence, if Wilson is right, it must be said that Leibniz’s theory of personal identity, at least as articulated in his mature writings, is incoherent. Let’s put Wilson’s charge of incoherence in argument form: 1. Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity embraces both propositions (a) and (b). 2. Propositions (a) and (b) are jointly inconsistent. 3. Hence, Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity is incoherent. To my mind, any interpreter of Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity must come to grips with Wilson’s argument, either by agreeing with Wilson13 or by attempting to show that one or both of her argument’s premises are false.14 In this chapter, I will consider the several ways in which commentators have attempted to challenge the premises of Wilson’s argument, and so have tried to rescue Leibniz’s theory from Wilson’s charge of incoherence. I will argue that only one of these ways stands any chance of being successful. 2. Am I a Substance? Ezio Vailati argues that premise 1 is false, since the mature Leibniz denies proposition (a). Vailati says that “there is little doubt that Leibniz holds [that (a) I am a particular immaterial substance] in the [Discours de métaphysique], written almost twenty years before”15 the Nouveaux essais; however, Vailati goes on to argue, “according to Leibniz’s theory of personal identity in the New Essays [(a)] is false.”16 Vailati claims that “[t]he evidence for [(b) that I could continue as the same person even through a change of substance] is textual and overwhelming” and “[b]y contrast, that for [(a)] is not.”17 In other words, Leibniz does indeed abandon his earlier view that persons are particular substances for the distinctly Lockean reason that personal identity does not depend on sameness of substance at all. Vailati considers Wilson’s claim that “there is plenty of evidence in Leibniz’s mature writings” that he “identified the denotation of ‘I’ with a particular substance.”18 But Vailati then notes that “Wilson does not provide any textual evidence for the claim that in the New Essays Leibniz holds [that persons are substances].” This should be of no surprise, says Vailati, for the simple reason that there is no “textual and overwhelming” evidence that for the Leibniz of the Nouveaux essais persons are substances.

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Vailati is correct on one count: Wilson does not provide textual evidence that Leibniz embraces proposition (a) in the Nouveaux essais.19 But I’m sure the reason she does not provide evidence is because she thought the matter rather straightforward. I am not sure how overwhelming the evidence must be for Vailati but there is certainly textual evidence, whether or not Wilson refers to it. But before considering the Nouveaux essais, let us make sure that we are all in agreement that before the Nouveaux essais Leibniz holds a substantial conception of person. 3. Leibniz’s View Before the Nouveaux essais Does Leibniz hold proposition (a) prior to penning the Nouveaux essais? Let us begin by looking at several passages in which Leibniz compares, but does not identify, selves with souls. Leibniz tells us in a letter to Antoine Arnauld: A substantial unity requires a thoroughly indivisible and naturally indestructible being, since its notion includes everything that will happen to it, something which can be found neither in shape nor in motion (both of which involve something imaginary, as I could demonstrate), but which can be found in a soul or substantial form, on the model of what is called me. These are the only thoroughly real beings, as was recognized by the ancients, and above all, by Plato, who clearly showed that matter alone is not sufficient to form a substance. (GP ii, 76/AG 79 [28 November/8 December 1686])20 Leibniz is speaking here of the “substantial unity” of corporeal substances as opposed to the “accidental unity” of aggregates. Without being endowed with a soul or substantial form which has its analogue in our idea of self or person, a body cannot be truly unified, an unum per se, and thus “cannot be considered a single substance but a collection of many” (GP ii, 76). A similar view is expressed in a letter to Johann Bernoulli written approximately twelve years later: But if there were no souls or something analogous to them, then there would be no I [Ego], no monads, no real unities, and therefore there would be no substantial multitudes; indeed, there would be nothing in bodies but phantasms. (GM iii, 537/AG 167 [August/September 1698])21 As in the letter to Arnauld, Leibniz distinguishes between genuine substances and aggregates, but here he further distinguishes between two different kinds of aggregates. By monad I understand a substance truly one, namely, one which is not an aggregate of substances. Matter in itself, or bulk, which you can call primary matter, is not a substance; indeed, it is not an aggregate of substances, but something incomplete. Secondary matter, or mass, is not a substance, but [a collection of] substances; and so not the flock but the animal, not the fish pond but the fish is one substance. (GM iii, 537/AG 167)

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Also, consider a 1703 letter to De Volder where Leibniz again makes an explicit analogy between persons and simple, indivisible substances: “What I take to be the indivisible or complete monad is the substance endowed with primitive power, active and passive, like the ‘I’ or something similar …” (GP ii, 251/AG 176).22 Here, the ‘I’ is compared to a robust kind of substance, one complete with power, not a substratum or propertlyless bearer of properties.23 But in all three letters (to Arnauld, Bernoulli, and De Volder), Leibniz fails to identify a person or self with a simple substance or monad. He does suggest that persons are substantial unities, but of course this might only mean that persons are composite wholes, namely, corporeal substances or bodies endowed with souls.24 But we still have a substantial conception of person, just perhaps not a soul view where persons are just immaterial souls. In March of 1690, however, Leibniz asserts straightforwardly that we are substances—individual, enduring, and indivisible substances: [S]ince I am truly a single indivisible substance, unresolvable into many others, the permanent and constant subject of my actions and passions, it is necessary that there be a persisting individual substance over and above the organic body. This persisting individual substance is completely different from the nature of body, which, assuming that it is in a state of continual flux of parts, never remains permanent, but is perpetually changed. For if a man is the I [Ego] itself, then he cannot be divided, nor can he perish, nor is he a homogeneous part of matter. But if by the name ‘man’ one understands that which perishes, then a man would be part of matter, whereas that which is truly indestructible would be called ‘soul’, ‘mind’, or ‘I’, which would not be a part of matter. (VE 2157/FC 323/AG 104f Memo on Michel Angelo Fardella) This is a very compelling passage; “I am truly,” Leibniz says, “a single indivisible substance.” But, one might respond, does not Leibniz sometimes speak of corporeal substances as single and indivisible? True, but here Leibniz refers to a substance “over and above the organic body.” So, in order to take ‘single indivisible substance’ to mean corporeal substance, one must understand ‘persisting individual substance’ as also referring to corporeal substance, which would be very odd, to say the least. So, given the fact that for Leibniz I am essentially a person, I believe that this passage expresses the view that persons are incorporeal (i.e., simple, immaterial) substances. Robert Adams seems to concur: “It is hard to believe that the substance discussed here, which is something ‘besides the organic body” and ‘totally different in kind from the nature of body’ is a being partly composed of an organic body, like the composite substance.… It seems rather to be the simple substance …”25 In this section, we have seen evidence from writings prior to the Nouveaux essais that Leibniz’s conception of person is substantial. It is probably the case that we just are particular immaterial substances, albeit, strictly speaking, substances with certain abilities and capacities necessary for personhood. But,

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notwithstanding the line Leibniz takes before 1704 and his penning of the Nouveaux essais, some scholars claim that Leibniz holds two inconsistent positions in this significant work whereas others charge that he changes his mind. Of course, these are important charges since Leibniz’s only adequate articulation of his theory of personal identity occurs in the Nouveaux essais. 4. The Nouveaux essais So what textual evidence is there in Nouveaux essais that Leibniz holds proposition (a)? Consider first the following sentence from the section on innate ideas: “It is my opinion that reflection enables us to find the idea of substance within ourselves, who are substances” (A vi, 6, 105/NE I, 3, §18). This sentence, however, does not quite express proposition (a). The question remains: What kind of substance am I? Leibniz tells us in the section on personal identity: “I would rather say that the I and the he are without parts, since we say, quite correctly, that he continues to exist as really the same substance, the same physical I” (A 6, 6, 238/NE II, 27, §11; my emphasis). (Leibniz means by ‘physical’ (physique) here real (réel).26) Leibniz is saying here that persons are simple, indivisible substances, not composites of any kind. Persons, referents of the ‘I’, are therefore immaterial substances. It is also interesting to note that not only does Leibniz assert that we are substances but also that we endure as the same substance. (Other passages from the Nouveaux essais that reiterate this view are discussed near the end of §4 and in §5 of this chapter.) So, at the very least, Vailati needs to show how it is that these passages do not represent textual evidence for Leibniz’s commitment to proposition (a). Not only does he fail to do so, but I do not see how this could be done in a plausible manner. Moreover, supposing that Leibniz were to abandon (a) in the Nouveaux essais, I would be curious as to why Leibniz would change his mind, while leaving no clues in earlier writings that he would do this. It is useful to note that Leibniz often appears more conciliatory to Locke in the Nouveaux essais than he actually is.27 On top of this, there is no hint in later writings that Leibniz rejects (a). Hence, Vailati fails to show that premise 1 is false and so Wilson’s charge of incoherence in Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity remains unanswered. (Before moving on, we should note that a fortiori the view that the mature Leibniz rejects both a and b as a way of demonstrating the falsity of premise 1 cannot be successful.) 5. Are (a) and (b) Inconsistent? It is tempting to challenge premise 2 by arguing that (a) and (b) are actually consistent on Leibnizian grounds. Accordingly, the following view has been attributed to Leibniz: (a) I am contingently identical with a particular immaterial substance but (b) it is logically possible that I continue as an identical selfconsciousness and identical self, independently of this particular immaterial substance.28 This is an intriguing strategy; however, I will argue that there are two serious problems with it.

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The first problem turns on Leibniz’s account of self-consciousness. But before looking at this account, it is useful to remind ourselves what the inconsistency of (a) and (b) involves. The incoherence which Wilson derives from Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity is a logical incoherence. The proposition (b) seems to directly contradict (a), whether or not any transfer of consciousnesses from a substance to another substance actually occurs. Taken together, (a) and (b) imply that a given substance and self-consciousness—that is, consciousness of that substance—could go their separate ways. But that seems to entail that (a) is false. Now, if one were to argue for the consistency of (a) and (b) one might try to deny that for Leibniz self-consciousness must be consciousness of a particular immaterial substance. For how else can we make sense of preserving the identical self-consciousness over time while ceasing to be identical with the same substance? If, God willing, I, being identical with substance S1 at t1, become identical with a different substance S2 at t2, how is it possible that I have the same self-consciousness at t2 that I had at t1 when I was identical with S1? But can we make a plausible case that for Leibniz self-consciousness need not be of a particular substance and thus identical self-consciousness over time need not be consciousness of the same substance over time? Wilson identifies Leibnizian self-consciousness with consciousness of a particular substance which is distinct from other substances. However, Wilson notes correctly that this is perfectly consistent with the view that the most one can be unconfusedly or distinctly aware of through self-consciousness is that one is a substance, not that one is some particular substance. Where does Leibniz stand on this matter? Consider the following passage from a letter to Antoine Arnauld: It is not enough for understanding the nature of myself, that I feel myself [to be] a thinking substance, one would have to form a distinct idea of what distinguishes me from all other minds; but of that I have only a confused experience. (GP ii, 52f/LA 59; my emphasis) Leibniz appears to say here that we can have no reliable consciousness of ourselves as particular substances. If Leibniz is indeed saying this, it seems possible for us to be mistaken about whether the substance we are identical with is the very same substance as the one we now are conscious of having done or felt such and such in the past. But apart from the problem that the apparent view of this 1686 letter to Arnauld is not repeated in similarly straightforward language in later works (including the Nouveaux essais) by Leibniz, even if self-consciousness is construed in this way the inconsistency of propositions (a) and (b) seems to persist. Wilson explains emphatically: Now, only so far as this [that is, that one cannot be conscious of his or her substance as distinct from other substances] is true does it make any sense to say I might retain consciousness of self-identity while losing identity of substance. (It seems I wouldn’t “know the difference.”) But even so it does not

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make enough sense to suppose such a divorce between self-consciousness and consciousness of substance. For if I am just a particular substance, my selfconsciousness must be consciousness of this substance. It certainly cannot be consciousness of another substance—one that is not myself!29 In other words, it is absurd to ask the following question: “When I am aware of myself at different times, is it necessarily always myself of which I am aware?” Wilson’s point is a good one. Even if we cannot be distinctly or unconfusedly aware of the substance that we are identical with as a particular substance, distinct from all others, it is by no means obvious that our self-consciousness need not be consciousness of the substance that we are identical with. Indeed, Leibniz sometimes suggests exactly this: “[W]e have a clear, but not a distinct idea, of substance, which in my opinion comes from the fact that we, who are substances, have an internal sensation of it in ourselves” (GP iii, 247/AG 287; my emphasis). (Immediately prior, Leibniz tells us what he means by ‘clear’ and ‘distinct’: “I call an idea clear when it is sufficient for recognizing a thing … but I call an idea distinct when I understand its condition or requirements, or, in a word, when I have a definition of it, if it has one.…” [GP iii, 247].) At any rate, I can find no explicit assertion in Leibniz’s writings that a substance’s self-consciousness can be consciousness of a numerically distinct substance from itself.30 So we are now able to isolate the first problem with the view that (a) and (b) are jointly consistent on Leibnizian grounds. Leibniz’s account of selfconsciousness still requires consciousness of a particular immaterial substance, whether this entails distinct or confused awareness. If so, how can we preserve identical self-consciousness over time (as (b) requires) but cease to be identical with the same substance? There is a second problem with the view that (a) and (b) are consistent. Saying that (a) and (b) are consistent seems to require that (a) be taken as a contingent truth: I am contingently identical with a particular simple substance. But, it seems to me, in the Nouveaux essais Leibniz holds not only that I am a particular substance, but also that I am necessarily a particular substance. In other words, synchronic as well as diachronic personal identity requires sameness of substance for Leibniz. Consider the following passage from the section on personal identity: Organization or configuration alone, without an enduring principle of life which I call ‘monad’, would not suffice to make something remain numerically the same, i.e., the same individual. … as for substantial beings, which are sustained by a single spirit: one can rightly say that they remain perfectly ‘the same individual’ in virtue of this soul or spirit which makes the I in substances which think. (A vi, 6, 231f/NE II, 27, §4) Leibniz’s specific concern here is with the diachronic identity of “substantial beings,” such as plants and animals: What is logically or metaphysically required for a substantial being to “remain numerically the same” individual over time?

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Leibniz then says that the answer to this question is no different from the answer to the question of what is required for the identity of persons (i.e., “substances which think”), namely, sameness of substance (“soul or spirit”). Leibniz does not say it in this passage, but the reason that “organization or configuration alone,” cannot serve as a principle of individuation is simply because shape never remains the same for more than a moment. The idea is this: since bodies are infinitely divisible into parts that are constantly moving in different directions—“what has bodily parts cannot avoid losing some of them at every moment” (A vi, 6, 238/NE II, 27, §11)—there is no precise or determinate shape in bodies.31 (For interest of comparison, Suárez argues that the soul is the principle of individuation of persons, since, despite changes in body “the individual is said to be the same by reason of the same soul.”32) Now, it is true that Leibniz does not explicitly say that the diachronic identity of persons also requires sameness of substance, but it would be very odd, to say the least, if he thought that the diachronic identity of substantial beings—but not substantial beings which happen to be persons— required sameness of substance. So I find Ben Mijuskovic’s reading of the above passage perfectly reasonable: “Thus, according to Leibniz, personal identity is grounded in the immaterial, simple nature of the soul, which necessarily maintains its unity and identity.”33 Likewise, I agree with Clifford Brown, who also writes in regard to the above passage: “The presence of a dominant monad is then a necessary condition of true individual identity.”34 In any case, Mijuskovic’s and Brown’s reading is corroborated by other passages from the Nouveaux essais, as we will see in the next section. 6. More Evidence that Leibniz Accepts (a) in the Nouveaux essais Mijuskovic’s and Brown’s reading is corroborated by a later passage from the Nouveaux essais:35 Here, a substantial conception of person is not asserted outright but is nevertheless strongly suggested through Leibniz’s so-called twinearth or duplication example. It comes in response to one of Locke’s thoughtexperiments concerning the transmigration of immaterial substances from one body to another body. Could we suppose two distinct incommunicable consciousnesses acting the same Body, the one constantly by Day, the other by Night; and on the other side the same consciousness acting Intervals two distinct Bodies: I ask in the first case, Whether the Day and the Night-man would not be two as distinct Persons, as Socrates and Plato; and whether in the second case, there would not be one Person in two distinct Bodies, as much as one Man is the same in two distinct clothings. Nor is it at all material to say, that this same, and this distinct consciousness in the cases above-mentioned, is owing to the same and distinct immaterial Substances, bringing it with them to those Bodies, which whether true or no, alters not the case: Since ’tis evident the personal Identity would equally be determined by the consciousness, whether that consciousness were annexed to some individual immaterial Substance or no. (E II, 27, §23)

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To my mind, our intuitions track Locke’s, at least with regard to this particular example. In an important way, what matters in personal identity judgments is consciousness; specifically, regarding such judgments over time we look to one’s continuity of consciousness. In this example, which I will call the Day and Nightman case, we are forced to make a choice in our personal identity judgments between reference to sameness of substance or sameness of consciousness, since neither track the other. It seems that we must go with the latter—sameness of consciousness. In response, Leibniz makes a very interesting move, which is now routine in dealing with thought experiments. Although Leibniz seems to recognize that the substantial conception of person faces problems at the intuitive level in certain “puzzle” cases, such as the Day and Night-man case, he believes the weight one should place on such cases should correspond to the extent that we think that such cases will actually occur; that is, we should place more consideration on “puzzle” cases that might actually occur in nature. Commenting on Locke’s imaginative thought experiments, he says: “Nature does not permit these fictions” (A vi, 6, 242/NE II, 27, §17). Leibniz himself provides a “puzzle” case which yields the conclusion that sameness of consciousness and sameness of physical appearances are not sufficient conditions for personal identity. Not only that, but Leibniz thinks that such a case might occur without disrupting the natural order of things as much as the Day and Night-man case demands. [S]uppose: in another region of the universe or at some other time there may be a sphere in no way sensibly different from this sphere of earth on which we live, and inhabited by men each of whom differs sensibly in no way from his counterpart among us. Thus at one time there will be more than a hundred million pairs of similar persons, i.e., pairs of persons with the same appearances and states of consciousness. God could transfer the minds, by themselves or with their bodies, from one sphere to the other without their being aware of it; but whether they are transferred or left where they are, what would your authorities say about their persons or ‘selves’? Given that the states of consciousness and the inner and outer appearance of the men on these two spheres cannot yield a distinction between them, are they two persons or are they one and the same? It is true that they could be told apart by God, and by minds which were capable of grasping the intervals [between the spheres] and their outer relations of space and time, and even the inner constitutions, of which the men on the two spheres would be insensible. But since according to your [Locke’s] theories consciousness alone distinguishes persons, with no need for us to be concerned about the real identity or diversity of substance or even about what would appear to other people, what is to prevent us saying that these two persons who are at the same time in these two similar but inexpressibly distant spheres, are one person? Yet that would be a manifest absurdity. (A vi, 6, 245/NE II, 27, §23)

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Here, Leibniz admits that for all intents and purposes we should say that two persons, animating one substance by day and another by night, are one and the same person as long as the external appearances could not be distinguished by us. However, Leibniz attacks Locke’s theory by giving his own example of a twinearth on which live persons indistinguishable in appearance and identical in memory as persons now on earth. But, according to Locke’s theory, because they share the same memories or consciousness, a person on earth is one and the same as his or her counterpart on the twin-earth. Leibniz concludes that this is an absurd result. And so, something must be amiss in Locke’s theory. Leibniz’s own solution is as follows. Since there are two earths and two sets of humans—one set living on earth and the other living the twin-earth—they must be individuated. In other words, given the identity of indiscernibles (i.e., no two beings ever have all their properties in common), they cannot be merely numerically distinct. What individuates each pair of persons is therefore, by hypothesis, imperceptible to us. God, of course, perceives a difference between each pair of persons. (And, at the end of Leibniz’s discussion of personal identity, he writes: “I have shown that there are always created spirits who know or can know the truth of the matter, and that there is reason to think that things which make no difference from the point of view of the persons themselves will do so only temporarily” (A vi, 6, 247/NE II, 27, §29).) What is the principle of individuation regarding persons? It has to do with each person’s insensible “inner constitution,” which “must unfold in the fullness of time” (A vi, 6, 246/NE II, 27, §23). Now, supposing the existence of a pair of persons identical in physical appearance and content of consciousness, to what does ‘inner constitution’ refer? I believe the answer was already given in the Preface to the Nouveaux essais: [I]nsensible perceptions … indicate and constitute [constituent]the same individual, which is characterized by the vestiges or expressions which the perceptions preserve from the individual’s former states, thereby connecting these with his present state. Even when the individual himself has no sense of the previous states, that is, no longer has any explicit memory of them, they could be known by a superior mind [e.g., God]. But those perceptions also provide the means for recovering this memory at need, as a result of successive improvements which one may eventually undergo. (A vi, 6, 55) But, one might object: How is this essentially any different from Locke’s purely psychological condition of diachronic identity? Yes, one might say, Leibniz’s psychological account is much broader—encompassing conscious and unconscious mental states—yet it remains psychological states, and only psychological states, that not only “indicate” the same person over time but also “constitute” the same individual. Such a reading is very tendentious though, for, once we properly understand Leibniz’s metaphysics, nothing in the A vi, 6, 55 conflicts with the requirement of identity of substance. According to Leibniz, substance itself is individuated, at least in part, by virtue of its perceptions. The identity over time of each substance is secured by its “complete concept” or

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individual nature. In his correspondence with Arnauld, for example, Leibniz refers to the “complete concept which contains what is sufficient to account for all the phenomena which occur to me” (GP ii, 53/LA 59). Leibniz continues to write in the same passage that “this concept is possible, and it is the genuine complete concept of what I call myself, by virtue of which all my predicates pertain to me as their subject.” Now, I take it that it is fairly clear in Leibniz that a complete concept is causally inefficacious; that is, the concept lists all the predicates actually attributed to each person but does not itself actualize these predicates. What must actualize these predicates must be an intrinsic power of some kind in a substance, according to Leibniz.36 So we should agree with Jolley that the point of Leibniz’s twin-earth example is: “Leibniz insists, then, in opposition to Locke that the essence of personal identity is the persistence of the same substance, or in other words that the set of perceptions which defines a substance at one state is identical with the set of perceptions which defines it at a succeeding state.”37 Not only does Leibniz hold in the above passages from the Nouveaux essais that we are substances but also that we retain our personal identity over time in virtue of this substance. So, at the very least, Vailati needs to show how it is that these passages do not represent textual evidence for the substantial conception of person. Not only does he fail to do so, but I fail to see how this could be done in a plausible manner. 7. Does Leibniz deny Proposition (b)? Thus far, none of the ways we have considered in which Leibniz’s theory of personal identity might be rescued from Wilson’s charge of incoherence have succeeded. Propositions (a) and (b) cannot be rendered consistent on any reading that Leibniz himself would accept. Neither does the claim that Leibniz abandons proposition (a) in the Nouveaux essais have textual merit. But there is another route we might take; one initially promising response remains. Might it be the case that Leibniz never holds proposition (b) at all? In all, there appear to be four passages which scholars use to argue that Leibniz holds proposition (b)—that it is logically possible that I continue as an identical self-consciousness and identical self, independently of a particular substance. They are all to be found in the section on personal identity in the Nouveaux essais. Let’s consider the first three passages as a group: i. You seem to hold, sir, that this apparent identity [one’s sense of self-identity] could be preserved in the absence of any real identity. Perhaps that could happen through God’s absolute power …. If a man could be a mere machine and still possess consciousness, I would have to agree with you, sir; but I hold that that state of affairs is not possible—at least not naturally. (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9) ii. I admit that if God brought it about that consciousnesses were transferred to other souls, the latter would have to be treated according to moral notions as

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Leibniz is certainly conceding something to Locke in each of the above three passages. The question is what. I believe that Leibniz makes a two-fold concession to Locke in these passages, neither of which commit Leibniz to proposition (b). First, he concedes the logical possibility of thinking machines and migrating consciousnesses. Second, he admits that we ought to treat that which possesses apparent identity (and certainly this might be manifested by thinking machines and bodies with new consciousnesses) as persons or morally responsible agents. How would we know the difference? Not really privy to what is happening at the metaphysical level, “human morality must give heed to” apparent identity and not to real identity. This is usually not a problem, considering that in the “order of things” apparent identity tracks real identity. But our judgments of personal identity and moral responsibility can certainly go awry in the event that God brought it about that “apparent identity … be preserved in the absence of real identity.” In a letter to Lady Masham (Damaris Cudworth), written at the time of the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz writes on the matter of distinguishing thinking machines from thinking substances, “I do not know, madam, how one would tell a primitive natural capacity of thought from a substantial principle of thought joined to matter” (GP iii, 363/WF 220 [September 1704]). And, surely if God transfers not only the “internal” appearances (self-consciousness and memory) but also the “external” appearances as well, namely, the body, when he transfers apparent identity from one substance to another, we would not be privy to any loss of continuity of substance. But, of course, the mere fact that we ought to treat something as being a person or morally responsible agent does not imply that that thing is in fact a person or morally responsible agent. Hence, on Leibnizian grounds, passages i-iii can be read as consistent with the denial of proposition (b). (For those stubborn readers who remain unconvinced, please read the following chapter.) Edwin Curley agrees that passages i-iii can be read as consistent with a denial of proposition (b) and thinks that they should be read this way. However, Curley cannot say the same for the final passage used to show that Leibniz embraces proposition (b) in the Nouveaux essais. For starters, it is disconcertingly forthright:

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iv. [E]ven if God were to change the real identity in some extraordinary manner, the personal identity would remain, provided that the man preserved the appearances of identity.… (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9) Curley says that he “can see no way of interpreting this as consistent with the generally anti-Lockean tenor of Leibniz’s remarks.…”38 Similarly, Jolley asserts that “Leibniz here definitely concedes that personal identity is separable from substantial identity: he abandons the claim that one and the same immaterial substance is a necessary condition of personal identity.”39 Cass Weller has suggested to me that Leibniz is being disingenuous to Locke here in the sense that he is willing to concede the possibility of a change of real or substantial identity only on the condition that we deal with Locke’s substratum conception of substance (a “blank slate” to which, theoretically at least, any consciousness can be affixed). If it were only this simple. But I am wary of this suggestion for the simple reason that in the same section of the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz makes other “concessions” that are clearly not disingenuous; for example, he countenances the possibility of thinking machines, as we will see in the next chapter. We know that this is not disingenuous since in other works Leibniz speaks of machines that are endowed with mental states.40 So, unless we have independent evidence for disingenuousness on the part of Leibniz regarding passage iv, I suggest that we treat is as a sincere claim. I believe, however, that passage iv can be read as consistent with a substantial conception of person, namely, (a). I mean to say that the “extraordinary” action of God does not refer to the annihilation of a substance by God or the transference of a person’s experiences from one substance to another substance, or even machine, for that matter. Benson Mates seems to hold this view. He writes: “At [A vi, 6, 237] it looks as if Leibniz is countenancing the possibility that X at t might be [personally or] morally identical with Y at t' even if they were not really identical, but I think that in that passage the clause ‘… if God were to change the real identity in some extraordinary manner’ need only mean ‘… if the temporal development of the soul in question contained a discontinuity’.”41 If Mates is right, then this is how we should read the specious persons passage. For Leibniz to deny the truth of proposition (a) in any way—as I have argued in §4 is required if Leibniz embraces proposition (b)—would be textually and philosophically at odds with Leibniz’s metaphysics. Moreover, if Leibniz is not committed to (b), not only will his theory of personal identity avoid Wilson’s charge of incoherence, but also it will not involve any mysterious change of mind on Leibniz’s part. But is the specious persons passage consistent with proposition (a); is Mates right? Unfortunately, Mates does not say any more on this matter, relegating his suggestion to a footnote. So let us therefore see if his idea has interpretive merit. One thing must be understood at the start. God can certainly miraculously intervene in the life of a substance without changing that substance’s real identity. “Properly speaking, God performs a miracle when he does something that surpasses the force he has given to creatures and conserves in them” (GP ii, 93/AG 82).42 In other words, miraculous states of substances are states that are

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produced externally by God, and that do not arise from the nature of the substance itself. But the concept or notion of an individual substance includes all of its states, both natural and miraculous. Leibniz writes: “[T]he nature of an individual substance or of a complete being is to have a notion so complete that it is sufficient to contain and to allow us to deduce from it all the predicates of the subject to which this notion is attributed” (GP iv, 433/AG 41, DM §8; my emphasis). Adams sees this as I do: “According to Leibniz, we—not only our concepts, but also we concretely—express the whole universe, including all the miracles that occur in it. 43 Hence, God can miraculously intervene in a substance’s life without altering its real identity. Sleigh seems to agree: “[It would be an] unfortunate consequence that miraculous intervention would disrupt a substance’s identity over time.”44 Leibniz says as much in the Discours §16: “[W]e can say equally that the extraordinary action of God on this substance does not fail to be miraculous, despite the fact that it is included in the … individual notion of this substance” (GP iv, 441/AG 49). Nevertheless, any change in real identity of a substance on God’s part (who or what else could do it?) would have to be miraculous. For substances are enduring entities, persisting identically through time and change, and causally independent of other (created) substances. Perhaps certain things that God could do would change a substance’s real identity. What would these be, since all of a substance’s states, miraculous and non-miraculous, are included in its concept? How about annihilation? The problem here is that it is difficult to see annihilation as entailing a change in the identity of a substance; rather, it entails an end of the substance. It would seem that any change of x presupposes that x endure through that change. However, there is a way in which God could change a substance’s real identity without destroying that substance once and for all; for example, if its states violated the principle of continuity. For Leibniz the perceptual states of a substance arises in an orderly fashion, naturally and spontaneously. “The law of continuity states that nature leaves no gaps in the orderings she follows” (A vi, 6, 307/NE III, 6, §12). Any discontinuity would be extraordinary and miraculous, directly due to the hand of God. But perceptual continuity for Leibniz is not logically necessary—the continuity displayed by a substance’s series of perceptions over time is ultimately due to God’s discretionary power45—thereby allowing the possibility that God could disrupt the natural continuity of a substance. Certainly we can imagine one and the same substance perceiving something that was not similar in content (that is, discontinuous) to a perception immediately “preceding” it: for example, a painful pinprick that was preceded not by the perception (whether conscious or unconscious) of a cushion replete with pins on my chair (nor by anything else related in content) but by a beautiful sunset, and nary an intervening perception, as we would expect if our perceptions followed the law of continuity. Would this disruption of perceptual continuity “change the real identity”? I am not sure we can rule out the possibility. (And, as I read him, so it seems to Mates.) Would it cease to be a substance? Probably not. Like annihilation, discontinuity, not being a perceptual state at all, is something not contained in a substance’s concept or notion. Rather, it describes how the perceptual states of a substance are related or

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connected. Nevertheless, surely a substance would be genuinely altered if its states were no longer continuous. In other words, for Leibniz it is important to distinguish between a substance’s “categorical” properties and its “ordinary” properties of perception. This is my terminology, but tracks Leibniz’s view.46 An example of a categorical property would be the property of perceptual continuity. An example of a ordinary property would be the perception of pain in one’s left foot. The former kind of property is not listed, as it were, in a substance’s complete concept whereas the latter kind is. A substance has the property of perceptual continuity only insofar as its activity conforms to the law of continuity. Could a change in its categorical properties “change the real identity” of a substance without destroying that substance, and thus without necessitating the transference of the appearances of identity? Again, I do not see why Leibniz could not be saying this. A Leibnizian substance, in the natural course of things, has the categorical property of having continuous perceptions or states. Now, it would be miraculous—that is, not in the natural course of things—if its states no longer exhibited such continuity, but those now discontinuous states belong to one and the same substance. I conclude that Mates is right: “the clause ‘… if God were to change the real identity in some extraordinary manner’ need only mean ‘… if the temporal development of the soul in question contained a discontinuity’.”47 And, if this interpretation makes sense, it should be preferred, since it attributes neither inconsistency nor change of mind to Leibniz. 8. Conclusion We have considered the several ways in which scholars have attempted to rescue Leibniz’s mature theory of personal identity from Wilson’s charge that such a theory is incoherent. I have tried to show that only one of these ways— namely, to show that Leibniz never countenances the logical possibility of an individual retaining personal identity over time while undergoing change in substantial identity—stands any chance of answering Wilson’s charge. Ultimately, the most consistent and defensible interpretation is that Leibniz holds a substantial conception of person, a position he never relinquishes. I have argued for the traditional view from a textual as well as a philosophical standpoint, arguing that beginning around 1686 with his correspondence with Antoine Arnauld and the Discours de métaphysique, through the Nouveaux essais, and ending around 1714 with the Monadologie Leibniz steadfastly holds to a substantial conception of person, maintaining that persons just are particular, immaterial substances and additionally that personal identity requires sameness of substance. The next chapter will not only further the case for the substantiality of the Leibnizian self, but also will argue for its immateriality.

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NOTES 1

William James, Essays in Radical Empiricism. Thomas Reid, “Of Identity,” in Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. Berkeley, 3 Lest we be confused, Leibniz is not siding with Locke when he comments on Arnauld in May 1686 that “we are inclined to conceive that there is an infinite number of possible first men, each with a great succession of persons and events. . .” (GP ii, 44/LA 48). This just means that men will be the fathers and ancestors of many persons and put into motion a long chain of events, not that the same man will at different times make different persons. 4 Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons, Part III. Harold Noonan, Personal Identity, Ch. 2. 5 Andrew Brennan, “Review,” 105. 6 Brennan, “Review,” 105. 7 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 335-52. 8 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 341. 9 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 346. 10 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 346. 11 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 347. 12 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 137. 13 I number among those who agree with Wilson, or what have at one time agreed with her, that Leibniz’s mature theory is incoherent: Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 219-40; Henry Allison, “Locke’s Theory of Personal Identity”; Jolley, Leibniz and Locke. Also, in private correspondence, Jonathan Bennett has revealed his agreement with Wilson. 14 Those who reject one or both of her argument’s premises, and so attempt to rescue Leibniz’s theory from the charge of incoherence, include: Ezio Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity in the New Essays,” 36-43; Benson Mates, The Philosophy of Leibniz: Metaphysics and Language, 145; Harold Noonan, Personal Identity, 57-64. Clifford Brown and Udo Thiel both seem to reject premise 1, but I do not know whether they have Wilson in mind: Clifford Brown, Leibniz and Strawson: A New Essay in Descriptive Metaphysics, 92; Udo Thiel, “Personal Identity,” 899-902. I suspect that Catherine Wilson would reject premise 1: Catherine Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics: A Historical and Comparative Study, 232-64, esp. 242. 15 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 37. 16 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 37. 17 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 36. 18 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 341. 19 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 36f. The evidence Wilson does present is more relevant to her claim that self-consciousness of the I is what gives us our correct understanding of the nature of substance. The passages are 2

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from: GP vi, L 638, PNG §5; GP vi, 610/L 644, M §16; GP iv, 82/WF 16, NS §11; and, A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §14. 20 Compare GP iv, 539/L 586 (1705). See Adams, Leibniz, 316f. 21 See Adams, Leibniz, 278. 22 Compare GM iii, 552 Letter to Bernoulli (1698); GP iii, 356. See Adams, Leibniz, 316f. 23 Noonan, Personal Identity, 63, notes that “what is meant by a substance here [in the Discourse] is not a bare substratum of mental life, as Locke thinks of it, but an active monad.…” I am not persuaded by Bertrand Russell’s and Alan Hart’s claim that Leibniz holds a substratum view of substance, unless of course, power or active force of a substance does not count as a property of that substance. 24 If Leibniz stops here, we might have reason to suspect that Leibniz countenances the view that persons are corporeal substances, especially considering the following three passages: GP iv, 482/AG 142 (1695); GP iv, 559f/L 578 [1702]; and, GP iv, 508/AG 192 [1702]. For in each of these passages, Leibniz speaks of a simple, immaterial substance being ‘in us’. I would have no problem in accepting this interpretation of Leibniz’s conception of person (at least in the period before 1703) if it were not for the fact that ‘in us’ (en nous) is probably being used too literally. The implication of course is that we are something more than simple, immaterial substances. But there is another way of understanding these passages which is perfectly consistent with the view that we just are simple, immaterial substances. Consider what we normally mean by ‘self-consciousness’ or ‘being aware of a self in us’. In some sense, we can experience or reflect upon our selves. Yet this is not to say that we are somehow not our selves, but something different. Being self-conscious or aware of one’s self does not point to a distinct entity from oneself. Consciousness of one’s self is consciousness of oneself. Or, at least this is the standard way these locutions are used. But is Leibniz using ‘in us’, the French en nous, in a special way? I do not believe so. Consider a passage from his letter to Thomas Burnett (20/30 January 1699): “We have a clear, but not a distinct, idea of substance, which in my opinion comes from the fact that we, who are substances, have an internal sense of it in ourselves [en nous]” (GP iii, 247). Here, Leibniz is using en nous in the sense just specified. We, who are substances, are aware of substance in us. Now, of course, this passage does not say whether or not we are corporeal substances. But the three passages adduced above rely crucially on the first sense of en nous. Yet at this point there should be doubt as to whether Leibniz is using it in this way. This doubt is only increased after considering further passages. For example, Leibniz writes in the Monadology §30 (1714): “[W]e rise to reflective acts, which enable us to think of that which is called “I” and enable us to consider that this or that is in us [en nous]. And thus, in thinking of ourselves [à nous], we think of being, of substance …” (GP vi, 612/AG 217).

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Again, the ‘I’ is in us, but that hardly means that the referents of the ‘I’ do not include each and every one of us. 25 Adams, Leibniz, 276. 26 See Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett’s notes in NE, lxiii. 27 Indeed, Stuart Brown’s contends that “[a]lthough his New Essays are the most detailed commentary Leibniz wrote on any philosophical work, he was not influenced by Locke in any way.” Brown, “The seventeenth-century intellectual background,” in The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz, 57. Allison, “Locke’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 115, would disagree with Brown: “Unquestionably the most important treatment of Locke’s theory of personal identity is contained in Leibniz’s New Essays …. Although Leibniz succeeds in pointing out the main weaknesses in Locke’s argument, his own analysis betrays the influence of his English contemporary. In fact, Leibniz’s very formulation of the problem is modelled after Locke’s….” Contrast Bobro, “Book Review of The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz,” 64f. 28 In private correspondence, Jolley has said that he now finds himself to be attracted to this way of understanding Leibniz in the New Esssays. In my own case, the converse is true. I once argued for the consistency of propositions (a) and (b) in an unpublished paper, but have since changed my mind. Although I do think that the joint truth of (a) and (b) is certainly an intriguing possibility. 29 Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness,” 347. 30 Robert McRae, “The theory of knowledge,” in The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz, ed. by Jolley, 189, notes that for Leibniz “[a]pperception of the self and its actions is conceived by Leibniz as like immediate sense experience.” In fact, at the time of the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz calls such an experience of the substances that we are ‘intimate’ (Gr 558). 31 The clearest passage is perhaps VE 1478. Leibniz writes: “There is not any one body that is perfectly and entirely at rest” (LC 5 ¶53). Also: “There is never any true rest in bodies” (GM vi, 251/AG 136). For detailed discussion, see Bobro, “Leibniz on Instantaneous Objects,” unpublished paper. 32 Suárez, Disputationes metaphysicae v, 4, 4. 33 Mijuskovic, “Personal Identity,” 210. 34 C. Brown, Leibniz and Strawson, 92. 35 There are other passages as well: A vi, 6, 105/NE I, 3, §18. Mates, The Philosophy of Leibniz, 40, cites A vi, 6, 85-86/NE I, 1, §23 and A vi, 6, 129/NE II, 7, §1. 36 See Bobro and Kenneth Clatterbaugh, “Unpacking the Monad,” 408-25 37 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 143. 38 Curley, “Leibniz on Locke on Personal Identity,” 325, fn. 27. 39 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 135f. 40 See Paul Lodge and Marc Bobro, “Stepping Back Inside Leibniz’s Mill,” 554-73. 41 Mates, Leibniz, 145, fn. 24.

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Compare GP iv, 441f/AG 48f; GP iv, 520/L 484; A vi, 6, 66; GP vi, 241; and GP vi, 326. See Sleigh, Leibniz and Arnauld, 78f. 43 Adams, Leibniz, 93. He refers to GP ii, 40f/LA 44. But also see GP iv, 439/AG 47. 44 Sleigh, Leibniz and Arnauld, 135. 45 BC ii, 558/W 186f; GP ii, 183/L 521; GP ii, 193; GP iii, 51-55/L 351-53. For further commentary, see Donald Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature, 30. Also, see Frederick Copleston, A History of Philosophy 4, 298. 46 I don’t think that the kind of distinction I’m trying to draw is the one Mates makes in Leibniz, 43, when he says that Leibniz “does distinguish … between those attributes that a monad has throughout its existence, i.e., at all times, and those it has at some times and lacks at others; thus the attribute ‘rational’ belongs to Alexander always, while the attribute ‘king’ belonged to him for only a limited time.” For if Alexander were to lose the property of rationality, the substance denoted by ‘Alexander’ would cease to exist (assuming of course that person is a substance-concept). 47 Mates, Leibniz, 145, fn. 24.

Chapter Four

Could Thinking Machines Be Moral Agents?

[It is] impossible for us … without revelation, to discover, whether Omnipotency has not given to some Systems of Matter fitly disposed, a power to perceive and think,” in contradistinction to having “joined and fixed to Matter so disposed, a thinking immaterial Substance … (E IV, III, §6)1 This provocative suggestion from Locke spurred great debate not only in his native country, England, but also in continental Europe.2 In Germany, Leibniz was not to be left out of this debate. Indeed, it has been convincingly argued that Leibniz devoted his Nouveaux essais, a point-by-point study of Locke’s Essay, “to vindicating the soul’s immateriality, which Mister Locke leaves doubtful” (GP iii, 473).3 But in what sense is Leibniz a champion of the soul’s immateriality? I believe that Locke’s suggestion that thought might be a property of a purely material thing does not so much offend Leibniz as does Locke’s further suggestion, also in the Essay, that “[a]ll the great Ends of Morality and Religion, are well enough secured, without philosophical Proofs of the Soul’s Immateriality …” (E IV, 3, §6). Indeed, as I will argue in this chapter, while Leibniz himself countenances, or at least his metaphysics accommodates, the possibility of thinking machines, he is insistent that such things could not be genuine moral agents. 1. Thinking Machines Throughout his career, Leibniz consistently holds that “it is not natural for matter to sense and to think” (A vi, 6, 65/NE Preface),4 since thought cannot naturally be a modification of matter. Consider Leibniz’s words from the Nouveaux essais: As for the question of thinking, it is certain … that thinking cannot be an intelligible modification of matter, that is, that a sensing or thinking being is not a mechanical thing like a watch or a windmill, in the sense that we could conceive of magnitudes, shapes and motions whose mechanical conjunction could produce something thinking, and even sensing, in a mass in which there was nothing of the kind, that would likewise cease to be if the mechanism got out of order. Thus it is not natural for matter to sense and to think …. (A vi, 6, 66f/NE Preface) The only manner in which such a phenomenon would be possible is due to God’s miraculous intervention.5 For, “one must above all take into account that 60

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the modifications which can come naturally or without miracle to a single subject must come to it from the limitations or variation of a real genus or of an original nature, constant and absolute” (A vi, 6, 65/NE Preface). For example, since matter possesses a corporeal nature, and magnitude, shape, and motion are the only limitations and variations of corporeal nature, it follows that magnitude, shape, and motion are the only natural modifications of matter.6 What we do not find in nature are modifications or qualities indifferently or arbitrarily predicated of things, for “[t]he distinguishing mark of miracles … is that they cannot be accounted for by the natures of created things” (GP vi, 241/H 257, Th §207).7 Magnitude, shape, and motion are modifications which are not indifferently or arbitrarily predicated of matter; they follow from its nature, which is corporeal; and, what we must not do “in explaining corporeal phenomena,” is to “unnecessarily resort to God or to any incorporeal thing, form or quality” (GP iv, 106/L 110). But it is not also in the nature of matter to think, reflect, or sense. If matter did think, such modifications of thought, reflection, and sensation would have to be indifferently or arbitrarily predicated of matter; and, this would be miraculous. In the natural course of things, only genuine substances can think, that is, reflect, sense, and be conscious—“the action proper to the soul is perception” (GP ii, 372/L 599). Only substances have the faculty or attribute of reflection or action which enables them to apperceive themselves, or at least their modifications. Nevertheless, in the Nouveaux essais and elsewhere, Leibniz seems to leave open the possibility of thinking machines. Consider the passage most often quoted: You seem to hold, sir, that this apparent identity [i.e., the sense one has of oneself over time] could be preserved in the absence of any real identity [i.e., sameness of substance]. Perhaps that could happen through God’s absolute power …. If a man could be a mere machine and still possess consciousness, I would have to agree with you, sir; but I hold that this case is not possible, at least not naturally. (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9) This passage, labeled passage i in Chapter 3, but hereafter the ‘thinking machine passage’, demands close examination. But for now note only that Leibniz does side with Locke, at least to the extent that he admits the logical possibility of a machine—a mere aggregate of matter—that is conscious. Hence, although the existence of a thinking machine would require the miraculous intervention of God—making it a non-natural phenomenon—nevertheless, it represents a possibility, albeit only a logical one. This is not the only occasion where Leibniz envisages the logical possibility of thinking machines.8 For example, even on those occasions where he argues for the impossibility of a materialist explanation of thought (i.e., that thought cannot be a natural modification of matter), he leaves open the possibility of a machine being a locus of mental states.9 In any case, Leibniz’s metaphysics seems perfectly able to accommodate this concession to Locke. We can begin to see this by illustrating

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just how it is, according to Leibniz, that God could transform a mere machine into a thinking machine (i.e., a locus of mental states). As we have seen, it is not natural for a mere machine to have the property of thought. Leibniz writes in the Preface to the Nouveaux essais. [T]here are only two ways in which it could do so. One of these would be for God to join it to a substance to which thought is natural, and the other would be for God to endow it with thought miraculously …. (A vi, 6, 67/NE Preface) Later in the same work, Leibniz gives a rather more magniloquent description: To speak of sheerly ‘giving’ powers is to return to the bare faculties of the Scholastics, and to entertain a picture of little subsistent beings which can fly in and out like pigeons with a dovecote. It is unwittingly to turn them into substances. Primary powers are what make up the substances themselves …. I believe you agree, sir, that it is not within the power of a bare machine to give rise to perception, sensation, reason. So these must stem from some other substantial thing. To maintain that God acts in any other way, and gives things accidents which are not ‘ways of being’ or modifications arising from substances [themselves], is to have recourse to miracles. (A vi, 6, 379/NE IV, III, §6).10 Hence, in the first way in which matter could think, God gives to matter its own faculty of thinking, via its conjoining with a substance. In the second way, God continuously gives to matter modifications of thought—modifications which do not arise from the nature of matter itself. But do both ways legitimately result in thinking machines? According to the first way, matter could be given a new nature, God willing. “But if one says that God gives matter this new nature or the radical power to think, since that power is maintained by itself,” Leibniz explains, “he would simply have given it a thinking soul, or else something that differs from a thinking soul only by name. And since this radical power is not properly a modification of matter (for modifications are explicable by the natures they modify and this power is not so explicable), it would be independent of matter” (GP iii, 261/AG 290f). Hence, that which is essentially passive—matter—remains essentially passive. That which thinks, even after God’s ‘interference,’ is not matter but a thinking soul. In other words, if God appends a soul to a machine and not just any soul—a thinking soul—then it is not that machine which thinks, but its appendage. We might even think of this hybrid creature as a Leibnizian corporeal substance. Interestingly, Robert Sleigh Jr. notes that on occasion Leibniz means by ‘animate’ machine a corporeal substance.11 Leibniz also writes early in his career that aggregates of matter are either not substances at all and thus cannot think or are corporeal substances and thus can think but at the price of being continuously sustained by a mind.12 Indeed, Leibniz is not even conceding to Locke that a mere

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machine can think, if God employs only the first way to make a thinking machine.13 But consider the second way that God can make a thinking machine. Would this also result, ironically enough, in a non-thinking machine? Here, “God, in the case of thinking matter, must not only give matter the capacity to think, but he must also maintain it continually by the same miracle, since this capacity has no root …” (GP iii, 355/AG 290). Now, surely the fact that the second way requires genuine miraculous intervention, and thus would contravene the natural course of events, greatly concerns Leibniz: “The preference one must give to the natural over the miraculous in the ordinary course of nature is something, I think, all philosophers down to now agree on, except for some near-fanatics like [Robert] Fludd in Mosaic philosophy” (GP iii, 355/AG 290). And, based on Leibniz’s conception of miracle, we might argue that the second way also rules out the possibility, even the logical possibility, of thinking machines. For it seems that we cannot properly attribute mental states to the machine since those mental states arise from God (i.e., miraculously) and not from the power or nature of that machine. However, I believe that this line of argument falls short of its target, for it turns on a mistaken understanding of Leibniz’s account of property-attribution. The above argument that even the second way rules out the possibility of thinking machines assumes that for a to be a property of x a needs to be a natural state of x, itself arising from x’s individual nature. Now, the individual nature of x refers to the causal power or agency of x, yielding the following necessary condition of property-attribution: a is properly attributed to x only if a is caused by a power inherent in x. But Leibniz’s account of property-attribution is not so restrictive, it seems to me. All that is necessary is that a be contained in x’s complete concept. He writes in Discours §8 that the complete concept of x refers to “all the predicates of the subject to which the concept is attributed” (GP iv, 443/L 307), including both natural and miraculous states of x.14 Thus, Leibniz’s preferred account of property-attribution seems to be: a is properly attributed to x if, and only if, a is contained in x’s complete concept.15 To drive home this point, suppose God miraculously intervened in our thought processes, causing in us all of our mental states for an interval of time. Leibniz is clear that these “attached” states would be properties of ours, whatever their causal origin. For the complete concept or notion of something includes all of its states, both natural and miraculous.16 And, by hypothesis, states which arise from God and not from us are miraculous. Hence, it would be a mistake to think that throughout this interval of time we would somehow not be thinking substances because our thoughts were miraculous. Mutatis mutandis, machines to which thoughts were miraculously “attached” would be, strictly speaking, thinking machines, even by Leibniz’s lights. So, we have seen that according to Leibniz there are only two ways in which we can understand a machine to think: either by association with a thinking soul or by the attachment of miraculous mental states. It is clear that the first way rules out, ironically, the possibility of thinking machines altogether. For there would

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not be a thinking machine as a result but a machine to which a thinking soul was appended. However, as we have also seen, Leibniz does envisage the possibility of thinking machines, at least on the second way in which God could make a thinking machine. And, Leibniz is therefore not being disingenuous to Locke when he concedes the possibility of thinking machines. But, as we will see below, this is not to concede to Locke that “[a]ll the great Ends of Morality and Religion …” or even one of these ends—that of genuine moral agency—“are well enough secured, without philosophical Proofs of the Soul’s Immateriality …” (E IV, III, §6). 2. Moral Agency Let us return to the thinking machine passage. Ezio Vailati believes that in this passage Leibniz admits not only the possibility of thinking machines but also concedes to Locke that if there were thinking machines, they would be genuine moral agents. [A] thinking machine, if God decided to produce one, would be a legal and moral subject for it could think, make plans, act, remember and feel such things as guilt, pain and pleasure.17 Vailati claims that thinking machines, even on Leibniz’s metaphysics, would be full-fledged moral beings, morally responsible for past and future deeds. Vailati’s reading of the thinking machine passage appears modally too strong; there is reason to think that Leibniz is not saying that as long as thought could be attributed to a machine that machine would be a moral agent. For it is not even clear that Leibniz himself holds that being a thinking substance is logically sufficient for moral agency. For example, as I will argue in Chapter 5, a simple substance could not be a genuine moral agent without existing as united with a body. But it is possible that a simple substance, even a thinking one, not be embodied. However, insofar as thinking machines could be moral agents, Samuel Scheffler agrees with Vailati’s assessment: “Leibniz concedes that it is within God’s power to allow moral identity to attach to a mere aggregate of matter, without depending on any human substance.…”18 Compare what Catherine Wilson says about the thinking machine passage: “If God could somehow attach consciousness to a machine by a miracle, then, Leibniz concedes, Locke would be right. We would then have to say that the identity of this being is given to us qualitatively, in terms of its mental contents.…”19 Compare also what Nicholas Jolley says in his book concerning the philosophical and theological relationship between Locke and Leibniz: “In the passage cited, Leibniz allows that it is at least logically possible that a person could retain his identity over time in the absence of a persisting, self-identical, immaterial substance.”20 So, it seems that C. Wilson and Jolley would be sympathetic to the kind of reading Vailati and Scheffler give to the thinking machine passage. For ‘identity’ here does not refer to metaphysical identity but to moral identity. Neither take it that Leibniz is conceding to Locke that it is within

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God’s power to allow metaphysical identity to attach to a mere aggregate of matter. A mere aggregate of matter cannot possess metaphysical identity over time without itself becoming a substance, but then it would no longer be a mere aggregate of matter. If these commentators are right, then Leibniz’s account of moral agency is deeply problematic. Suppose that Leibniz does concede to Locke that if there existed thinking, conscious “machines” they could nevertheless be moral agents. Remember that for Leibniz “machines” are not genuine substances at all, but mere aggregates of matter. Now, although Leibniz makes it clear that we, as persons, must possess certain psychological characteristics in order to be considered genuine moral agents—that is, we must at a minimum preserve memory of some sort or self-consciousness in order to remain, morally speaking, the same person21—he also adduces a second condition. In the Summa Rerum, the Discours, and in his correspondence with Antoine Arnauld Leibniz holds that we, as persons, must also remain one and the same substance in order to be considered genuine moral agents.22 Yet, in a surprising and ironic turn of events—in a book supposedly devoted to vindicating the soul’s immateriality—it seems that we need not remain the same substance in order to retain moral identity over time.23 Hence, in the Nouveaux essais at least, Leibniz appears to abandon an important element of his earlier views on moral agency and in doing so, concedes much to Locke. But Jolley continues to say that the thinking machine passage does not represent Leibniz’s “dominant” view of moral agency, even in the Nouveaux essais itself.24 Although Margaret Wilson does not address the thinking machine passage in particular, she does say that Leibniz concedes too much to Locke and should have stayed true to his earlier views where moral identity and the perceptions of oneself over time are essentially grounded in an enduring, immaterial substance.25 In what follows, I will argue that Jolley is right, in a sense—this passage does not represent Leibniz’s dominant view—and that Wilson is right—indeed, Leibniz should not give in to Locke on this particular issue. But I will argue further that Leibniz does not present an alternative, “less-dominant” view at all, nor does he actually give in to Locke regarding the relationship between substance and moral agency. In other words, Leibniz maintains his role as a champion of the soul’s immateriality in the Nouveaux essais, at least in regard to the putative moral agency of thinking machines. To begin, let us attempt to construct the reasoning behind the above interpretation of the thinking machine passage, namely, the claim that for Leibniz if there existed thinking machines, they could be genuine moral agents. Unfortunately, the above commentators spend little time actually defending this interpretation. However, it is not hard to imagine the details of a defense. A thinking machine, even on Leibniz’s metaphysical scheme of things, would have thoughts, reflections, sensations, and states of consciousness, namely, perceptions. Among those perceptions of that thinking machine, there would be distinct perceptions. Indeed, any reflective and conscious being has distinct perceptions.

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Reflective and conscious beings, moreover, are self-consciously aware of some of their perceptions.26 According to Leibniz, such beings will naturally have memories. Leibniz equates distinct perceptions with conscious ones, and confused perceptions with unconscious ones.27 When a perception becomes sufficiently distinct or heightened, it becomes an awareness or consciousness of the object it represents. Distinct or heightened perception, Leibniz tells us, is a function of the amount of attention given to it.28 But all attention requires memory.29 So, if thinking machines not only think, but sense and reflect, they possess distinct perceptions and also have memories. Now, it seems that for Leibniz, if a being has distinct perceptions and memories, it is capable both of recognizing the things it perceives as individuals and of differentiating among those individuals, at some level.30 Hence, in a society of thinking beings, whether composed of machines or substances or a combination thereof, these beings would be capable of perceiving each other and differentiating among themselves. Of course, some will perceive the other members of their society more distinctly than others, but this is not at all correlated with being a substance rather than a machine. There is no reason why a machine could not have just as distinct perceptions as a substance. For, as we have seen earlier, it is God who “attaches” these perceptions to machines, and so presumably there is no restriction on the distinctness or the content of these “attached” perceptions. Leibniz does not explain exactly what he means by moral agency, but I take it that two important, maybe even essential, characteristics of moral agency are the ability to identify one’s actions as distinct from another’s, and the ability to empathize with one’s fellow beings. A thinking machine, if it existed, could possess these two characteristics, if it had the ability to have distinct perceptions.31 Another characteristic of moral agency, which perhaps is essential, is that one must understand to some extent one’s moral obligations and commitments. But there is nothing in the passage in question which goes against the idea that thinking machines could have this kind of understanding—this moral perspective—that thinking substances such as we possess. For again, their states of consciousness need not be any different in kind from the states of consciousness of substances. Being a moral agent seems to include also that one be accountable for one’s actions, and even susceptible to reward and punishment. Leibniz seems to believe that the lack of memory or knowledge of one’s past actions completely “upsets” reward and punishment.32 But, since a thinking machine is conscious and has memory, it is aware of its own past actions or at least has the ability to remember its past actions, thereby rendering itself susceptible to reward and punishment. Thus, we have seen that it makes some sense to say that Leibniz does concede to Locke in the Nouveaux essais that if thinking machines existed, they could be genuine moral agents.

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3. Could Thinking Machines be Genuine Moral Agents? Leibniz is serious about the possibility of thinking machines, but the view in question—that for Leibniz thinking machines could be morally responsible agents if they existed—is mistaken. According to Leibniz, a being cannot be a genuine moral agent, susceptible to reward and punishment, and the subject of obligations and commitments, unless it produces at least some of its morally-evaluable modifications (I take it that magnitude, shape, and motion—modifications of corporeal nature—are not morally evaluable) spontaneously. No matter how distinct their perceptions are, no matter how similar their perceptions are to those of substances, no matter how well they understand the moral prescriptions which govern their actions, no matter the extent to which they are aware of themselves and what they have in fact done, their actions are not their own. Recall Leibniz’s words to the effect that God, in the case of thinking matter, must not only give matter the faculty of thought and reflection, much as he does with substance, both simple and composite, but he must also maintain it continually by the same miracle. (A miracle, by the way, is no less one for being continual, Leibniz tells us.33) We have seen, on the other hand, that substance has the faculty of thought and reflection naturally, and thus it does not need to be wholly maintained by God. Leibniz equates the ability of a substance to produce its modifications solely on its own (or with God’s concurrence) with its spontaneity or activity. In the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz equates spontaneity with a special sense of activity: Anything which occurs in what is strictly a substance must be a case of action in the metaphysically rigorous sense of something which occurs in the substance spontaneously, arising out of its own depths. (A vi, 6, 210/NE II, 21, §72)34 Let us say a bit more about Leibniz’s account of God’s relationship with substances and their unique ability to act spontaneously. We must not fall into the trap of ascribing too much to the hand of God, says Leibniz; that is, we must avoid the occasionalist principle that created substances contain no real causal efficacy of their own. In order to avoid this aspect of occasionalism, Leibniz is keen to emphasize that we must be able to distinguish the actions of God from the actions of created substances.35 This cannot be done successfully if our conception of what gives rises to the actions of substances hinges upon the thought that God not only creates substances but also controls their every move. One contemporary effort to capture this efficacy is expressed in the form of the thesis of spontaneity, as propounded by Sleigh. He states that “every non-initial non-miraculous state of every created substance has as a real cause some preceding state of that very substance.”36 In other words, each and every present state (whether it be an expression, a perception or action) of each and every substance follows from its own preceding states.37 Indeed, a substance’s freedom is ultimately grounded in its power of beginning a state spontaneously (i.e., on its own or with God’s assistance). In the Theodicée §288, for instance, Leibniz asserts that freedom requires spontaneity, among other things.38 And thus, we should understand this

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“freedom” as freedom from God’s immediate and total control, and it should be mentioned, other monads as well.39 But there is a caveat. Leibniz often begins by saying that everything which occurs spontaneously in a substance comes to that substance from itself, then he quickly points out, as if reminding us of the real protagonist in the causal narrative, that everything which comes to a substance comes ultimately from God.40 Are we thus again abruptly forced into an occasionalist, even Spinozistic, view of activity, where God’s actions cannot be properly distinguished from those of his creatures? No, for God’s role in the activity of substances, besides that which is implied by miraculous intervention, is only an emanatory one.41 An emanative mode of causal activity is one in which the cause includes, in some ‘eminent’ or higher form, what it gives to its effect, without losing the ability to produce the same kind of effect in the future.42 But a substance, undergoing this kind of intervention or causal process, need not lose its natural causal efficacy which is rooted in its individual nature. Hence, God has a role in Leibniz’s account of the spontaneous action of substances, but a role insufficient to justify full-blown occasionalism; that is to say, spontaneity leaves room for concurrentism.43 Hence, a being whose modifications are produced by its own nature, or in conjunction with God, is said to be spontaneous and active. The modifications of thought, reflection, and consciousness are produced naturally, and thus spontaneously, in substances. But each of the modifications of thought, reflection, and consciousness, if miraculously given to machines, are produced not by the machines at all but by God; therefore, such modifications are not produced spontaneously or actively in machines themselves. There is even reason to question the claim that machines—mere aggregates of matter—are spontaneous regarding their natural modifications of magnitude, shape, and motion. Leibniz writes in the Nouveaux essais that “the clearest idea of active power comes to us from the mind. So active power occurs only in things which are analogous to minds, that is, in entelechies; for strictly matter exhibits only passive power” (A vi, 6, 172/NE II, 21, §4).44 But Leibniz argues that the capacity for spontaneous action is necessary for moral agency. In other words, an individual cannot be a genuine moral agent, susceptible to reward and punishment, the subject of obligations and commitments, and the object of praise and blame unless it produces its modifications of thought, reflection, and consciousness spontaneously. Next, I discuss one of his arguments that moral agency requires spontaneity: the argument from sin.45 4. Argument from Sin Leibniz makes it abundantly clear that an adequate metaphysical-cumtheological scheme must not imply that God is the cause of sin, that is, moral evil, in the world.46 If there is moral evil in the world, it must ultimately be caused by God’s created beings. On the other hand, whatever perfection can be predicated of the world and whatever perfection we might find in created beings must ultimately be due to the hand of God.47

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[T]he concurrence of God consists in giving us continually all that is real in us and in our actions, insofar as it involves perfection; but that all is limited and imperfect therein is a consequence of the previous limitations which are originally in the creature. (GP vi, 340/H 352, Th §377)48 God does act concurrently with his created beings—the actions of every created being is dependent on God—but, in the natural course of things, God is not the only genuine cause of their actions. God causes the good actions of creatures but it is they who cause the immoral or evil actions, “[s]ince … every action of the creature is a change of its modifications, it is obvious that action arises in the creature in relation to the limitations or negations which it has within itself, and which are diversified by this change” (GP vi, 340/H 352, Th §377). In the Discours §30, Leibniz writes: “[O]ne sees clearly that God is not the cause of evil. For not only did original sin take possession of the soul after the innocence of men had been lost, but even before this, there was an original imperfection or limitation connatural to all creatures, which makes them liable to sin or capable of error” (GP iv, 455/AG 62).49 But if God causes all of the modifications of thinking machines which are properly said to be governed by moral principles and thus morally evaluable (as opposed to the natural modifications of machines, that is, magnitude, shape, and motion), then in what sense could God be the real cause of the moral perfection of thinking machines but not the real cause of their moral imperfections? To use Leibniz’s words, how is it possible that “God may permit sin and concur in it and even contribute to it, without prejudice to his holiness” (GP vi, 37f/H 61, Th Preface) in the manner described above, if machines cannot concur and contribute to sin as well? For, presumably, thinking machines, if they existed, would be just as prone to committing moral transgressions as substances are. I take it that on Leibniz’s view thinking beings, whether machines or substances, would be equally prone to temptation. The difference is that the temptations and transgressions of thinking machines would be God’s temptations and transgressions, since machines, which remain mere aggregates of matter, albeit “burdened” with conscious states, are not capable of willing, causing or producing such transgressions, either solely by themselves or concurrently with God.50 Hence, if there existed thinking machines—machines that also sinned—then this would imply that God is the cause of sin, at least “their” sin. But, as Sleigh points out, “an acceptable account [of Leibniz’s doctrine] of divine concurrence conjoined with the facts concerning sinful creaturely behavior must not imply that God is the cause of sin.”51 The verdict is that if thinking machines were moral agents, then God would be responsible for their actions and this is unacceptable. Before we move on, I should point out here that this conclusion goes through even on a weaker reading of Sleigh’s claim. All that needs to be shown is that an acceptable account of divine concurrence must not imply that God is the only cause of sin. For in the case of thinking machines, God would be the only cause,

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or so I have argued. And this is a consequence that Leibniz is not willing to accept.52 There are a couple of related problems with the argument from sin, at least in its above form. First, to show that if thinking machines existed, God would be the cause of “their” sin, we need the assumption that thinking machines would be sinners. But need thinking machines be sinners at all? Jolley, for one, argues for a negative answer; that it is logically possible that a thinking machine might be free from sin, just as Jesus Christ was supposedly free from sin. Second, a similar problem infects the claims that thinking machines would be prone to temptation and prone to committing moral transgressions. Merely having the capacity to experience temptations and to commit transgressions seems perfectly consistent with freedom from sin. One might actually experience temptation and still be sinfree. Indeed, did not Christ experience temptation when he was baited by Satan in the wilderness for forty days?53 Nevertheless, Leibniz surely holds that Christ was sin-free and perhaps even morally perfect. So, to say merely that thinking machines would be prone to temptation and transgression is not to say that they would be sinners.54 To my mind, such criticisms, though interesting in their own right, miss the point. In the thinking machine passage, Leibniz speaks of a created thing— thinking, acting, and behaving as we do—the “only” difference being that this creature is a machine and not a substance. Since we do sin and this machine only differs from us in the aforementioned sense, we can reasonably assume that Leibniz is not considering sin-free thinking machines at all. Moreover, this assumption seems to mirror Locke’s concerns as well. For it is important to realize that Locke’s passages on personal identity in his Essay are filled with thought-experiments, imaginary, though logically possible scenarios.55 Now, what is so distinctive about these imaginary scenarios is that Locke takes a ordinary situation and alters it just enough so as to elicit or capture an intuition, or to evoke in us a certain response. So it is with the thinking machine example, I believe. Suppose your consciousness is transferred to a machine, which, Locke explains “tis nothing but a fit Organization, or Construction of Parts …” (E II, 27, §5). Now, your thoughts are “in” the machine. Reflect upon this situation. Are you the same person you were before the transference? Are you morally responsible for any actions performed before the transference? We might have some idea of what it would be like to be a thinking machine that is exactly like us except for being a machine. But it would be hard to evoke in us intuitively clear answers (especially answers Locke wants to hear) to the above questions if we were required not only to imagine being a thinking machine but also a sin-free, morally perfect, thinking machine—something which none of us, I presume, knows what it is like to be. 5. An Interpretive Fork in the Road Is Leibniz a champion of the soul’s immateriality in the Nouveaux essais? In one sense, we have seen that the answer is no. For Leibniz is willing to consider the possibility of thinking machines, at least as beings whose thoughts are miraculously produced by God. But in another sense, the answer is yes. For

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Leibniz is unwilling to concede to Locke—or what he takes to be Locke—the claim that if there were thinking machines, they could be genuine moral agents, responsible for their deeds and subject to obligations and commitments. Leibniz argued: If anything is responsible for a thinking machine’s deeds, it is God. I believe that if Leibniz is right, then he really hits his Lockean target. For Locke himself is probably committed to the proposition that matter itself cannot produce thought; only with the intervention of God can mental states truly be associated with a body.56 At this point, however, we come to an interpretive fork in the road. For we cannot ignore the fact that in the thinking machine passage Leibniz does let Locke know that “I would have to agree with you, sir.” Should (a) we just treat this phrase as the unfortunate result of a momentary lapse of reason, as Jolley and Wilson seem to do? Or, does (b) Leibniz actually concede something to Locke beyond that of the mere possibility of thinking machines, here? If so, and it is not the claim that thinking machines could be moral agents, what does he concede? I prefer (b). I believe that Leibniz concedes the following further claim to Locke: we ought to treat thinking machines as morally responsible agents. Evidence for this is found in two other nearby passages in the Nouveaux essais, namely, NE II, 27, §§18 and 23. Interestingly, these two passages are precisely those used by a number of commentators to substantiate their interpretation of the thinking machine passage. But I use them to support a quite different interpretation. 6. Migrating Consciousnesses In the Nouveaux essais, Leibniz seems to countenance not only the possibility of machines which think but also the possibility of the transmigration of consciousnesses from one substance to another, with moral identity tracking the migrating consciousness rather than the substance. Leibniz writes: I confess that if God caused consciousness to be transferred to other souls, it would be necessary to treat them, according to ethical ideas, as if they were the same; but this would be to disturb the order of things groundlessly … (A vi, 6, 242/NE II, 27, §18)57 I acknowledge that if all the appearances of one mind were transferred to another, or if God brought about an exchange between two minds by giving to one the visible body of the other and its appearances and states of consciousness, then personal identity would not be tied to the identity of substance but rather would go with the constant appearances, which are what human morality must give heed to. (A vi, 6, 244/NE II, 27, §23)58 These passages were labeled ii and iii, respectively, in Chapter 3. Margaret Wilson and Samuel Scheffler interpret passage i in the same way. Wilson says that in the event that God would allow “a particular self-consciousness-cummemory (Lockean person) to be dissociated from the substance in which it originally inhered (the Cartesian self).… personal identity in the moral sense …

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would remain with the identical consciousness, rather than the original substance.”59 Again, with regard only to passage ii, Scheffler states that “Leibniz concedes that it is within God’s power to allow … a moral identity to cut across metaphysical lines, with the same continuous moral identity being ‘transferred’ from metaphysical substance to metaphysical substance.”60 I am sure that Wilson and Scheffler would apply roughly the same analysis to passage iii (NE II, 27, §23) as well, but for some reason they do not mention it.61 For do not both passages express roughly the same proposition? In both cases, God transfers the conscious states of one soul or simple substance—the ‘appearances of one mind’—to a numerically different substance. In the latter passage, however, God transfers not only the “internal” appearances (selfconsciousness and memory) but the “external” appearances as well, namely, the body. Of course, if ‘personal identity’, in the latter passage, is referring to moral identity, then in both passages, Leibniz appears willing to ground moral responsibility, and correlatively moral identity over time, solely in states of consciousness and bodily appearances; moral identity would not be tied to a substance, but to the migrating consciousness.62 But is this really what Leibniz is expressing? Consider the former passage, that is, NE II, 27, §18. In the event of migrating consciousnesses, Leibniz talks of treating these consciousnesses as if they were morally identical over time, thus responsible for past actions they remember doing even though they might now be attached to a substance which did not actually perform those actions. Notice that Leibniz does not specify who it is that ought to treat these consciousnesses as if they were morally responsible. But this is specified in the latter passage, that is, NE II, 27, §23. Leibniz suggests that in the event of migrating consciousnesses, humans, at least, ought to treat the consciousnesses, and not the substances in which they inhere, as morally responsible agents. Hence, in both passages, Leibniz seems to claim that we must treat things that display or manifest continuity of both internal and external appearance as morally responsible agents. Ought God also treat migrating consciousnesses in this way? Leibniz does not say, but the evidence suggests “No.” To see this, consider the following question: Does the mere fact that one ought to treat x as being subject to moral obligations and hence as being accountable for its actions (that is, being a morally responsible agent) imply that x is in fact a morally responsible agent? The answer is “Yes” if one has a genuine obligation to treat x as a morally responsible agent only if x is in fact a morally responsible agent. But why should this conditional be considered true? Are we not obligated in some sense to treat very young children as morally responsible—even though they are in fact not morally responsible—in order to teach them certain moral codes and behavior and in general prepare them for moral personhood? Are there not hypothetical and possibly actual cases where we might not be sure whether or not we are dealing with a genuinely morally responsible agent; nevertheless, might not we be obligated to treat them as morally responsible agents until we know otherwise?

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Is not Leibniz’s case of the migrating consciousness one such instance? For we are not able to determine if such a phenomenon has occurred. Epistemologically, we cannot tell whether a consciousness has detached from one substance and reattached itself to another. Although, “[i]t is certainly true that our perception of ideas come either from the external senses or from the internal sense, which one may call reflection; but this reflection does not limit itself solely to the operations [modifications] of the spirit, as is said; it extends to the spirit itself, and it is in apperceiving it that we apperceive substance” (A vi, 6, 14/NE Preface), according to Leibniz, we cannot be conscious of our substance as distinct from other substances. It is not enough for understanding the nature of myself, that I feel myself to be a thinking substance, one would have to form a distinct idea of what distinguishes me from all other possible minds; but of that I have only a confused experience. (GP ii, 52f/LA 59 [14 July 1686]) Note that Leibniz here is not saying that my perception of myself as a thinking substance is unclear. According to Leibniz, a perception might be clear but confused or indistinct. Rather, the point is that self-consciousness is not identified with consciousness of an individual substance as uniquely this individual substance.63 This leaves open the possibility that one’s consciousness might migrate to another substance with no one the wiser, except of course for God. So, for example, if at t2 the consciousness of x migrated from substance a to substance b, we, as epistemologically barred from recognizing such an occurrence, would have no reason to treat x any differently from the manner in which we had treated x previously. If we treated x as a morally responsible agent at t1 and x’s consciousness migrated from substance a to substance b at t2, we ought to treat x as morally responsible at t2. But the truth of this conditional is perfectly compatible with the possibility that at t2 x is in fact no longer a morally responsible agent, as we saw a bit earlier. Until we know otherwise, we ought to treat x the same, morally speaking. Of course, for God, this is not a problem. Since he knows whether x is in fact a morally responsible agent, he ought to treat x as morally responsible only if x is morally responsible. It would be quite unjust for God to act otherwise. However, if I am right, then Leibniz is making an important concession to Locke, here. One of the bones of contention between Leibniz and Locke on the issue of moral responsibility has to do with the distinction between divine and human justice. Leibniz seems to think that Locke’s theory of moral identity works in terms of divine justice but fails in terms of human justice.64 According to Locke, each of us is the exclusive judge of our own moral identity.65 But sometimes we do not remember what we have done and other times we claim that we do not remember what we have done. On those occasions, only God knows what we have actually done and whether we are telling the truth or lying. It follows that probably on some of those occasions, divine justice will not track human justice. For Locke says that we, being the executors of human justice,

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would punish the forgetful drunkard because we cannot be sure whether or not he is lying.66 But it might be the case that the forgetful drunkard has committed no crime at all and, accordingly, God, being omniscient as well as the executor of divine justice, would not punish him. Leibniz finds this view disconcerting. Dare one say [as you, Locke, seem to do] that the supreme and just Judge, who alone knew differently, could damn this person and judge contrary to his knowledge? Yet this seems to follow from the notion of “moral person” which you offer. (A vi, 6, 244/NE II, 27, §22; my emphasis) But in the case of the migrating consciousness, this disagreement dissolves. According to divine justice, God can “damn this person and judge contrary to his knowledge,” if ‘this person’ refers to a migrating consciousness. For God’s “justice prevents him from condemning innocent men, and from leaving good actions without reward” (GP vi, 149/H 169, Th §85). On the other hand, the second and third passages seem to suggest that we, as the executors of human justice, ought not to judge this person contrary to his knowledge. This, I believe, is precisely where Leibniz’s concession to Locke lies, which we might express: Owing to the possibility of migrating consciousnesses, “I confess,” and “I acknowledge” that we ought to treat the consciousnesses as moral agents and not the substances in which consciousnesses inhere. Mutatis mutandis, owing to the possibility of thinking machines, “I [Leibniz] would have to agree with you, sir,” and admit that we ought to treat consciousnesses, not substances, as morally responsible agents. But in regard to thinking machines, it is not so much that divine justice does not track human justice—divine justice is not applicable at all. Persons, qua thinking machines, cannot be damned by God, according to Leibniz. For “[t]rue retributive justice … going beyond the medicinal, assumes something more, namely, intelligence and freedom in him who sins, because the harmony of things demands satisfaction, or evil in the form of suffering, to make the mind feel its error after the voluntary active evil whereto it has consented” (GP vi, 417f/H 423, Th §17). But, as we saw earlier, thinking machines, if not substances, cannot consent to any “voluntary active evil.” 7. Conclusion Leibniz makes what appear to be inconsistent claims regarding moral agency over time. On the one hand, he implies that all and only individual substances can possess moral identity and be morally responsible agents. On the other hand, Leibniz says at NE II, 27, §9 that consciousness might be attached to a nonsubstance, specifically, a mere machine. And, he says at NE II, 27, §§18 and 23 that a consciousness might be transferred, God willing, from one substance to another. Commentators, as a whole, then construe these passages as Leibniz’s way of countenancing the claim that metaphysical identity over time is not a necessary condition of moral identity over time.

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But there is good reason to think that Leibniz does not abandon his claim that metaphysical identity (sameness of substance) is a necessary condition of moral identity. As we have seen, the fact that we ought to treat x as being a moral agent does not imply that x is in fact a moral agent or even that x could be a moral agent. I believe that Leibniz’s reasoning is clear. It is expressed in a letter to Lady Masham (penned in the same year of the Nouveaux essais) in which he writes: “I do not know, madam, how one would tell a primitive natural capacity of thought from a substantial principle of thought joined to matter” (GP iii, 364/WF, 220). But the mere fact that one ought to treat x as being a morally responsible agent does not imply that x is in fact a morally responsible agent. Nevertheless, Leibniz does make a significant concession to Locke to the extent that we, namely, humans, ought to treat both thinking machines and migrating consciousnesses as moral agents, even though all genuine moral agents are actually substances. For here it seems that in the event of certain miraculous phenomena, human justice will fail to mirror divine justice. So we have seen that for Leibniz being a thinking substance (and an immaterial one at that) is logically necessary for moral agency. However, it has not been established that Leibniz holds the further proposition that being a thinking substance is logically sufficient for moral agency. In the next chapter, I will argue for the surprising, and thoroughly un-Lockean view, that according to Leibniz a simple substance could not be a genuine moral agent without existing as united with a body.

NOTES 1

Also, see Locke’s Letter to the Bishop of Worcester, Wk iv, 33. See John W. Yolton, Thinking Matter; and, Joaquim de Carvalho, Boletim da Biblioteca da Universidade de Coimbra 20, 1-212. 3 I am thinking of Jolley’s Leibniz and Locke. 4 See Adams, Leibniz, 270, 364-75. 5 See Adams, Leibniz, 368f. 6 Leibniz explains the reason behind such a view at A vi, 6, 66/NE Preface. 7 Also, see GP vii, 367/L 684; C 12/PM 173; GP vii, 419/AG 345. For more epistemological definitions of ‘miracle’, see GP iii, 519; GP iv, 441-2/AG 48f; GP vi, 64; A vi, 6, 66/NE Preface. 8 See A vi, 6, 67/NE Preface; A vi, 6, 379/NE IV, 2, §6; GP iii, 355/WF 213f. 9 Compare Leibniz’s famous “mill argument,” which is found in a variety of places: GP iii, 68f/WF 129); A vi, 6, 66f/NE Preface; GP, vi, 609 (AG, 215); GP vii, 328-29. For a detailed discussion of Leibniz’s “mill argument,” see Lodge and Bobro, “Stepping Back Inside Leibniz’s Mill,” 554-573. 10 Compare A vi, 6, 436, 438-42/NE IV, 10, §§6, 7-17). 11 Sleigh, Jr., Leibniz and Arnauld, 106, cites GP ii, 77. Also, see Sleigh, Leibniz and Arnauld, 108. 2

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12 13

A vi, 1, 508/L 116. See Brown, Leibniz, 35. This becomes readily apparent in the Preface to the Nouveaux essais (A vi, 6,

65).

14

Compare GP ii, 46/LA 50. It is interesting to note that Leibniz’s account might even be less restrictive; x may have properties that are not contained in x’s complete concept. For example, the property of being part of the actual world (the world God decided to create) is presumably not in the complete concept of anything (otherwise its existence would be necessary), but it seems that this property is properly attributed of every created thing that exists. See Eric Sotnak, “Contingency and Freedom in Leibniz’s Metaphysics,” 24, fn. 12. 16 GP iv, 441/AG 49 and GP ii, 40/LA 43. See Adams, Leibniz, 93. 17 Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 39. 18 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 237. To be fair, it is not clear that moral identity entails genuince moral agency in Scheffler’s mind. Thanks to an anonymous referee for pointing this out. 19 C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 238. 20 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 135. 21 GP iv, 459-62/AG 65-8; GP ii, 43/LA 46f; GP ii, 100/LA 125; GP ii, 125/LA 160; GP ii, 325; A vi, 6, 246/NE II, 27, §26; GP vi, 151. For other passages and further discussion, see Gaston Grua, Jurisprudence Universelle, 98-108. 22 See, in particular, Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 335-52, and Curley, “Leibniz on Locke on Personal Identity,” 316. 23 See Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity,” 219-40; Allison, “Locke’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 105-22; Ezio Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 36-43; C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics 232-64; and, Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, Ch. VII. 24 Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 139. Jolley argues that this apparent concession of Leibniz’s is inconsistent with some of his more important metaphysical precepts. 25 M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 350-52. 26 Leibniz says that “it is good to distinguish between perception, which is the internal state of the monad representing external things, and apperception, which is consciousness, or the reflective knowledge of this internal state, something not given to all souls, nor at all times to a given soul” (GP vi, 601/AG 208). Compare A vi, 6, 134/NE II, 9, §4. 27 See M. Wilson, “Confused Ideas,” in Ideas and Mechanisms, 324f, for more nuanced views on the issue. 28 GP vii, 529. 29 A vi, 6, 54/NE Preface. 30 GP iv, 422f/L 291f. 31 See Pauline Phemister, “Leibniz, Freedom of Will and Rationality,” 30. 32 See, for example, GP iv, 459f/AG 65f; GP iv, 462/AG 68; and, GP ii, 125/LA 160. Also, see Phemister, “Leibniz, Freedom of Will and Rationality,” 31. 15

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GP ii, 116/LA 148. See Roger Woolhouse, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz: The concept of substance in seventeenth-century metaphysics, 145. 34 Also, see GP vii, 312/PM 79-81 and GP iv, 486/AG 144. 35 Consider the heading of Discourse §8: “In order to distinguish the actions of God from those of creatures we explain the notion of an individual substance” (GP iv, 432/AG 40). 36 Robert Sleigh, Jr., “Leibniz on Malebranche on Causality,” 162. Compare Mark Kulstad, “Causation and Preestablished Harmony in the Early Development of Leibniz’s Philosophy,” 96. Also, see Bobro and Clatterbaugh, “Unpacking the Monad,” 412f, 421, 423. 37 See GP iv, 440/AG, 46f; C 10; GP ii, 47/LA 52; GP ii, 91-2/LA 114f; GP iv, 486/WF 18f; GP iv, 507/AG 158f; GP iv, 521; A vi, 6, 65; and, A vi, 6, 210/NE, II, 21, §72; GP ii, 372; GP vi, 356-7, among others. Note that I deliberately left some ambiguity in this statement of Leibniz’s account of spontaneous action. For there remains controversy over what that account really amounts to. But this ambiguity does not adversely affect my argument. 38 GP vi, 288. 39 See G.H.R. Parkinson, Leibniz on Human Freedom, 16. Parkinson, in “Philosophy and logic,” in The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz, ed. by Jolley, 220f, briefly discusses Leibniz’s arguments for the spontaneity of substances. One argument is based on the idea that substances have complete concepts, the other is based on the idea that substances are simple. Note, however, that mere aggregates of matter neither possess complete concepts nor are they simple, in any metaphysical sense. 40 See A vi, 6, 210/NE II, 21, §72. 41 See GP iv, 453/AG 59; GP iv, 457f/AG 63; GP ii, 75/LA 93; GP iv, 486/WF 19; GP iv, 509f, 514; GP ii, 438/AG 199; GP vi, 613/AG 219; A vi, 6, 210f/NE II, 21, §72. 42 See Lois Frankel, “Causation, Harmony, and Analogy,” 61. 43 The picture I have painted thus far is mirrored in Leibniz’s words from the Discours §30 (GP iv, 454/AG 61). 44 For earlier passages, see GM vi, 248/L 444f, GM iii, 552 and, GP iii, 227. For further discussion, see Adams, Leibniz, 369-75. 45 It might also be argued that for Leibniz genuine moral agency requires freedom, that is, without freedom, a being ought not be held morally responsible for its actions. See GP vi, 141/H 161f and GP vi, 417. For discussion, see Parkinson, Leibniz on Human Freedom, 64-7. Furthermore, freedom requires spontaneity. See GP vi, 288/H 303, Th §289. So, although spontaneity is not a sufficient condition for freedom, it is surely a necessary condition. See Lois Frankel, “Being Able to do Otherwise: Leibniz on Freedom and Contingency,” 45-59. Hence, genuine moral agency requires spontaneity. But Leibniz is notoriously ambiguous when it comes to ‘freedom’. I suggest that we save this line of argument for a later time.

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46

Leibniz equates sin with moral evil: GP vi, 115, 121/H, 136, 141f; and, GP vi, 613/AG 218. Also, see Gregory Brown, “Leibniz’s moral philosophy,” in The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz, 428. 47 See Donald Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order of Nature, 41, who refers to GP vi, 347-350. 48 There are other texts as well: C 22/PM 102; GP iv, 586f; and, Gr 276. 49 See Michael Latzer, “The Nature of Evil: Leibniz and His Medieval Background,” 63. 50 See Phemister, “Leibniz, Freedom of Will and Rationality,” 25-39, esp. 30, for an example of a being who is not “in control” of its perceptions. 51 Sleigh, “Leibniz on Malebranche on Causality,” 184. Compare Gr 308. 52 To my knowledge, Leibniz never countenances full-blown occasionalism— namely, the view that God is the only cause of creaturely behavior—except in early works. I thank Jolley for reminding me that Leibniz on occasion will wander into the occasionalist camp and at other times the deist camp. Just how far he wanders into the occasionalist camp is of course the crucial issue, here. I take it that Leibniz never strays too far into it, especially after 1686. Instead, Leibniz gives us a form of divine concurrence. See Sleigh, Leibniz and Arnauld, 151, 183ff. I thank an anonymous referree for pointing out these discussions. 53 The Bible, Mark 1:13. 54 This criticism derives from Jolley’s insightful comments. 55 See, especially, E II, 27, §§6 (the hog and the soul of Heliogabalus), 8 (the rational parrot), 14 (Nestor and Thersites), 15 (Prince and the Cobbler), 19-21 (Socrates and the Mayor of Quinborough), and 23 (Day and Night-man) 56 See Jolley, Locke. 57 Here is the original: “J’avoue que si Dieu faisoit que les consciosités fussent transferées sur d’autres ames, il faudroit les traiter selon les notions morales, comme si c’estoient les mêmes, mais ce seroit troubler l’ordre …” (A vi, 6, 242). 58 Here is the original: “J’avoue que si toutes les apparences estoient changées et transferées d’un esprit à un autre, ou si Dieu faisoit un exhange entre deux esprits, donnant le corps visible, et les apparences et consciences de l’un à l'autre; l’identité personelle au lieu d’estre attachée à celle de la substance suivroit les apparences constantes, que la morale humaine doit avoir en veue …” (A vi, 6, 244). 59 M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 346. 60 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity,” 237. 61 Neither do C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” and Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, mention this passage. 62 What differentiates these two passages from the thinking machine passage is of course that that which is conscious is nevertheless a substance. 63 See, for example, Robert McRae, “As Though Only God and It Existed,” 82. 64 In his more politically oriented essays, Leibniz is very forthright in his claim that divine and human justice are essentially the same. See PR 48, 69.

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E II, 27, §22. See Vailati, “Leibniz’s Theory of Personal Identity,” 41, and Curley, “Leibniz on Locke on Identity,” 310f. 66 E II, 27, §22.

Chapter Five

Why Bodies?

It is better that two should be together than solitary; for they gain by their mutual companionship. (Solomon, Ecclesiastes ) Leibniz’s Système nouveau (1695) provoked this response from Simon Foucher: [T]his system is hardly any better than that of the Cartesians. We reject theirs because it pointlessly supposes that God, having regard to the movements which he himself produces in the body, also produces in the soul the thoughts which correspond to them—as if it were not more worthy of him to produce the thoughts and modifications of the soul straight away, without there being any bodies to guide him, and so to speak to tell him what to do. If we are right in that, then is it not reasonable to ask you why God is not content to produce all the thoughts and modifications of the soul … without there being any useless bodies which the mind can never either move or know? (GP i, 426/WF 43; my emphasis) Foucher’s question (repeated by many others) is a good one. For Leibniz consistently maintains what is sometimes called soft dualism: the soul (i.e., the monad) is not reducible to body but does not exist without it. But if not reducible to body, why must a soul or monad be embodied at all? Two answers have been routinely identified in the Leibniz corpus. First, embodiment follows in virtue of the imperfection of all created substances. For Leibniz extends the rationalist line that sense-perception is necessarily “confused” and the use of sensory organs serves to delimit the extent to which substances inferior to God clearly and distinctly represent or perceive the world. Second, embodiment is a condition of the individuality of created substances. For, according to Leibniz, only association with a body, in the form of sensory organs, guarantees that one monad’s representations are qualitatively distinct from another monad’s representations, without which there would be no ground for the various views of the world. In this chapter, I will seek to articulate a third answer to the question of why Leibniz is committed to soft dualism—embodiment is a condition of the moral order of created substances. We will see that for Leibniz a disembodied soul or monad could not qualify for membership in the community of genuine moral agents. Basically, the idea is that the natural order of things, the world monads jointly experience, is required for the moral order of “spirits” (i.e., those monads that qualify as moral agents). Moreover, as we will also see, Leibniz takes a

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stronger line—moral agents require bodies, whether or not they are properly members of the moral order. 1. Ushering in the Task A morally responsible agent, or moral person, as it were, is a member of the class of beings that are subject to moral obligations and commitments, possess rights and privileges, accountable for their actions, and thereby susceptible to reward and punishment. Moral agents are not just any kind of substance, Leibniz tells us, but “substance capable of rights and obligations and having or going to have reason and will.”1 It is wise to distinguish between the following two problems when analyzing a theory of the identity of moral agents, or moral identity, over time. The metaphysical problem of moral identity concerns what constitutes, or is logically both necessary and sufficient for, the continued moral identity of a person: it expresses the truth-condition for moral identity judgments. The definition of the epistemological problem of moral identity, on the other hand, concerns our criterion for the moral identity of persons over time. Here, we will concentrate mainly on the metaphysical problem. What makes it true that x, as a person, possesses moral identity from t1 to t2? According to Leibniz, sameness of substance and continuity of consciousness, or the memory or knowledge of what we have been, are necessary conditions of moral identity.2 But is being united with a body also a necessary condition of moral identity? Before we proceed to answer this question, it is important to know what questions will not be addressed. First, we will not address the metaphysical relation between monads and their bodies. Such a question comes in a variety of guises for the Leibnizian: How is it that bodies “result” from monads? What does it mean for something to be a well-founded phenomenon? Are bodies aggregates of the perceptions of monads or are they aggregates of monads themselves? To my mind, we can ask whether or not moral agents must exist as united with bodies without also discussing the exact nature of the relation between monads and their bodies. (There is certainly a loud controversy over the ontological status of corporeal substance in Leibniz’s hands. But it seems to me that this controversy does not turn on embodiment per se, strange as this may sound. Say that Garber is right and that up to the time of the Nouveaux essais (1704), Leibniz held that corporeal substances existed in their own right and only later starts leaning to phenomenalism.3 Say that Adams is right and that Leibniz starts developing his brand of phenomenalism around 1686, the time of the Discours de métaphysique—“there is no major change from his middle to his later years”4 on the question of Leibniz’s phenomenalism. In either case, souls have bodies. One thing Leibniz is consistent about is embodiment, as we will see in the next section. But if we wanted to get into the metaphysical nature of the relationship between soul and body, that is another thing altogether. What Leibniz held and when on this question would require another book and still we would probably come to no clear conclusion.) From a contemporary perspective, Jerome Shaffer states this idea well:

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Chapter Five The concept of having a body is not so specific that it determines exactly what kind of relationship exists between a person and his body. Parallelism, epiphenomenalism, and interactionism would each do to pick out that body which the person has. That is not to say that all are equally reasonable accounts of the actual relation between a person and his body, but this is not the place to attempt to decide between these various theories.5

Our concern mirrors Shaffer’s. Why do we, as moral agents, have bodies? Would a disembodied spirit still qualify for membership in the community of genuine moral agents? Do genuine moral agents require bodies? Second, I will not address the question whether bodies are real. Again, I believe that we can adequately answer the question—Do moral agents require bodies?—and closely related questions, without also determining the metaphysical status of body according to Leibniz. In fact, the roles played by bodies in Leibniz’s metaphysical-cum-moral scheme would still obtain even if bodies were mere appearances, that is, not real, and we simply “perceived” ourselves and others as beings with bodies.6 It should then be of no surprise that I cannot agree with Catherine Wilson’s claim: “The way to a consistently-held phenomenalism, and so a consistent metaphysics, would have been considerably eased if Leibniz had been able to admit that souls can exist independently of bodies, which he strictly denies.”7 I hope this chapter will vindicate my claim that the metaphysical status of body need not be addressed, for at no point in my analysis will I presuppose a particular status of body.8 2. Monads and Their Bodies In the Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy, Anne Conway asserts that “every created spirit has a certain vehicle, either terrestrial, aerial, or ethereal, as this [Christ’s heavenly body] was .…”9 Leibniz is in complete agreement with Conway on this matter. Indeed, Leibniz’s mature writings are replete with his claim that all created monads, spirits or otherwise, must exist as united with their own particular bodies. He says: “I agree with most of the ancients that every spirit, every soul, every created simple substance is always united with a body and that no soul is ever entirely without one” (A vi, 6, 58f/NE Preface) and “there are no … spirits without bodies. Though Leibniz seems to consider God to be a person,10 God alone is completely detached from bodies” (GP vi, 620/AG 222).11 So, monads have bodies, and each monad continues always to exist with its own particular body, the union of which forms a living organism, an organic body. Gaston Grua says that “… created spirits are immortal, in spite of their permanent bond with a body….”12 Leibniz even refuses to allow that angels—the highest form of spirit—exist without bodies.13 Now, according to Leibniz, some monads, namely, spirits or intelligent souls, are also genuine moral agents.14 He writes: But the intelligent soul, knowing what it is and being able to say this “I” which says so much, does not merely remain and subsist metaphysically (which it

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does more fully than the others), but also remains morally the same and constitutes the same personality. (GP iv, 459f/AG 65f, DM §34) [I]t is consonant with the rules of divine providence that in man’s case the soul should also retain a moral identity which is apparent to us ourselves, so as to constitute the same person, which is therefore sensitive to punishments and rewards. (A vi, 6, 236/NE II, 27, §9)15 We can see here Leibniz’s interesting distinction between metaphysical and moral identity. Metaphysical identity is guaranteed by sameness of substance whereas moral identity also requires the memory or knowledge of the self; that is, moral identity is the more restrictive notion.16 Some substances are not moral agents; they are not morally responsible and thereby not susceptible to reward and punishment and cannot function as subjects of rights and obligations. To wit, “it is the memory or knowledge of this ‘I’ which renders it capable of punishment or reward” (GP iv, 460/AG 66, DM §34), Leibniz explains. To preserve their moral identity over time, “it is necessary for [minds] to preserve in particular some kind of recollection, consciousness or power to know what they are, upon which depends all their morality, penalties, and punishments …” (GP ii, 125/LA 160).17 Although some substances are not moral agents, all moral agents are substances, namely, simple substances or monads. Now, considering the proposition that all genuine moral agents are monads—a conclusion that Robert Sleigh Jr. also reaches: “Leibniz thought that only individual substances, persisting through changes are moral agents, and, as such, fit objects of divine justice”18—the following argument emerges: (1) Each monad exists as permanently united with its own body. (2) But each genuine moral agent is itself a monad. (3) Hence, each genuine moral agent exists as permanently united with its own particular body. This argument, however, does not help answer the question whether moral agents require bodies for Leibniz. Modally, it is too weak for our purposes. Suppose that according to Leibniz moral agents do indeed always have bodies. Does this in any way show that moral agents require bodies? Surely not. For it might be a mere contingent matter that moral agents have bodies, especially on the assumption that premise 1 itself expresses a contingent truth. Perhaps bodies serve only an epistemological role for Leibniz, at least when it comes to moral agency. For example, Leibniz seems to suggest on occasion that we cannot clearly perceive other monads, as monads.19 It appears that we perceive other monads— and thus other moral agents—by perceiving their bodies.20 Parkinson points out: “Leibniz would add that, strictly speaking, human beings never sense substances at all, in that substances are, or resemble, souls, and as such are not directly accessible to our senses. Yet when (for example) I see a certain finite number of material things, my sensations have a certain relation to substances other than

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myself. I am perceiving (in some sense…) absolutely all substances, and these substances appear to me, in this situation, as so many coloured expanses.”21 The idea I am suggesting is that bodies facilitate the communication or interaction between monads (that is, the community of monads) and activity as moral agents (that is, the moral community), monads that are, strictly speaking, causally isolated from each other. In other words, strictly speaking, monads do not interact, bodies do. And, this might be precisely why moral agents always have bodies. But by itself this does not entail that moral agents require bodies, for it is neither obvious that (a) communication is facilitated only by embodiment (or better, disembodied beings cannot live and participate in a community), nor that (b) moral agents need to stand in communication with other beings (that is, in order for something to be a moral agent it must live in a community). In what follows, I will address in turn both (a) and (b), concluding that Leibniz commits himself to both claims. 3. “Moral Deduction” of the Body Gilles Deleuze writes provocatively, though mysteriously: “I must have a body, it is a moral necessity, a ‘requirement.’ … In the place of Cartesian physical induction Leibniz substitutes a moral deduction of the body.”22 Unfortunately, Deleuze does not satisfactorily explicate this tantalizing idea of a moral deduction of the body.23 Herbert Carr, on the other hand, is a bit more helpful: The order of the world is the active work of the soul, brought about by the principle of organization. To take an example, were there no sense organs by which the impressions of light, sound, touch, etc., could pass to the soul, nature would lack the characteristic order the impressions possess for the soul. This natural order, which is the direct consequence of the embodiment of the soul and the principle of organization, is in its turn the condition of a higher order, a moral order to which rational or reflective souls [spirits] can attain. … What we do know is that, while the body is never at two moments materially identical, it is in fact just as enduring as the soul, and it is the means by which we are subject to chastisements and rewards under the government of the absolutely perfect ruler, God.24 The key idea here is that the natural order of things, the world we jointly experience, is required for the moral order of spirits. And, spirits cannot be part of the natural order without existing as united with bodies. In other words, Carr seems to be suggesting that genuine moral agents participating in a moral community require bodies; for monads to exist in a moral order, and thus susceptible to chastisements and rewards, it is imperative that monads are embodied. But can Carr’s reading of Leibniz (or what I take to be Carr’s reading) be defended? I believe so. For the sake of clear exposition, it will be useful to consider first a reconstruction of the kind of argument Carr presents, after which I will proceed to defend each of its six premises from a Leibnizian standpoint. Note that the

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following reconstruction takes a bit of liberty (especially in terminology) with Carr’s passage, but I believe it captures Carr’s general intent. 1. All monads (Leibnizian simple substances) are spontaneous. 2. Hence, there is no genuine causal interaction among monads. 3. Moral agents are themselves monads. 4. Hence, there is no causal interaction among moral agents. 5. But moral agents do live and participate in a community. 6. Monads, being spontaneous, cannot actually live and participate in a community without bodies. 7. Therefore, moral agents require bodies in order to live and participate in a community. This is a valid, though enthymematic, argument.25 Moreover, each of the premises enjoys textual and philosophical support in Leibniz’s writings. Let us first consider premises 1 and 2. In doing so, we will become acquainted with an important part of Leibniz’s conception of substance: spontaneity. 4. Spontaneity Monads or simple substances are essentially active entities, agents in their own right, with perceptions of varying degrees of distinctness. Not only do they perceive at every moment in their existence but their perceptions continually change over time.26 Each monad possesses an individual nature, or primitive active force, which causes the change in their perceptions. This force is intrinsic to each monad. Hence, monadic change is attributed to “a nature or an internal force that can produce in it, in an orderly way … all the appearances and expressions it will have, without the help of any created being” (GP iv, 485/AG 144). Note that this statement leaves room for God’s concurrence. It is important to realize that the nature or force of each monad is individual or unique. Leibniz agrees with de Volder that “how any succession can follow from the nature of a thing, viewed in itself.… is indeed impossible if we assume that this nature is not individual …” (GP ii, 264/L 534). Indeed, Leibniz continues in the same letter, “all substances are different in nature” (GP ii, 265/L 535). Thus far, nothing in this account of monad or simple substance is uniquely Leibnizian. But when we ask in what direction the individual nature or force in a monad will take it (that is, what series or succession of perceptual states will be caused in each monad) we get a distinctly Leibnizian answer. Each monad has a complete concept, or as Leibniz calls it in later writings, a law of the series.27 A complete concept, Leibniz tells us in the Discours §8 is equivalent to the infinite conjunction of predicates or events proper to the individual monad they are attributed: “[W]e can say that the nature of an individual substance or of a complete being is to have a notion so complete that it is sufficient to contain and to allow us to deduce from it all the predicates of the subject to which this notion is attributed” (GP iv, 453/AG 41).28

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What is the relationship between individual natures and complete concepts? Each monad possesses its own individual nature or force which causes (with God’s concurrence) all of its non-miraculous perceptual states (all the natural appearances and expressions it will ever have).29 But the perceptual states which it will have are included in its complete concept.30 In other words, the succession of perceptual states that each monad will actually have through time is already listed in its complete concept. In this sense, the complete concept is like a “blueprint.” And, like a blueprint, the complete concept allows anyone who has knowledge of it to predict exactly what perceptual state the monad whose concept it is will have next. Again, like a blueprint, the complete concept does not itself give rise to those perceptual states (the individual nature does this); it only guides the direction of perceptual change. This also means, according to Leibniz, that there is no room for genuine causal interaction among created monads.31 He writes: “Anything which occurs in what is strictly a substance must be a case of action in the metaphysically rigorous sense of something which occurs in the substance spontaneously, arising out of its own depths” (A vi, 6, 210/NE II, 21, §72).32 Premises 1 and 2 are thus defended. In §3 we saw that premise 3 also has more than adequate support in Leibniz’s writings. And, proposition 4 follows directly from 1, 2, and 3. Let us therefore move on to premises 5 and 6. 5. Enter Body According to Leibniz, moral agents do live and participate in moral communities. And, throughout their earthly existence, each distinct group of moral agents typically resides in a specific geographical locality, shares government and social mores, and shares a common cultural and traditional heritage. Moral agents communicate, recognize and identify each other, praise and blame each other, and even model their lives after the lives of others. Now, even supposing a spirit decides to escape human companionship of any kind and live as a true hermit, he or she cannot, at least in the natural course of things, escape membership in the universal moral community, namely, the City of God. In short, there is some community between God and men. For since both are reasonable and have some commerce with each other, they compose a city which must be governed in the most perfect manner. (L 218)33 [God] is, himself, a spirit and, like one among us, to the point of entering with us into a social relation, where he is the head. (GP ii, 125/L 346) Whether we realize it or not we are members of a community. By the way, action of God on created substances is the only exception to his denial of intersubstantial (transeunt) causation.34 In the Monadologie, and other places, Leibniz gives us some indication as to how such a community between spirits and God is possible.

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[T]he knowledge of eternal and necessary truths is what distinguishes us from simple animals and furnishes us with reason and the sciences, by raising us to a knowledge of ourselves and of God. And that is what we call the rational soul, or spirit .… It is also through the knowledge of necessary truths and through their abstractions that we rise to reflective acts, which enable us to think of that which is called “I”.… (GP vi, 611/AG 217, M §§29f) Among other differences which exist between ordinary souls and spirits … there are also the following: that souls, in general, are living mirrors or images of the universe of creatures, but that spirits are also images of the divinity itself … capable of knowing the system of the universe .… That is what makes spirits capable of entering into a kind of society with God, and allows him to be, in relation to them, not only what an inventor is to his machine (as God is in relation to the other creatures), but also what a prince is to his subjects, and even what a father is to his children. From this it is easy to conclude that the collection of all minds must make up the City of God .… This City of God … is a moral world within the natural world.…(GP vi, 621f/AG 223f, M §§8386)35 Spirits, unlike ordinary souls, share certain capacities with God: conceptual thinking, both abstract and concrete, and thereby access to the knowledge of necessary truths (e.g., mathematics and logic) and universal generalizations. Moreover, spirits have a capacity for self-knowledge, the reflective awareness of oneself.36 It is by virtue of these shared capacities between spirits and God that spirits are able to “enter into society with God and with him constitute a kind of perfect city of which he is the monarch” (GP ii, 125/L 348).37 But now Leibniz faces a deep problem going from this “community” between God and persons (uncreated or infinite substance with created or finite substances) to the “community” between persons (created substance with other created substances)—a problem which he realizes all too well. He writes that “… every simple substance is spontaneous, or the one and only source of its modifications.… [b]ut there would be no order among these simple substances, which lack the interchange of mutual influx, unless they at least corresponded to each other mutually” (C 15/PM 175). So, on the one hand, Leibniz argues that created monads do not causally interact at all; each monad, without the help of any created being, produces all of the perceptions or appearances which it will ever have. On the other hand, he envisions a world that is naturally (physically) and morally ordered, where moral agents communicate with one another, recognize and identify one another, praise and blame one another, and model their lives after one another.38 In other words, he accepts premise 5: moral agents live and participate in a community.39 But the doctrine of the spontaneity of monads seems to clash with the view that monads of any kind live together in any community. Leibniz’s metaphysics of the individual therefore appears to be at odds with his metaphysics of the community of individuals. Let us call this problem the paradox of community. The paradox is simply this: in all

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metaphysical rigor, monads do not interact—they are independent of each other— but we do interact at least in the sense of living and participating in the same communities, yet we just are monads. Interestingly though, Leibniz tries to dissolve this paradox by directly, and unapologetically, appealing to the body. Leibniz argues that monads cannot be a part of the general order or connection of things without existing as united with a body.40 He writes in the Nouveaux essais: Some people have wanted to maintain a complete separation [of body from soul] and to endow the separated soul with thought-processes which could not be explained by anything we know, and which would be remote not only from our present experience but also—and far more important—from the general order of things. (A vi, 6, 212/NE II, 21, §73) A year later, Leibniz tells us in a clearer and more spirited fashion that disembodied monads would indeed be unable to live and participate in the community of individuals. I do not recognize entirely separated souls in the natural order or created spirits entirely detached from any body.… God alone is above all matter, since he is its author. But creatures free or freed from matter would at the same time be divorced from the universal bond, like deserters from the general order. (GP vi, 546/L 590)41 On a variety of occasions, Leibniz also explains why it is that disembodied monads would be unable to be a part of the order or connection of the universe. Consider a passage from the last few years of his career. [I]t is necessary that there is between them a certain relation of perceptions or phenomena, through which it can be discerned how much their modifications differ from each other in space or time; for in these two—time and place— there consists the order of things which exist either successively or simultaneously. From this it also follows that every simple substance represents an aggregate of external things, and that in those external things, represented in diverse ways, there consists both the diversity and the harmony of souls. Each soul will represent proximately the phenomena of its own organic body, but remotely those of others which act on its own body. (C 15/PM 175f)42 In other words, although the spontaneity of monads forbids the genuine causal interaction among monads, the material world—or better yet, the world of embodied monads and their perceptions—somehow guarantees that there is sufficient connection (of some kind) among created monads. “The essential ordering of individuals, that is, their relation to time and place,” Leibniz tells us, “must be understood from the relation they bear to those things contained in time and place, both nearby and far, a relation which must necessarily be expressed by every individual, so that a reader can read the universe in it, if he were infinitely

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sharp-sighted.” (GP ii, 277f/AG 183f). Donald Rutherford summarizes Leibniz’s view on this matter well: “We can define the basic order that unites a plurality of soullike monads in a world in a way that is parasitic on the spatiotemporal order of the phenomena perceived by those monads.”43 It is therefore via the body that Leibniz can both hold that “every created individual substance exercises physical action on, and is acted on by all others.…” and that “… no created substance exercises on another a metaphysical action or influx” (C 521/PM 90). Of course, this is only a sketch of Leibniz’s view but for our purposes all we need to understand is that “[t]he thesis of embodiment is critical to Leibniz’s account of the connection of monads: Only as a result of representing itself as a creature with a body does a soullike monad acquire a ‘point of view’, from which it is able to express its relatedness to the universe as a whole.”44 Premise 6 is thus established. Proposition 7 (namely, that moral agents require bodies in order to live and participate in a community) follows from the aforementioned six premises. Leibnizian substances, being spontaneous, cannot causally interact. Nevertheless, all do interact in a sense; they spend their lives in community with other spontaneous beings.45 Spontaneous beings cannot live and participate in a community without existing as united with their own bodies. But moral agents are themselves monads, bona fide spontaneous beings. So, if spontaneous beings cannot live and participate in a community without being embodied, then neither can moral agents. But of course moral agents do live and participate in a community. Hence, they can only do so if they existed as united with their own bodies. In other words, since connection or order is destroyed when monads are disembodied, a fortiori, connection between monads which are morally responsible—that is, moral connection—is destroyed. But what is meant by moral connection? Fortunately, Leibniz himself gives us some particular instances of it. For one, Leibniz suggests that moral agents are the sorts of beings that converse or communicate with one another: “I think that ‘conversation’ pertains to all spirits which can communicate their thoughts to one another” (A vi, 6, 212/NE II, 21, §73). This is a kind of moral connection in the straightforward sense that through conversation or communication spirits can discuss, for example, current and newly proposed public policies and governmental regulations; they can prosecute and defend clients, they can protest unjust verdicts, and in general praise or blame other spirits, that is, other moral agents. Now, it is also important that spirits be able to recognize and identify the agent responsible for any piece of morally evaluable behavior in order to praise or blame them justly. This represents a second kind of moral connection; spirits “connect” by way of praising and blaming each other. Third and finally, Leibniz points out that, as moral agents, we “connect” by modeling our lives after one another, or even, unfortunately, by striving not to be like another. We tend to copy certain moral agents, such as the pastor of our church, in our behavior and attitude, while at the same time trying to avoid imitating the behavior of our loud, obnoxious neighbor. Perhaps not so surprisingly, Leibniz appeals to embodiment in order to explain how it is that spontaneous beings can morally “connect” in these three ways.46 Regarding the first kind of moral connection, Leibniz says that even higher-level

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spirits such as angels cannot converse or communicate unless embodied: “The Scholastics are troubled about how the angels can do it; but if they allowed them to have rarefied bodies, as I follow the ancients in doing, they would have no further difficulty about that” (A vi, 6, 313/NE III, 6, §21).47 Regarding the second kind of moral connection—praise and blame—other morally evaluable agents besides oneself are recognized and identified by bodily criteria. Leibniz also tells us that on earth as well as in the City of God, we will be rewarded and punished corporeally. Reward and punishment are to be witnessed publicly and serve to inspire us to good actions and deter us from not-so-good actions.48 Leibniz writes: “[O]ne can be [justly] accountable for what one has done, even if one has forgotten it, provided that there is independent confirmation of the action” (A vi, 6, 241/NE II, 27, §16). Now, this “independent confirmation” refers to the idea that through one’s outer, bodily appearances, “I may be taught that I am the subject to whom certain predicates apply.”49 Finally, in regard to the third kind of moral connection—modeling our lives after the lives of other created monads— Leibniz again appeals to body: “I hold that a very useful way to get some conception of the perfection of spirits above ourselves is to think of perfections of bodily organs which surpass our own” (A vi, 6, 307/NE III, 6, §12). Before we continue, it is beneficial to look at Leibniz’s own words expressing agreement with proposition 7, the view that moral agents require bodies in order to live and participate in a community (whether a “moral” one or not). In a letter to Isaac Jaquelot, written in 1704: “The intellectual world, which is nothing other than the universal republic or the City of God, is so important that the entire order of bodies seems to be created only for it” (GP iii, 475). (See Chapter 1 §§4-5.) Leibniz explains in the Theodicée §120: “If there were only spirits they would be without the required connection.… This order demands matter, movement and its laws; to adjust these to spirits in the best possible way means to return to our world” (GP vi, 172f/H 192).50 Now, while we have seen how monadic embodiment is to be viewed as a prerequisite for moral connection—the functioning community of moral agents— we have not seen that moral agents require bodies. In other words, it is one thing to say that in order for a moral agent to be a member of a community (moral or otherwise) it must have a body, it is another thing altogether to say that a monad cannot be a moral agent unless it has a body. In what follows, I will discuss this last claim. 6. The Participation Requirement We saw that “Leibniz views a person as a self-conscious monad bearing a special relation to the ever-changing aggregate of matter which is its body.”51 Also, we saw specifically that persons cannot live and participate in a community (least of all a moral community) without being embodied. But is a person a genuine moral agent only if he or she lives and participates in a community? Let us call an affirmative answer to this question the participation requirement.52 But rather than considering the philosophical virtues and problems of such a view,53 I will focus instead on a question of interpretation: Does Leibniz himself subscribe

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to the participation requirement? Now, if Leibniz does, then he appears committed to the claim that moral agents require bodies. Let me explain. How do we get from the idea that order among moral agents requires their embodiment (namely, proposition 7) to the idea that moral agents require bodies? Simply this: to be a moral agent a monad must be a “citizen of the society of minds.”54 But being a genuine citizen of this society requires that a monad be in communication with other citizens. Since there is no causal communication, communication must be established somehow—enter bodies. So, extending the argument from moral order as formalized in §3, we get: 1. All monads (Leibnizian simple substances) are spontaneous. 2. Hence, there is no genuine causal interaction among monads. 3. Moral agents (‘spirits’, ‘rational minds’, ‘rational souls’) are themselves monads. 4. Hence, there is no causal interaction among moral agents. 5. But moral agents do live and participate in a community. 6. Monads, being spontaneous, cannot actually live and participate in a community without bodies. 7. Therefore, moral agents require bodies in order to live and participate in a community. 8. Something must live and participate in a community in order to be a moral agent. (participation requirement) 9. Therefore, moral agents require bodies.55 56 But, according to Leibniz, must a monad be a “citizen of the society of minds” in order to be a moral agent? Forced to answer quickly, one is tempted to say no. For does not Leibniz say that “each substance is like a world apart, independent of all other things, except for God; thus all our phenomena, that is, all the things that can ever happen to us, are only consequences of our being” (GP iv, 439/AG 47, DM §14)?57 True, but on its own, this only asserts the natural spontaneity of created substances (as asserted in premise 1 and discussed in §4 above); it in no way implies that a substance, divorced from the society of minds, would nevertheless be a moral agent. But Leibniz then proceeds to say that “if I were capable of considering distinctly everything that happens or appears to me at this time, I could see in it everything that will ever happen or appear to me. This would never fail, and it would happen to me regardless, even if everything outside of me were destroyed, provided there remained only God and me” (GP iv, 439/AG 47). However, even this is inconclusive. Imagine the following scenario. Two very similar barns A and B stand side by side. At midnight, both barns are burned to the ground. But barn A is burned down by person x and barn B is burned down by person y, independently of each other and unbeknownst to each other. So, x and y have performed actions, that, other things being equal, would suggest that x and y should be judged or morally appraised equally. But other things are not equal. Suppose further that x freely chose to burn down A and y was wholly determined to burn down B. Now if genuine moral agency or responsibility requires freedom, then we should conclude that x is morally responsible for burning down barn B and y is not responsible for burning down

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barn B. The moral is this. Even if all of a completely isolated monad’s actions would be qualitatively identical to a non-isolated monad’s actions, this fact, in and of itself, would tell us nothing about whether that monad is a moral agent or that that monad ought to praised and blamed for its actions. We need to know, for example, whether that completely isolated monad’s actions are genuinely free. We also need to know whether moral agency or responsibility requires that a monad not be completely isolated. These passages in Leibniz that talk of monads existing as if only they and God existed tell us nothing about the moral status of monads and thereby are inconclusive indicators of whether Leibniz holds the participation requirement, for all Leibniz is saying is that their actions would be the same whether or not other monads existed. But, as we just saw, the mere fact that x’s (morally evaluable) actions are qualitatively identical to y’s does not entail that x should be rewarded or punished for these actions in the same way that y should be.58 Let us therefore seek other, more conclusive evidence as to whether Leibniz believes that monads must live and participate in a community of some kind in order to be considered genuine moral agents. Consider the following sample of passages spanning the years 1686 to 1714 that I take to be Leibniz’s clearest statements on the matter: God has ordered everything in such a way that minds not only may live always, which is certain, but also that they may always preserve their moral quality, so that the city [of God] does not lose a single person, just as the world does not lose any substance. (GP iv, 63/AG 68, DM §36; my emphasis) [Rational] minds … must always keep their moral qualities … in order to be perpetual citizens of that entirely perfect and universal commonwealth of which God is the monarch, which cannot lose any of its members …. (GP ii, 100/LA 125; my emphasis) [R]ational substances have a double status or position: one physical, like all animals, as a consequence of their bodily mechanism, and the other moral, as a result of which they are in society with God, as citizens of the city of God. (GP iv, 528/WF 75; my emphasis) [A]ll minds … entering into a kind of society with God by virtue of reason and eternal truths, are members of the City of God, that is, members of the perfect state, formed and governed by the greatest and best of monarchs. (GP vi, 605/AG 212; my emphasis) With an eye on the participation requirement, what is the import of these passages? The first and natural reading might be something like this: Rather than a spirit being part of a community that establishes its moral status (that is, the fact that it is a moral agent, responsible for its actions and susceptible to reward and punishment), it is instead by virtue of the fact that a spirit possesses certain moral

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qualities that it can live and participate in a moral community. (Look at the phrases I have emphasized in each passage.) Hence, according to Leibniz, connection does not engender morality, but community. In other words, we might be tempted, initially at least, to say that the participation requirement literally gets Leibniz’s view backwards. But to claim that Leibniz rejects the participation requirement merely on the basis on these passages (and others like them) would be a bit hasty, since such a verdict presumes that in saying that in order to be a member of a moral community one must be a moral agent, we must deny its converse (that in order to be a moral agent one must be a member of a moral community). But surely we might hold both views. There is nothing in the aforementioned passages that points clearly to a denial of the participation requirement. So perhaps Leibniz’s preferred view is biconditional is form: we are moral agents just in case we are members of a moral community. Unfortunately, this is speculative; these passages fail to provide us with a decisive answer as to whether Leibniz holds the participation requirement. However, even if we were inclined to suppose that Leibniz denies the participation requirement (and hence the above biconditional), nevertheless he seems to believe that moral agents require bodies; that is, on occasion he seems to hold proposition 9 but does not argue for it by way of the participation requirement. Consider Leibniz’s intriguing claim in a letter to Arnauld that a rational soul, namely, a spirit, is created only when its body is formed: “[T]he rational soul is created only at the time of the formation of its body, since it is totally different from the other souls that we know, because it is capable of reflection and imitates in miniature the divine nature” (GP ii, 75/LA 93 [28 November/8 December 1686]). This claim is repeated in a later passage titled “De origine animae” (Gr 552 [post 1691]). Here, Leibniz asserts that the monad that is to become a spirit exists without reason, but acquires rationality (i.e., the faculty of reason) at the moment the human embryo is conceived. Also, at death, the spirit, unlike other monads, retains a body so that its experiences are not subject to the same degree of disruption. They will continue to possess reason, will continue to have sensory-experiences, and will continue to be self-conscious.59 So, although Leibniz believes that it is surely true that the ability to reason and the reflective awareness of oneself (i.e., necessary conditions of moral agency, as we saw in §4) as such do not presuppose embodiment, these conditions cannot be fulfilled in a created substance unless it has a body. It therefore appears that embodiment is somehow required for monads to become spirits. And, as we saw earlier, all and only monads which are spirits are genuine moral agents. So, it seems that embodiment is required for moral agency. For most of us this is a strange claim. Would we not say that although disembodied spirits would be isolated, and thus unable to live and participate in a community, might they still have obligations to themselves (for example, in selfpromising) and perhaps obligations to God? And thus, is it not possible for moral agents to exist without having bodies?60 But I believe that attributing this view to Leibniz would be a mistake, and possibly even a bit anachronistic. For, as

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Rutherford has emphasized to me, it appears that only with Kant do we get the idea that moral agency might be secured solely by our ability to reason and to selflegislate through the exercise of our will. Leibniz, on the other hand, believes that while rationality, self-knowledge, and our ability to understand eternal truths (both metaphysical and moral) are certainly necessary for moral agency, spirits or moral agents such as us, being finite and dependent on God, could not meet those conditions unless they existed as embodied. 7. Conclusion We, as persons, do live in a community of sorts; we enter into personal relationships, familial relations, political unions, and economic pacts. We share languages. We have the capacity to enter into relations with people we have never met before. Even though there are many offshoots, that is, local communities, it still makes sense to say we form a global community. Moreover, it is paramount, Leibniz thinks, that we form a global, universal community, sharing our goals, and having the capacity to enter into personal, political, and other such relations with any other person. There is also, as we saw earlier, one common participant in our universal community, namely, God. Now, as we saw, without bodies one cannot be a member of this community (at least with other created beings), either actually entering into relations with others or having the capacity to enter into such relations. In other words, the physical realm (the natural order) exists to serve the moral realm (the moral order). This is precisely how Leibniz solves the paradox of the community engendered by his doctrine of the spontaneity of monads. We also considered a stronger conclusion, a conclusion specifically yielded by the participation requirement (i.e., one must be a member of a community to be a moral agent). This was the conclusion that monads could not be moral agents without existing as united with a body. And, although we saw that Leibniz holds such a conclusion it is not clear that he also holds the participation requirement. The sixth and final chapter concerns our future, namely, what it takes for our future survival to be (minimally) meaningful or rationally desirable for us.

NOTES 1

G. Mollat, Mittheilungen aus Leibnizens ungedruckten Schriften, 107. There is a bit of a controversy, here. Some scholars argue that in the New Essays, Leibniz concedes to Locke the logical possibility of an individual continuing as the same person through a change in “real” or substantial identity. I argued in Chapter 3 that this view cannot be right. At any rate, doing so would involve Leibniz not only in logical inconsistency (see Wilson, “Leibniz: SelfConsciousness and Immortality, 335-52) but it would conflict with some of his most coveted metaphysical doctrines, for example, the doctrine of the 2

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individuality of accidents (see Kenneth Clatterbaugh, Leibniz’s Doctrine of Individual Accidents). 3 Garber, “Leibniz and the Foundation of Physics: The Middle Years,” 104. 4 Adams, Leibniz, 308. 5 Jerome Shaffer, “Persons and Their Bodies,” 70. 6 Donald Rutherford pointed this out to me. 7 C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 196. 8 There is no consensus on what Leibniz really meant by ‘body’, especially during the last two decades of the seventeenth-century. For good discussions of this issue, see Daniel Garber, “Leibniz and the Foundations of Physics: The Middle Years,” in The Natural Philosophy of Leibniz, ed. by Okruhlik and Brown, 27-130; and, Adams, Leibniz, Chs. 10f. 9 Conway, (CC Ch. 9). 10 A vi, 3, 475/SR 27: “It must be shown that God is a person, that is, an intelligent substance.” 11 Also, see A vi, 3, 158; GP iv, 479f/AG 140f; GM iii, 565/AG 171; GP iv, 395/AG 252; GP vi, 564/L 580; A vi, 6, 68/NE Preface; A vi, 6, 114/NE II, 1, §12; A vi, 6, 155/NE II, 15, §11; A vi, 6, 212/NE II, 21, §73; A vi, 6, 221/NE II, 23, §20; A vi, 6, 233/NE II, 27, §6; GP vi, 546/L 590; GP vi, 56/H 80; GP vi, 152/H 172; GP vi, 178f/H 198; GP vii, 533-6; C 16/PM 177; GP vii, 511; GP vi, 601/AG 209; GP vi, 617-620/AG 221f; and, CR 88, 128. 12 Grua, Jurisprudence universelle, 102. 13 Grua, Jurisprudence universelle, 110f. At A vi, 6, 313/NE III, 6, §21, Leibniz tells us that angels have rarefied, or subtle, bodies. And, at GP vi, 265/H 280, Th §249, he suggests that rarefied bodies are more vigorous than their less-rarefied or coarser counterparts. 14 See Grua, Jurisprudence universelle, 107: “Spirits … always conserve their moral quality.…” 15 Also, see GP iv, 462/AG 68; GP ii, 100/AG 88; GP ii, 124/LA 159; GP vi, 151-2/H 171. 16 See C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 244. 17 Also, see GP iv, 481 and GP vi, 151f/H 171. For commentary, see, for example, Émilienne Naërt, Mémoire et conscience de soi selon Leibniz, 50; Noonan, Personal Identity, 58; Jolley, Leibniz and Locke, 137; and, Robert McRae, “The theory of knowledge,” in The Cambridge Companion to Leibniz, 179. 18 Sleigh, “Leibniz on Malebranche on Causality,” 184. 19 This brings to mind an old Russian proverb: “You cannot see the spark in flint; you cannot see the soul in men.” 20 This idea is clearly suggested in Leibniz’s Nouveaux essais: A vi, 6, 236f/NE II, 27, §9. Also, see GP iv, 477; GP iv, 570; GP vi, 617/AG 221. Recently, Robert Adams has argued that we “… perceive every other created monad by perceiving,

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more or less distinctly, its organic body.” Adams, Leibniz, 252, 286f, fn. 27, gives several more citations. 21 Parkinson, “Kant as a Critic of Leibniz: The Amphiboly of Concepts of Reflection,” 305f. 22 Gilles Deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, 85. 23 In fact, it is difficult to discern the specifically moral element in Deleuze’s analysis. As Rutherford has suggested to me, Deleuze might be speaking of moral necessity merely in terms of distinguishing it from absolute or metaphysical necessity. As we know, Leibniz himself likes to make such a distinction. 24 Carr, Leibniz, 67. 25 It is enthymematic since to get from 1 to 2, we need the claim that spontaneous beings cannot interact, but this is part of what it means to be spontaneous for Leibniz. This will be discussed later. 26 See GM vi, 234/AG 118; GP iv, 512/AG 163; and, GP vi, 598/AG 207. 27 Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order, 150f, shows that Leibniz’s “complete concept” gets replaced by the “law of the series.” There are some differences between the two concepts, but they do seem to play the same theoretical role in Leibniz’s metaphysics of the monad, Rutherford notes on 152. For a similar view, see Noel Fleming, “On Leibniz On Subject and Substance,” 86. 28 Note that ‘nature’ here refers to the concept or individual notion of a monad. It does not refer to the individual nature or force of a monad. It should also be pointed out that there is something potentially misleading about speaking of a complete concept as a “conjunction” of predicates. See Cover and O’LearyHawthorne, Substance and Individuation in Leibniz, 170f. But, for our limited purposes, conjunction will do. 29 GP iv, 486/AG 144. 30 Although Leibniz is somewhat unclear about this, it is probably the case that the individual nature causes only the natural states of substance, for the complete concept also includes miraculous perceptual states, namely, states which are caused by God alone. Sometimes Leibniz says that all the states of a simple substance are derived from its individual nature: GP iv, 433, 439/AG 41, 47. I take it that the individual nature causes neither initial nor miraculous states. 31 Most commentators agree that for Leibniz there is no causal interaction among monads; there is no “intermonadic causality.” A notable exception is Hidé Ishiguro: “Pre-established harmony versus constant conjunction,” 239-63; and, Leibniz’s Philosophy of Logic and Language. Roger Woolhouse, however, has to my mind decisively refuted her interpretation in two works: The concept of substance in seventeenth-century metaphysics, 71f, chs. 7, 9; and, “Pre-established harmony returned: Ishiguro versus the tradition,” 204-19. For textual support, see A vi, 6, 65, 210/NE Preface and II, 21, §72; GP iv, 486/AG 144; and, GP iv, 457/AG 156. 32 Also, see GP vii, 312/PM 79ff; C 521/AG 33; and, GP ii, 264f/L 534f.

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Loemker’s translation is from Jean Baruzi, “Trois dialogues mystiques inédits de Leibniz,” 35. 34 GP ii, 264/L 535 (To De Volder, 1704): “There is only one case of one substance acting immeiately upon another: the action, namely, of infinite substance upon finite substances—an action which consists in continuously producing or constituting them. For there must necessarily be a cause why these finite substances exist and correspond with each other, and this must necessarily arise from the infinite substance which is necessary per se.” 35 Also, see GP iv, 461f/AG 67f, DM §36; GP ii, 125/LA 159f (9 October 1687); and, Klopp x, 10/PR 105 (c. 1695). 36 Also, see GP 459f/AG 65f; GP vi, 502/AG 188; GP 600f/AG 208f; GP vi, 609/AG 217. 37 Also, see GP vi, 621f/AG 223f. 38 See Jürgen Mittelstraß, “Substance and its Concept in Leibniz,” 154. 39 Leibniz does mention in a letter to Arnauld a kind of second-rate citizenship, a droit de bourgeoisie, “which is to be accorded to entities formed by aggregation” (GP ii, 102/PM 71). 40 Leibniz does not discuss the possibility of more than one monad (or all monads) sharing the same body, nor will we. Of course, on Leibniz’s system, such a situation would cause severe problems in the recognition and identification of monads via the body, a fortiori, reward and punishment, and communication in general. 41 Also, see CR 64. 42 Also, see C 16/PM 177 and GP vi, 172ff, 353f/H 162, 362. 43 Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order, 192. 44 Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order, 193. Again, we still do not understand why sense organs or bodily connection are required for points of view, but that is a question for a different time. 45 See Rutherford, Leibniz and the Rational Order, Ch. 7. 46 The double quotes around ‘connect’ should be taken seriously. Even though Leibniz speaks quite candidly of connection, communication, and conversation, all of this talk is subject to the kind of criticism Pierre Bayle raises. For example, is it mere coincidence—rather than connection, communication, and conversation—that I plead my innocence at the time the judge hears those words in my voice? Can Leibniz’s doctrine of pre-established harmony provide a solution? Unfortunately, this is a problem that must be discussed elsewhere. 47 Also, see GP vi, 265/H 280. 48 See GP vi, 140f, 205f/H 160ff, 223f and GP iv, 622/AG 224. 49 C. Wilson, Leibniz’s Metaphysics, 245. 50 Also, see GP ii, 125, 127/LA 159f, 162; GP vi, 182/H 202. 51 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Responsibility,” 220. 52 Charles Taylor seems to hold something like this. See his essay “Atomism,” in Taylor, Philosophical Papers, Vol. 2.

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See Stephen Sapontzis, Morals, Reason, and Animals, 151-4. GP iv, 486/AG 141. 55 It is perhaps worthwhile to note here a related feature of Leibniz’s theory of causality. There are at least two causal systems in Leibniz: spontaneity and preestablished harmony among monads and mechanical causation among bodies. He seems to say that mechanical explanation is required because causation of that kind is involved. 56 This argument is valid. Since the validity of this inference is perhaps the most difficult to discern, let us look only at the last three lines: 1 1. (x)((Ax & (∃y)(Cy & Lxy)) → Bx) Assumption 2 2. (x)(Ax → (∃y)(Cy & Lxy)) Assumption 1 3. (Aa & (∃y)(Cy & Lay)) → Ba 1 universal elimination 2 4. Aa → (∃y)(Cy & Lay) 2 universal elimination 5 5. Aa Ass.: to obtain Ba 6 6. –(∃y)(Cy & Lay) Ass.: for reductio 2,6 7. –Aa 4,6 modus tollens 2,5,6 8. Aa & –Aa 5,7 &I 2,5 9. (∃y)(Cy & Lay) 6,8 reductio 2,5 10. Aa & (∃y)(Cy & Lay) 5,9 &I 1,2,5 11. Ba 3,10 modus ponens 1,2 12. Aa → Ba 5,11 conditional proof 1,2 13. (x)(Ax → Bx) 12 univ. instantiation 57 For similar words, see Gr 299; GP ii, 47/M 51; GP ii, 57/M 64; and, GP vii, 312/PM 79. For commentary, see Adams, Leibniz, 273. 58 Consider the following quatrain from John Donne, published in 1633: If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned, alas, why should I be? Why should intent or reason, born in me, Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous. 59 See, for example, GP ii, 325 and GP vi, 522. 60 For non-Leibniz related commentary on this interesting issue, see Roland Puccetti, Persons: A Study of Possible Moral Agents in the Universe, 20 and Peter Strawson, Individuals: An Essay in Descriptive Metaphysics,115f. 54

Chapter Six What Makes My Survival Meaningful?

Folks and slaves and he who conquers, They confess howe’er it be, Highest bliss for which man hankers Is his personality. Any life he rather chooseth If himself he would not miss, Anything he gladly loseth If he stays just what he is. (Goethe, tr. by Paul Carus) Leibniz addresses not only the issue of individual survival but of our concern to survive. He thinks that it is very important to answer the question of meaningful survival before postulating a doctrine of immortality. For immortality, Leibniz believes, ought to be meaningful to us; moreover, it ought to track what is rationally desirable to us.1 Many contemporary philosophers are now asking themselves the same question, albeit typically not under the rubric of the concept of immortality, but survival. It is commonplace in the recent literature for personal identity theorists to debate the value of the assurance of survival or continued existence. For instance, Sydney Shoemaker writes that “our criteria of personal identity ought to be such as to make true the proposition ‘The future selves that people have a direct and special concern for are the future selves they regard as themselves’,2 for “[w]hy should one be concerned about one’s future welfare when … the future delights and sufferings are not linked to one’s ‘present self’ by our present criteria of personal identity.”3 “Having a special regard for the welfare of a future self is part of what it is to regard that self as oneself.”4 Roderick Chisholm, on the other hand, argues that although such regard is a fairly good sign of what one takes one’s future self to be, surely we should not identify (i) making a man the object of one’s special concern and (ii) regarding that man as being oneself.5 In this chapter, I will follow Chisholm in not identifying (i) and (ii). Neither does Leibniz, I believe. For Leibniz seems to separate quite clearly the question—Under what conditions is it the case that person A (at t1) is metaphysically one and the same as person B (at t2) (t1 < t2)?—from the question, Under what conditions does person A secure over time what matters in survival? (As we will see in §3, a clear example is found in Leibniz’s King of China example.) The former question concerns the “fact” of survival (it is the metaphysical problem of personal identity over time), the latter concerns the “value” of survival.6 The former is quantitative, insofar as a person

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which has come into being continues to exist; the latter is qualitative, insofar as that person continues to exist in a significant, meaningful manner. Let us call the latter question the question of meaningful survival. Ever since Charles Peirce, it has been commonplace for personal identity theorists to ask the question of meaningful survival.7 This question comes in several guises: What is involved in our concern to survive?; Would it be worth it for us to continue to exist as such-and-such?; And, what makes it so that we continue to exist in a worthwhile, meaningful way? But Peirce notes an ambiguity in this question which unfortunately is not often made explicit. He begins by asking: “If the power to remember dies with the material body, has the question of any single person’s future life after death any particular interest for him?”8 But this question might be understand in a couple of different ways, as Peirce points out: “As you put the question, it is not whether the matter ought rationally to have an interest but whether as a fact it has; and perhaps this is the proper question, trusting as it seems to do, rather to instinct than to reason.”9 That is, in dealing with the question—Under what conditions does person A secure over time what matters in survival?—we can distinguish between what rationally should matter in one’s survival and what actually does matter in one’s survival. Or, to state it yet another way, we should distinguish what should concern us in survival from what in fact concerns us. The former version is prudential and philosophical; the latter is psychological and factual.10 One promising way of approaching the question of meaningful survival is to address the psychological question first, in an attempt to direct one’s efforts in answering the prudential question. As far as I can determine, this is precisely what Derek Parfit does in Reasons and Persons.11 Though, in the end, Parfit is after what rationally should matter in survival, he seems to consider as his pre-analytic starting point what actually concerns us. Parfit then attempts to show that, after careful reflection of a presumably philosophical nature, what we actually regard as what matters coincides with what rationally should matter. (What we actually regard, before careful reflection, Parfit admits, is not entirely rational.12) Now, it is no insurmountable objection to Parfit’s theory if it turns out that he gets the facts wrong. In other words, I do not think that it is devastating for Parfit’s theory if his conception of what matters in survival is not faithful to the actual phenomenology of the concern to survive.13 For ultimately he is trying to answer the prudential, not the psychological question. If the answer to the psychological question happens to track the prudential one, then the more intuitive Parfit’s answer might seem. But a counterintuitive theory is not always an ill-considered one. At any rate, it is not true on Parfit’s analysis what actually does matter determines on his view what rationally should matter, nor does he intend it to do so. I am very much tempted to think that the answer Leibniz gives to the question of meaningful survival is intended to answer only the prudential, philosophical version. There are reasons for this which will emerge later. Though, truth be told, Leibniz fails to explicitly make the distinction.

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Leibniz’s answer to the question of meaningful survival emerges from his consideration of a specific species of survival—endless survival after death or immortality. To expedite this discussion, let us begin with a short tale. 1. An Extraordinary Offer of Immortality Suppose that while sitting alone in a streetside café Arista is approached by a stranger carrying a rather large and timeworn briefcase. Quickly taking a seat across from Arista, the stranger whispers a most startling sentence, “I promise you immortality upon the moment of bodily death, if only you sign your name here,” pointing to a line on a tattered, ink-covered piece of notebook paper he has just taken from his briefcase. Intrigued and immediately captivated, Arista remarks that immortality is not necessarily a good thing, offering the trite example of life in Hell. The stranger, as if fully expecting her answer, says: “True, but here in my briefcase I have brochures of hundreds of different kinds of immortality. You will find many of them pleasant, if not utterly blissful. Select whichever you would like.” Having no other pressing engagements, Arista thumbs through the stack of brochures the stranger hands over. Three boldly printed pamphlets capture her attention; each promise in their own unique way a discontinuity between the after-life and life on earth. All three claim that they offer no ordinary conception of immortality. “As ordinarily imagined, not only will life after death be different in kind from life on earth … but it will also be a continuation of life on earth, in which we will retain memories of our earlier state.”14 The first, entitled “Plato’s Paradise,” promises that we will not retain memories of our life on earth, but explains why such a consequence is necessary. Plato’s Paradise You will continue to exist as an immortal soul after death, in separation from the body. You will be thus equipped to pursue wisdom without the burden of desires, memories, and functions accrued or caused by mortal, bodily existence. In fact, this is the soul’s true nature; reason or noûs is its essence. The evils peculiar to the body will no longer trouble you. The next pamphlet, entitled “Descartes’ Intellectual Journey,” is similar to Plato’s Paradise but specifies more clearly what the after-life will be like. It makes the interesting distinction between “corporeal” and “intellectual” memories.15 Descartes’ Intellectual Journey You will continue to possess intellectual memories after death, but cease to possess corporeal memories. Corporeal memories are traces “imprinted on the internal part of the brain.”16 Such traces are lost since death separates us, who are in essence immaterial substances, from the body. After death, you will lead a purely contemplative life, devoid of any bodily sensation. You will not remember your past life which was inextricably linked to a body.17 Of course,

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in this state you are most disposed to attain knowledge, since “the power through which we know things in the strict sense is purely spiritual.”18 But the picture of immortal life contained in the third pamphlet is the antithesis of human experience. It is called “Spinoza’s Exodus.” Spinoza’s Exodus In our vision of immortality, there is no preservation of memory, corporeal or intellectual. The afterlife we offer is nothing as mundane as human experience. Imagine “compensations and exciting new modes and media of existence, rich and rewarding and intimate beyond anything we can comprehend now. We know only mind and matter. What other dimensions might there not be? … we should not close the door on this.”19 We offer an incomprehensibly valuable form of immortality: oneness with God. Lazarus himself visited here for a short time. Do you recall that he did not describe his experiences on return? Well, “they were indescribable and unbelievable to those who were completely without similar experiences of their own.”20 Although Arista has no clear and distinct ideas of what these kinds of existence would be like, she agrees that what is promised by way of immortality in each of these three brochures holds its own special appeal. But Arista, being naturally cautious, asks the stranger what is in the deal for him. What would she relinquishing, if anything, to him? The stranger, obviously not wishing to discuss this matter further, says that he will come back for her answer tomorrow at the same café, and promptly hurries off, leaving behind a thick stack of brochures, including the three she has already perused. 2. Individual Survival If we were to counsel Arista, what should we say? Should she just pick one that appeals to her in the same way that she would select a package tour to London? Certainly we should apprise her of Bernard Williams’ warning. Williams begins by making a distinction between individual and otherly concern. [E]verybody who has any conception, however hazy, of either a future life, resurrection, immortality, and so on, or just, come to that, a conception of his own future, thinks that he has got a clear idea about the difference between something in the future happening to him, and something in the future happening to somebody else.21 Any vision of the hereafter, and survival in general, can be understood either as happening to oneself or as happening to someone else.22 But Williams claims that if one wishes to reap the benefits of an immortal life, or any state of survival, one has got to be sure that it is indeed oneself who reaps the benefits. Moreover, if one wishes to avoid a particular kind of immortality or survival, one has got to be sure that it is oneself who avoids such a state.23

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The main point is that when you think about what is promised you—somebody comes along and says “I promise you immortality”—then it seems to me I have to conceive in the abstract, what it is I’ve been promised and ask “is what he’s promised me enough to make it me?”24 In other words, Arista must ask whether she will be the one who reaps the benefits of the kind of immortality she finally selects. She cannot secure over time what matters in survival unless what has been promised is enough to make it her, just as a package-tour to London that did not guarantee her well-being and indeed her life would fail to satisfy what mattered in traveling on vacation. But Spinoza’s doctrine of immortality seems to deny that survival is individual at all.25 Leibniz himself compares Spinoza’s doctrine with the views of the followers of Miguel de Molinos (the quietists), including Valentine Weigel, and of John Angelus Silesius that souls upon bodily death return to God, “as streams to the ocean” (D ii, 224/L 594 Letter to Hansch [25 July 1707]).26 In the same letter, Leibniz also mentions the Stoics, the Averroists, and even Aristotle of countenancing such a view.27 On Spinoza specifically, Leibniz writes: For him there is one substance, God. Creatures are his modifications, like figures in wax, continually arising and perishing through motion. So for him, just as for Almeric, the soul does not survive except through its ideal being in God, where it was from all eternity. (D ii, 224/L 594) [Y]ou may reject the quietists, false mystics, who deny individuality and action to the mind of the blessed, as if our highest perfection consisted in a kind of passive state, when on the contrary, love and knowledge are operations of the mind and will. Blessedness of the soul does indeed consist in union with God, but we must not think that soul is absorbed in God, having lost its individuality and activity, which alone constitute its distinct substance, for this would be an evil enthusiasm, an undesirable deification. (D ii, 224/L 594) Interestingly, one of Leibniz’s reasons for not accepting a Spinozistic doctrine of immortality tracks precisely Williams’ condition that a conception of meaningful survival must be individual, that is, it must guarantee that what is promised to an individual actually makes it that individual who receives what is promised. Leibniz writes in an early work: But what is particularly to be considered is this: that what will survive [on Spinoza’s view] will in no way belong to us, for it will not be remembered, nor will we have any sensation of it, and all our labors to perfect our mind in readiness for our state after death will be in vain. For that ultimate perfect essence, which is all that will survive when we die, is nothing to us. (A vi, 3, 510/SR 63 [1676])

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This passage, however, does a bit more than merely echo Williams’ requirement for meaningful survival. It speaks also of the continuation of memory or knowledge of self-identity after death. But before discussing these further issues, let us pause for reflection. It seems we should advise Arista not to select Spinozistic immortality, for there is no guarantee that it will be she who reaps its benefits. Spinozistic survival does not appear to be individual survival at all and thus fails to be meaningful. Hence, “Spinoza’s Exodus” does not secure over time what matters in survival. (Specifically, it does not seem to secure over time what rationally should matter in survival.) Nevertheless, the Platonic and Cartesian visions of survival after death still represent viable options, for they seem to guarantee, each in their own special way, that immortality entails individual survival. Descartes writes in the Discours de la méthode that “the ‘I’, that is to say the soul by which I am what I am, would not fail to be what it is even if the body did not exist” (AT vi, 33/CSM I, 127 [1637]). Actually, on these views, as long as one remains numerically the same substance, whether or not one loses his or her memory, or body, or both, when entering a life of immortality, it will still be him or her who enjoys that life.28 We should relate to Arista Williams’ words: “It is certainly possible for me [on these doctrines of immortality] to envisage its being me, but my having lost my memories.”29 Although we might be pushing things a bit far in supposing that Plato and Descartes have bona fide theories of personal identity, at minimum both seem to propound that one’s individuality and activity is preserved in the afterlife; the substance that one is will not be destroyed, nor will it be subsumed by another.30 Of the three doctrines of immortality under consideration, only the Spinozistic doctrine of immortality appears to deny preservation of individual substance in the afterlife.31 Is our advising over? Is the mere guarantee of individual survival enough to secure over time what matters in survival? Richard Swinburne and Chisholm seem to think that it is. But Leibniz, among others, strongly disagrees. 3. The Memory/Knowledge Condition In effect, both Swinburne and Chisholm claim that Arista, upon knowing that what has been promised to her in a future state is enough to make it her in that future state, can rest assured that in selecting that state, she will secure over time what matters in survival.32 Specifically speaking of resurrection, Swinburne writes provocatively: [I]f I am to rise again, I probably should not mind all that much if I had lost many of my memories and much of my bad character.33 What matters is that I rise.34 Chisholm writes not of resurrection per se but of survival as the King of China: Since I am concerned about my future welfare, about the welfare of that x such that x is identical with me, and presumably will continue to have this concern, it will follow that, if I should learn that x will some day become King of China,

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then, even though I also learn that x will then forget everything that x had previously been, I will be as much concerned about the life that x enjoys while King of China as I am about my own; for, given our suppositions, x’s welfare will be my own.35 Let us call Swinburne’s and Chisholm’s view of what matters in survival the elemental view. It might be defined as follows: Elemental view: Person A secures over time what matters in survival if, and only if, A will still exist.36 Both Leibniz and Anthony Quinton disagree with the elemental view; they argue for a further necessary condition of meaningful survival. Let us consider Quinton’s opinion on this matter first: [O]f course if somebody says, well I am perfectly prepared for a thousand dollars to freeze you and store you for a modest rental geared to the cost of living and unfreeze you—unfortunately we have not got all the bugs out of this yet—you will, when woken, of course continue to exist, but you will be unable to recover any memories of your life now. (You may hear in my voice distant echoes of Leibniz here.) That is, what is the value of the assurance of continuation when it doesn’t involve any recollections of your existing life? In other words it becomes a rather hollow assurance of identity of body alone.37 The “distant echoes” of Leibniz originate from the following two passages: (a) What good would it do you to become the King of China under the condition that you forget what you once were? Would that not be the same as if God created a King of China at the same time as he destroyed you? (GP iv, 300/AG 243, Letter to Molanus [c. 1679])38 (b) Let us suppose that some individual were suddenly to become King of China, but on condition of forgetting what he has been, as if he had just been born anew. Is not this practically the same, or the same as far as the effects which can be apperceived, as if he were to be annihilated and a King of China were to be created in his place at the same moment? And this particular individual has no reason to desire this. (GP iv, 460/AG 66, DM §34 [1686])39 These “echoes” are distant in time. But is the content the same? Quinton tells us that without the recollection of our existing life the value of the assurance of continuation is negligible to us. Hence, it is inconceivable for us to rationally desire our survival if such a survival “package” did not come with any memories of our past life. Of course, Quinton does not specify here what kinds of memories are needed but at this stage all we need to recognize is that Quinton is arguing for a memory condition of meaningful survival. Is Leibniz likewise arguing for a memory condition? Leibniz tells us that we would have no reason to desire being

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the King of China on the condition of forgetting what we have been. So, it is a necessary condition of rational desire to be the King of China that we not forget what we have been. This seems to imply that we must recollect or remember what we have been, that is, we must have memories of our past life. Nevertheless, there is some textual evidence that Leibniz’s preferred view is a bit less restrictive. On a number of occasions, Leibniz talks of the memory or knowledge of what we have been that is required for meaningful survival. Such a qualification is even mentioned immediately prior to passage (b). This is properly called a qualification since, according to Leibniz, it does not follow from our knowing x that we recollect or remember x. For Leibniz says that “we cannot always remember even what we know …” (GP iv, 566/L 581 [1702]). Leibniz believes that we can know what we have been even without our own memories of our past. Consider Leibniz’s words in the Nouveaux essais: And if I forgot my whole past, and needed to have myself taught all over again, even my name and how to read and write, I could still learn from others about my life during my preceding state … (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9) Here, Leibniz is countenancing the idea that others, having memories of our past actions, appearances, and demeanor can help us to know what we have been. I use the word ‘can’ here in order to capture some of Leibniz’s caution. For he writes: “It is true that if the others conspired to deceive me (just as I might deceive myself by some vision or dream or illness, thinking that what I had dreamed had really happened to me), then the appearance would be false; but sometimes we can be morally certain of the truth on the credit of others’ reports” (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9). At any rate, it remains true for Leibniz that normally it is via our own memory that we gain knowledge of what we have been. It seems that one need not have conscious memory of his or her past upon entering a future state, it need only be that this memory is somehow restored. It really does not matter for Leibniz in what manner this memory is restored.40 Thus, the “echoes of Leibniz” in Quinton are certainly distant in time but not in content, the only potential difference being that Leibniz is willing to countenance knowledge of what we have been and not strictly memory of our past as necessary for meaningful survival. Notwithstanding this possible divergence between Leibniz and Quinton as to what counts as a further necessary condition of meaningful survival, it is important to note that neither actually denies Swinburne’s claim that “what matters is that I rise” or Chisholm’s claim that “I am concerned about my future welfare, about the welfare of that x such that x is identical with me, and presumably will continue to have this concern”; rather, they argue that a further condition is required for meaningful survival.41 But this is not the place to discuss the current debate. Hereafter, let us focus on Leibniz’s view. Consider the fact that becoming the King of China, even on Leibniz’s account, does not entail the loss of one’s identity. This is in fact one of the few things we can say for certain about the King of China example.42 Leibniz does not say that after such a transformation we would be annihilated, only that the practical and moral effects would suggest

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annihilation. Indeed, the main point of the King of China is that individual survival alone is insufficient to secure over time what matters in survival, not that the memory or knowledge of what one has been is itself sufficient.43 For Leibniz uses the example to show that “the immortality required in morality and religion does not consist merely in this perpetual subsistence common to all substances …” (GP iv, 460/AG 66, DM §34; my emphasis). It might be useful to contrast the King of China passage with one of Locke's: "Let anyone reflect on himself and suppose that he has an immaterial spirit … [l]et him suppose it to be the same Soul that was in Nestor or Thersites … [b]ut he, how having no consciousness of the Actions either of Nestor or Thersites … can he be concerned in either of their Actions? Attribute them to himself, or think them his own, more than the Actions of any other Man, that ever existed?" (E II, 27, §14). Here, Locke makes it clear that whether or not our soul, or substance, retains its identity has nothing to do with whether or not we care about our past existence, or future existence. Rather, such concern lies entirely in how and to what extent we are psychologically or mentally linked to Nestor or Thersites. Leibniz, on the other hand, believes that the promise of the continuation of substance can and should console us, as long as continuation of substance entails continuation of memory or, in some other way, guarantees knowledge of what we have been. So, Leibniz denies the elemental view, for he believes that individual survival over time is not, or at least should not be, our only concern when it comes to our future welfare. Leibniz points to a further consideration. Not only must Arista determine whether what is promised is sufficient to make it her, but also she must consider whether what is promised guarantees that she will remember or know that she previously desired what is promised.44 Arista should select a promise of immortality that is not only individual (that is, it will be she herself who reaps its benefits), but also that guarantees the memory or knowledge of what she has been.45 Let us call this the memory/knowledge condition of meaningful survival. Hence, Margaret Wilson is surely correct that for Leibniz “the indestructibility of ‘my’ substance is insufficient basis for meaningful immortality.”46 Let us call Leibniz’s view the compound view. It can be defined as follows: Compound view: Person A secures over time what matters in survival if, and only if, A will still exist and A will remember or know what A has been. Leibniz offers two arguments in support of the memory/knowledge condition of the compound view. The first is an argument from prudence; the second is an argument from morality. In what follows, I will focus on the former of these arguments, devoting only a few comments on the latter. For not only is the argument from prudence the most original and provocative of the two, Leibniz appears more committed to the argument from prudence than the argument from morality.

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4. Argument from Prudence Leibniz seems to argue in passages (a) and (b) that it is not rational for us to desire survival as the King of China if such a state does not guarantee the memory or knowledge of what we have been, whatever else may be promised. Both (a) and (b) describe a scenario where we become, in a flash, the King of China, presumably with all the wondrous trappings that normally come with being a seventeenth-century Chinese king.47 All of our physical, aesthetic, and social needs could and perhaps even would be met. Yet, the story goes, on becoming the King of China, we forget our past, and most importantly, we forget what we once were. As the King of China, it is as if we had been annihilated, for not only can we not remember what we once were via introspection, but there are no other persons in our new community who could remind us of our past life and what we once were.48 If offered such a future existence, we would have no reason to desire becoming the King of China. And, having no reason to desire it, we could not secure over time what matters in our survival. All told, the following argument can be extracted from passages (a) and (b). Let us call it the argument from prudence: 1. A state of survival x is meaningful to us (that is, it secures over time what matters in our survival) only if we have a reason to desire x. 2. We have a reason to desire x only if x guarantees memory or knowledge of what we have been. 3. Hence, x is meaningful to us only if x guarantees memory or knowledge of what we have been. Premise 1, I believe, is an assumption of Leibniz’s. Note that it does not entail that just because we have a reason to desire x, x is meaningful to us. In other words, having a reason to desire is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for meaningful survival. Let us grant the truth of premise 1 for the purposes of this chapter. At any rate, premise 2 is the more interesting and obviously problematic one. Premise 2 receives its support from the King of China example. That is, if we cannot rationally desire a potentially valuable state without a guarantee of the memory or knowledge of what we had been, then how can we rationally desire any state without such a guarantee? But Samuel Scheffler, for one, denies the antecedent. He argues that, under certain conditions, it is feasible that we would have reason to desire becoming the King of China even without memory or knowledge of what we had been, for example, if the alternative were complete annihilation. Consider Scheffler’s own words: Leibniz says that a man would have no reason to desire his continued existence as king of China if he would remember none of his previous life. This seems arguable at best, and surely what one would desire in such a case would depend on what one’s options were. If it were a choice between continued existence as usual (with memory) or existence as king of China (without memory), then most (but not obviously all) people probably would choose continued existence

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as usual. But if the choice were between complete annihilation of oneself or existence as king of China (without memory), it would strike me as not at all irrational to prefer the latter.49 Immediately then Scheffler points out that other kinds of psychological relations besides that of memory or knowledge can supply reasons for desiring one kind of existence rather than another. Scheffler’s point is a good one, it seems to me. For, humans find solace in a myriad of conceptions of survival: some are comforted by the fact that their genes will be carried down through their children; some by the thought that their achievements will remain permanently etched in the annals of history; some by the promise that their acts in the present life will influence and alter to some extent the actions and thoughts of others, and in general the future course of history. Such conceptions of survival do not appear to presuppose that the individual person, or anyone for that matter, in the subsequent life has any memory of his or her previous life. In fact, strictly speaking, these conceptions of survival do not involve any psychological identification at all between one individual and another individual. This is also true for the King of China example, suggests Scheffler. If one chooses existence as King of China (deprived of memory) instead of complete annihilation, presumably one does so because there is some comfort in the idea that continuing to exist as the King of China is better than not continuing to exist at all. It seems, therefore, that under certain conditions (e.g., those specified immediately above) there is reason to desire to become the King of China (deprived of memory). So, premise 2 is not substantiated by the King of China example. The burden is now shifted back onto Leibniz’s shoulders. However, Leibniz appears to have an answer to Scheffler’s objection. It is true that certain conceptions of survival or existence in another life that do not involve memory at all do seem valuable to us—maybe not very valuable, but valuable nevertheless. That is, under certain conditions it might be valuable to us that we survive as the King of China (deprived of memory) and as such we might have a reason to desire that future existence. But Leibniz might plausibly assert that his King of China example was not meant to constitute a denial of that claim. To determine just what Leibniz is trying to achieve in passages (a) and (b), we must consider carefully the context of the King of China example. Recall the circumstances Scheffler adumbrates under which we would have reason to desire existence as King of China deprived of memory—the choice was between such existence and annihilation. And, presumably, what Scheffler means by ‘annihilation’ is the complete cutting off of one’s existence; there is no survival whatsoever in a “state” of annihilation. But, in his 1679 letter to Molanus and the Discours §34 where passages (a) and (b) appear respectively, Leibniz is trying to show, among other things, that “the required immortality includes memory” (my emphasis). Leibniz is thus taking for granted that persons are immortal; individual survival is not in question at all. He has no problem with Plato and Descartes on this score, as we saw earlier. Both believe in the immortality of the individual soul and thus individual survival in the afterlife. Now, Leibniz asks what kind of immortality would God, in his moral rectitude and grace, bestow upon his moral

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subjects. And, Leibniz wants to show that God’s options are limited by showing that God would only place us in an immortal afterlife that was meaningful to us, that we would have a reason to desire. But annihilation, presumably, is not one of the choices available to God, and never was. Any conception of immortality that ultimately promised annihilation, supposing this even made sense, would certainly be meaningless to us, for we would cease to exist. As we have seen, meaningful survival must, above all, guarantee individual survival. In fact, as we have seen, this is precisely Leibniz’s objection to Spinozistic and Averroistic doctrines of immortality in which souls, upon bodily death, return to God, “as streams to the ocean.” Hence, Scheffler’s “choice” is no choice at all given the context in which Leibniz is working.50 On this reading, premise 2 and thus the argument from prudence might be amended in the following way: 1. A state of survival x is meaningful to us (that is, it secures over time what matters in our survival) only if we have a reason to desire x. 2’. Supposing that x already guarantees individual survival, we have a reason to desire x only if x also guarantees memory or knowledge of what we have been. 3. Hence, x is meaningful to us only if x guarantees memory or knowledge of what we have been. By restricting the scope of the original argument from prudence, this rendition seems to mirror Leibniz’s purposes. For remember that the argument from prudence is not an argument for the compound view in its entirety but for the memory/knowledge condition alone, that is, the memory or knowledge of what we have been in our past life. It also renders premise 2 much more resistant to Scheffler-type counterexamples.. However, I cannot with fidelity say it is immune to counterexample. For suppose we were given a choice between existence in an irreversible coma and existence as the King of China (deprived of memory). Again, we would probably choose the latter, just as we did in Scheffler’s original example, and have reason to do so. But now our choice is between two kinds of individual survival, unlike in the original example. But this example might have little impact on Leibniz for the simple reason that it appears that there is no such thing as an irreversible coma for him. 51 But what about the following kind of situation? Robert Coburn and James Mahoney have both pointed out to me that there might legitimately be occasions in which it is rational to desire to forget, or not to know of, our past life. For example, immortality might justifiably be seen as potentially a state of endless tedium, as Bernard Williams has famously argued.52 Or, suppose our life has been terrible and we want to begin anew? These are compelling questions which I will not consider here. I will only speculate as to Leibniz’s response: this method of beginning anew has the consequence (seemingly unfortunate in the above kinds of cases) of working all too well. The person, desiring an existence of true forgetfulness and lack of knowledge of his or her past life, for all intents and

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purposes, would be annihilated on the occasion of the “satisfaction” of this desire. How could such a desire be rational? 5. Argument from Morality Leibniz argues for the memory/knowledge condition in another way, via an argument from morality. Leibniz handily though vaguely proffers: “[I]mmortality without memory is completely useless to morality, for it upsets all reward and punishment” (A ii, 1, 502/AG 243)53 Leibniz explains a bit more clearly in the Nouveaux essais. Philalethes, representing Locke, asks of Theophilus: “Supposing a man punished now, for what he had done in another life,54 whereof he could be made to have no consciousness at all, what difference is there between such treatment and the treatment he would get in being created miserable?” (A vi, 6, 246/NE II, 27, §26). Theophilus, as Leibniz’s mouthpiece, answers: Platonists, Origenists, certain Hebrews and other defenders of the pre-existence of souls have believed that the souls of this worlds were put into imperfect bodies to make them suffer for crimes committed in a former world. But the fact is that if one does not know the truth of the matter, and will never find it out either by recalling it through memory or from traces or from what other people know, it cannot be called punishment according to the ordinary way of thinking. (A vi, 6, 246/NE II, 27, §26). However, Leibniz himself seems a bit hesitant about accepting uncritically the premise that reward and punishment is meaningful only for those with memory or knowledge of their past. He writes immediately after the above passage: “If we are to speak quite generally of punishment, however, there are grounds for questioning whether it is absolutely necessary that those who suffer should themselves eventually learn why, and whether it would not quite often be sufficient that those punishments should afford, to other and better informed Spirits, matter for glorifying divine justice. Still, it is more likely, at least in general, that the sufferers will learn why they suffer” (A vi, 6, 246/NE II, 27, §26). Scheffler comments on this seeming turnabout on Leibniz’s part: “My conjecture is that Leibniz was afraid that having made memory a necessary condition of moral identity, he was in danger of denying God the right to judge all human substances (including those lacking memory) at the Last Judgment.”55 If Scheffler’s conjecture makes sense—and I think it does—it helps us to see that perhaps Leibniz does not retract the premise that reward and punishment without memory or knowledge is meaningless. For Leibniz does not say that in rewarding or punishing us for deeds we do not remember, God would be rewarding and punishing us in a way that was meaningful to us. No, it seems that such reward and punishment would not be meaningless to us; but, nevertheless, Leibniz does not want to rule out the idea that God may justly reward and punish those of us who lack memory, perhaps even as a mere means of deterrence. Of course, as we have already seen, Leibniz denies that moral agents will permanently lose the memory of what they have been.

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6. Conclusion This chapter began with the question of meaningful survival: Under what conditions does person A secure over time what matters in survival? This question is qualitative, insofar as person A continues to exist in a significant, meaningful manner. Leibniz, we concluded, holds that meaningful survival presupposes individual survival as well as the memory or knowledge of what we have been. We called this the compound view. We considered two of Leibniz’s arguments in support of the memory/knowledge condition of the compound view—the arguments from prudence and from morality. The argument from prudence claims that we would have no reason to desire a state of survival if that state of survival does not guarantee memory or knowledge of what we have been. We saw, however, that Leibniz’s King of China example fails to show that such a claim can be generalized to all situations. But Leibniz’s direct concern is with immortality and the kinds of immortality God might bestow upon his subjects. If restricted to this concern, the King of China example has some force, especially if one accepts premise 1, Leibniz’s assumption that a state of survival is meaningful to us only if we have a reason to desire it. The argument from morality, on the other hand, claimed that reward and punishment are meaningless to someone who has no memory or knowledge of performing the deed for which they are being rewarded and punished. We saw that Leibniz himself is not so confident that this is true. But the more interesting thing here is that the argument from morality seems to provide another avenue in which the body might enter into Leibniz’s theory of moral identity.

NOTES 1

Raymond Martin and John Barresi, “Hazlitt on the Future of the Self,” 474, claim that William Hazlitt, Essay on the Principles of Human Action and some Remarks on the Systems of Hartley and Helvetius, was the first to specifically ask the question of meaningful survival. I believe that this claim is at best contentious. For, one might argue, as I do in this chapter, that Leibniz asked this same question almost one hundred years earlier. Martin and Barresi do not mention Leibniz in this article; however, in later publications, they do. 2 Sydney Shoemaker, 123, in Perception and Personal Identity, ed. by Care and Grimm. 3 Shoemaker, 127, in Perception and Personal Identity. 4 Shoemaker, 123, in Perception and Personal Identity.

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Roderick Chisholm, 136, in Perception and Personal Identity. See Bernard Williams, “Life after Death,” 63. 7 See David Lewis, Philosophical Papers I, 55-77; Derek Parfit, “Personal Identity,” 3-27, and Reasons and Persons, Part III; Robert Nozick, Philosophical Explanations, Ch. 1; Sydney Shoemaker, “Persons and Their Pasts,” 269-85; Ernest Sosa, “Surviving Matters,” 305-30; Peter Unger, Identity, Consciousness, and Value; and, David Wiggins, “The Concern to Survive,” 417-22, to name several. 8 Charles Peirce, Collected Papers V, 355. 9 Peirce, Collected Papers, V, 355. 10 See Unger, Identity, Consciousness, and Value, 224f, for a good discussion of this important distinction. Martin and Barresi, “Hazlitt on the Future of the Self,” 474 also discuss this distinction. Though I am by no means certain of this, Derek Parfit “Personal Identity” and Reasons and Persons, Part III, Ernest Sosa, “Surviving Matters,” and Unger, Identity, Consciousness, and Value, have centered their attentions on the prudential, philosophical version of the question of meaningful survival; whereas, Shoemaker, “Persons and Their Pasts,” Lewis, Philosophical Papers, and Nozick, Philosophical Explanations, seem to focus on the psychological, factual version. This is not to say, however, that these philosophers do not consider the other version at all. On the whole, I believe they do. 11 See Parfit, Reasons and Persons, Part III. 12 Sosa, “Surviving Matters,” 315, on the other hand, believes that Parfit, or anyone else for that matter, has failed to show what actually concerns us in survival before reflection, specifically, identity, is irrational. Similarly, Unger, Identity, Consciousness, and Value, 225, writes: “Our actual broad ego-centric concerns are quite rational concerns for us to have.” 13 Hence, Wiggins, “The Concern to Survive,” 418, does not have as strong a case as he thinks he does against Parfit. Wiggins charges that Parfit’s view does not quite capture the actual phenomenology of our concern to survive. But for this charge to constitute a genuine objection to Parfit’s view, Wiggins must assume that his view is mainly intended as an answer to the psychological question. 14 See Alan Donagan, “Spinoza’s Proof of Immortality,” in Spinoza: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. by Marjorie Grene, 256. It seems that Donagan is right. Many cultures envision a form of immortality or survival after death which closely mirrors life as they know it to be, albeit typically without many of the onerous features of that life. See, for example, Elizabeth P. Beson, ed., Death and the Afterlife in Pre-Colombian America, 43, 171-75. 15 See AT iii, 45, Letter to Mersenne (1 April 1640) and AT iii, 422, Letter to Hyperaspistes (August 1641). 16 See AT xi, 177f/CSM i, 106f, Treatise on Man (1662). 17 See Émilienne Naërt, Memoire et conscience de soi selon Leibniz, 135f. Now whether Descartes actually held this view is debatable. I, for one, have argued 6

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against this interpretation in “Consolation and Cartesian Immortality.” But this is what Leibniz believed of Descartes’ doctrine of immortality and that is really what is at issue, here. 18 See AT x, 415f/CSM i, 42, Rules for the Direction of the Mind (1628). 19 See H. D. Lewis, “Life after Death,” 54. 20 J. H. Harvie, “The Immortality of the Soul,” 221. 21 Williams, “Life after Death,” 58. 22 Compare Derek Parfit, “An Interview with Derek Parfit,” 124, who says: “We have several kinds of concern about our future. One kind, which we might call anticipatory concern, we can’t have about other people’s future.” However, the distinction between individual and otherly concern does not quite track Parfit’s distinction between anticipatory and non-anticipatory concern for the simple reason that one can anticipate, it seems to me, otherly survival, especially when the alternative is annihilation. 23 See Williams, “Life after Death,” 63. 24 Williams, “Life after Death,” 60. In a similar vein, Richard Swinburne. The Coherence of Theism, 123, writes: “On an empiricist theory [of personal identity], for me to hope for my resurrection is for me to hope for the future existence of a man with my memories and character, that is a man who will be able to remember the things which happened to me and will react to circumstances somewhat as I do. But that is not at all what I hope for in hoping for my resurrection. I do not hope that there be a man of that kind—I want it to be me.” Compare Goethe’s poem at the start of this chapter. 25 See, for example, Woolhouse, The Concept of Substance in Seventeenth Century Metaphysics, 161, and Genevieve Lloyd, “Spinoza’s Version of the Eternity of the Mind,” in Spinoza and the Sciences, ed. by Grene and Nails, 212.. 26 Also, see A vi, 6, 59/NE Preface. 27 Also, see A vi, 6, 58f/NE Preface; GP vi, 143ff/H 164f, Th §§77ff; and, GP vi, 529-38/L 554-60. 28 Recall the stranger’s proposition to Arista. He mentioned that she would be granted immortality only upon bodily death. But if personal identity over time consists in bodily identity or even continuity over time, then it seems whatever else has been promised to me will be insufficient to make it me. (Indeed, this is precisely how Williams argues that personal immortality is impossible.) Or, if personal identity over time consists in identity of memory over time, then the three conceptions of immortality will fail to make it me in the afterlife. But suppose that a substantial conception of personal identity over time is true and thus a necessary condition of one’s personal identity over time is that one remain numerically the same substance, whatever that entails. Then it seems that Platonic and Cartesian doctrines of immortality do guarantee individual survival, for they guarantee the preservation of substance over time. 29 Williams, “Life after Death,” 63.

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See M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 335-37. Leibniz also tells us in a 1707 letter to Hansch on Platonic philosophy: “But I observe nothing in Plato that would lead me to conclude that minds do not conserve their own substance” (D ii, 225/L 595). 31 Although Donagan, “Spinoza’s Proof of Immortality,” seems to think that individuality remains, this view is definitely controversial. 32 In both of the following passages, I am not certain whether the author is speaking of what rationally should matter in survival or of what in fact matters. If I were to choose, however, I would say that the first passage (Swinburne’s) refers to what in fact matters in survival and the second passage (Chisholm’s) refers to what rationally should matter. 33 Note here the suggestion that one’s character, presumably both good and bad, does not constitute one’s personal identity over time. 34 Swinburne, The Coherence of Theism, 123. 35 Chisholm, p. 138, in Perception and Personal Identity. 36 Compare Unger’s definition of the Strict View of what matters in Identity, Consciousness, and Value, 211: “All that ever matters in a given person’s survival is the fact that the very person himself will still exist.” It should be noted that although Swinburne and Chisholm appear to hold the same view regarding the question of meaningful survival, this in no way entails that their views on personal identity coincide. In fact, someone might hold that spatiotemporal continuity is necessary for personal identity over time (as Williams does) and another might hold that psychological continuity is necessary and sufficient for personal identity over time (as Locke does), but both might nevertheless hold the elemental view. 37 Quinton, “Life after Death,” 63. Note that Quinton’s view on this matter can easily be extended to assurance of identity of immaterial substance alone, as long as identity of substance does not entail continuation of memory. Quinton’s remarks are specifically directed towards Williams, who holds that persons are constituted by bodies (i.e., material substances). 38 Here is the original: “A quoy vous serviroit il, Monsieur, de devenir Roy de la Chine à condition d’oublier ce que vous avés esté? Ne seroit ce pas la même chose que si Dieu en même temps qu'il vous détruisoit, creoit un Roy dans la Chine” (GP iv, 300). 39 Here is the original: “Supposons que quelque particulier doive devenir tout d’un coup Roy de la Chine, mais à condition d’oublier ce qu’il a esté, comme s’il venoit de naistre tout de nouveau; n’est ce pas autant dans la practique, ou quant aux effects dont on se peut appercevoir, que s’il devoit estre aneanti, et qu’un Roy de la Chine devoit estre créé dans le même instant à sa place? Ce que ce particulier n’a aucune raison de souhaitter” (GP iv, 460). 40 See A vi, 3, 510f/SR 61, 63; GP ii, 57/LA 64 (14 July 1686); and, A vi, 6, 237, 246/NE II, 27, §§9, 26. 41 Parfit, Reasons and Persons, Part III, on the other hand, denies altogether that personal identity matters in survival. He writes on 284: “As a Reductionist,

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should I be egoistically concerned about the future of this person? Should I be concerned, though I know that the physical continuity cannot cause it to be true, as a further fact, that this person will be me? In deciding what matters, I must set aside all thoughts about my identity. The question about identity is, here, empty. I must ask whether, in itself, physical continuity, justifies egoistic concern. I believe that the answer should be No.” 42 I believe that it is a mistake to think that Leibniz’s King of China example tells us something concrete about personal identity. Rather, its scope is limited to the question of meaningful survival and thereby meaningful immortality. Moral identity is a more restrictive notion than metaphysical identity. He simply points to the limitations on motivation. Indeed, the King of China example does not give reason to assert: that (a) memory is a necessary condition of metaphysical identity (since the example leaves open the possibility that I remain metaphysically identical with my past self even on becoming the King of China deprived of all memory of what I had been); that (b) memory is a necessary condition of personal identity (for it leaves open the possibility that there is some psychological link or continuity of consciousness between myself and the King of China, albeit inaccessible to me); that (c) memory is a necessary condition of moral identity (for it leaves open the possibility that under certain conditions the mere deprivation of memory need not entail the loss of my moral status); and, that (d) the only sort of future existence that would be valuable to you is one in which you have the ability to know whether your desires were satisfied (for it does not exclude the possibility of valuable (note that I am not using the word ‘meaningful’) states of existence even where all consciousness of the past is lost). 43 Parfit makes the controversial yet influential claim that our desire for the well-being of future persons, including our own person, essentially has nothing to do with our beliefs concerning the metaphysical composition of those future persons. Rather, Parfit argues that our concern for future persons depends fundamentally on certain relations of psychological connectedness and continuity. While Leibniz might be said to be in agreement with Parfit insofar as the importance of psychological connectedness and continuity in matters of survival goes, he disagrees with Parfit over whether there might be further concerns. In other words, Leibniz and Parfit might be said to be in agreement in that the assurance of survival in terms of metaphysical identity alone is quite hollow. Their disagreement seems to lie precisely over whether such assurance, albeit rather hollow, nonetheless comprises some important element of our desire to survive. Leibniz was open to such a possibility, Parfit is not. On the divergence between Leibniz’s answer to the question of meaningful survival and Shoemaker’s, see Vinit Haksar, Indivisible Selves and Moral Practice, 95. 44 Compare Wiggins, “The Concern to Survive,” 419. He writes: “[N]o doubt there is something very special about knowing about the satisfaction of one’s own

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wish to survive.” Wiggins points out further that certain concerns are conditional on knowing something about the actual outcome. 45 Taking also into account results from Chapter 5, Leibniz would agree with Harvie, “The Immortality of the Soul,” 209, who writes: “For survival after death to be meaningful, the surviving entity must be recognizably the same person, both for himself and for others as he was before death.” 46 M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 336. Wilson puts quote around ‘my’ to remind her readers that strictly speaking we do not possess a substance but that we ourselves just are substances. We possess substances only in the sense that the substances that we are identical with dominate other lesser substances. 47 Leibniz was in fact enamored with China; he had a deep and lasting interest in China and Chinese thought. See, for instance, Donald Lach, “Leibniz and China,” 241-58. 48 Remember that Leibniz’s contemporary readers were European. If they had been transported to China, surely the chances of anyone there recognizing who they once were would be little, if any. 49 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 240. 50 Compare Wiggins, “The Concern to Survive,” 422, who writes: “[Only] [w]hen the desire not to cease to exist comes to accept its own long-term futility, [can it] be commuted into all sorts of distinctively different sorts of desire to leave traces: to be remembered by one’s pupils or to live on in one’s works.” 51 See A vi, 6, 53, 55/NE Preface; A vi, 6, 107/NE I, 3, §24 A vi, 6, 113f/NE II, 1, §§11f; A vi, 6, 134/NE II, 9, §1; A vi, 6, 237, 239/NE II, 27, §§9, 14. 52 See his “the Makropulos Case: Reflections on the Tedium of Immortality,” in Bernard Williams, Problems of the Self, 82-100. For a direct response to Williams’ article, see John Martin Fischer, “Why Immortality is Not So Bad,” 257-70. 53 Also, see GP iv, 459f, 462/AG 65f, 68; GP ii, 125/LA 160. 54 See GP vi, 605/L 640 PNG §15: “There is no crime without punishment, no good action without a proportionate reward.” Also, see GP vi, 622/L 652 M §88. 55 Scheffler, “Leibniz on Personal Identity and Moral Personality,” 234, fn. 21.

Conclusion Immanuel Kant, in the “Paralogisms of Pure Reason,” describes the paradigmatic rational psychologistic account of personhood with all of its most salient features: [S]ubstance, merely as object of inner sense, yields [geben] the concept of immateriality; as simple substance, that of incorruptibility. Its identity as intellectual substance yields personality; all three of these components together, spirituality. The relations of the substance to objects yields commerce with bodies; and as so related it therefore presents thinking substance as the principle of life in matter; that is, as soul (anima) and as the basis of animality; and animality as limited by spirituality presents immortality. (CPR A345/B403) We can now see that Kant is describing accurately Leibniz’s account. We saw, first of all, that Leibniz, along with another famous rational psychologist, Descartes, holds that once a person, always a person. This might seem a less than interesting view, until we realize that neither Conway nor Locke, perhaps the most famous personal identity theorist of all, agree. We also saw that it is not clear in Leibniz whether I began as a non-person. We continued by arguing against several scholars that Leibniz consistently defends the view that we just are simple immaterial substances that endure through time. But not just any kind of substance; we saw that there is a psychological component to personhood: to be persons we must possess the attributes of memory, self-consciousness, intelligence, and rationality. We are, in Kant’s words, “intellectual substances.” We saw that although Leibniz appears to concede to Locke that if there existed thinking machines they would be moral agents and thus retain moral identity over time, this concession is only apparent. To do so would be to abandon certain of his most important metaphysical and theological principles. Yet Leibniz does concede something of significance to Locke: we ought to treat thinking machines as if they were moral agents. (Ironically, such knowledge of Leibniz’s theory gives us good reason to think that the third paralogism of pure reason as described by Kant is not Leibnizian. For Leibniz does not accept the major premise, which seems to express the proposition that if something is conscious of the numerical identity of itself at different times then it is a person. But, we have seen, this essentially Lockean proposition is not acceptable to Leibniz. Please see Appendix B for more.) Strictly speaking, Leibniz tells us, we are causally independent of one another, but we are also moral agents, participating and interacting in the same world and responsible for our deeds that affect the lives of others. Leibniz’s resolution of

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these conflicting theses, as we saw, is to explain that it is through our bodies that we communicate, socialize, and reward and punish each other. Moreover, we also saw that moral agents require bodies. This state of “animality” persists also into the next life. Finally, we saw that Leibniz’s account of personhood figures prominently in his doctrine of meaningful immortality. Leibniz argues that the state of survival offered by Plato, Descartes, and Spinoza, among others, would be meaningless to us. They do not secure over time what matters in survival, namely, memory or the knowledge of what we have been. And, in Spinoza’s case, we do not even retain substantial identity which also rationally matters in survival, according to Leibniz.

Appendix A

On Hume

Mental predicates require a subject. What would it mean to deny this proposition? For one, we might get Hume’s view: when we say that someone is the “same person,” we are actually saying that distinct perceptions (that is, mental events, according to Hume) bear either a causal relation or a close resemblance among themselves in such a way that they appear unified. Our idea of identity, hence, is really, part and parcel, our idea of unity. And, it is we ourselves who “impose” our own idea of identity upon ourselves, for it is we who alone have any access to the unity of our perceptions, that is, consciousness. We might imagine that a similar view is reflected in Leibniz’s own words. For example, Leibniz writes: “It is this continuity or interconnection [liaison] of perceptions which make someone really the same individual” (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §13).1 Not only does Leibniz’s notion of perception share something in common with Hume’s (both use ‘perception’ as their most general term for mental phenomena), but identity of individuals (here, Leibniz is speaking specifically of individual persons) is seen in terms of unity. But lest we be misled into thinking otherwise, there are significant differences between these two views. Suffice it to say that Leibnizian unity is not Humean unity. For Leibniz, this unity which identical individuals display among their perceptions is genuine in the sense that distinct perceptions which are related causally, lawfully, or phenomenologically derive from the same source, a power, nature, or faculty in the individual itself. Hence, strictly speaking this unity does not constitute the identity of the individual, rather it points to an identity. What unifies something metaphysically is the power itself (GP ii, 372/L 599, Letter to Des Bosses [30 April 1709]). Successive states belong to the same individual if and only if they are produced by the same power or individual nature. Hume, on the other hand, thinks that individual perceptions, whether related causally, lawfully, phenomenologically, or not at all, are distinct entities. They are not caused by one and the same individual nature; that is, the existence of causally related perceptions does not presuppose the existence of a diachronically identical thing (i.e., a subject) that has these perceptions. One might also get the impression that Locke agrees with Hume that mental predicates do not require a subject. Yes, Locke writes of “the same consciousness uniting those distant Actions into the same Person …” (E II, 27, §10). But, as with Leibniz, Locke tells us that it was a substance (or substances) that “contributed to [the] production” of those “distant Actions,” which include both physical and mental events. Locke seems to hold that what does the thinking for us is a substance of some kind.

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So neither Leibniz nor Locke allow subject-less mental predicates. I think this is precisely what explains why Leibniz and Locke are willing to consider substance as the condition of personal identity, or at least as the condition that gives rise to the unity of consciousness or perception. So even though Locke sometimes show impatience with the traditional metaphysical debate over the category of substance—substance-talk is for “Children” (E II, 23, §2)— nevertheless, he is seriously willing to consider whether substantial identity is relevant to personal identity or whether in general substance plays a role in judgments of personal identity. According to Leibniz, persons are not modes or relations of things. Leibniz would reason as follows, I think: (1) persons must necessarily have mental predicates ascribed to them; (2) mental predicates require a subject; (3) only beings or things can genuinely be subjects; therefore, (4) persons are beings or things. Yet however Leibniz would argue for proposition 4, it seems clear that he accepts it. Leibniz says that each of us “continues to exist as really the same substance, the same physical I” (A vi, 6, 238/NE II, 27, §11) and in §14 calls a person “[a]n immaterial being or spirit.” Again, it is useful to contrast Hume’s view with the view I have attributed to Leibniz. According to Hume, persons belong to the world of imagination, not reality; a person “is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united together by certain relations” (T 207). This view seems at odds with proposition 4. Since the self is supposed to be an object which endures (although it may underlie change), any impression of self must always be the same, thinks Hume; however, “[t]here is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other. It cannot therefore, be from any of these perceptions, or from any other that the idea of self is deriv'd; and consequently there is no such idea” (T 251f). Or, this conclusion might be derived from another direction. Hume holds that all genuine metaphysical entities are epistemically available or observable distinct from perceptions. But selves are not epistemically available or observable in the above manner—“I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception” (T 252). Hence, selves are not genuine metaphysical entities. Hume writes that “were all my perceptions remov’d by death, and cou’d I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate … I shou’ be entirely annihilated. … If any one upon serious and unprejudic’d reflexion, thinks he has a different notion of himself, I must confess I can reason no longer with him” (T 252). Leibniz also thinks that persons are not conventional beings; objects that have no real essence or individual nature, as it were.2 In other words, according to Leibniz, ascriptivism regarding the self is false. Whether there are persons is not a matter that can be settled by establishing conventions or by merely stipulating them into existence. Though it is time we made an important distinction: this rejection of ascriptivism concerns natural persons, not artificial persons. Artificial persons are by definition conventional or stipulative beings. Blackstone makes the distinction clear: “Natural persons are such as the God of nature formed us;

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artificial are such as are created and devised by human laws for the purposes of society and government.”3 A current example of an artificial person is the Microsoft Corporation, a legal entity that has been on trial off and on for several years in the United States of America. An artificial person might also be understood as “the part or character which any one sustains in the world.” The character or part represented by an actor is that actor’s parasiti persona, his or her mask. This is the sense of artificial person that Hobbes gives: “[W]hen [the words or actions of one person] are considered as representing the words and actions of another, then he is a feigned or artificial person.”4 Sometimes, as the Andrews Latin Dictionary tells us, that mask is imposed upon the actor (personam, quam mihi tempus et res publica imposuit), and sometimes the actor chooses the mask that he or she will don (sua ipsa persona … praecipit). I think that neither sense of artificial person makes sense of Leibniz’s definition of person.5 Consider Leibniz’s words: “As regards ‘self’, it will be as well to distinguish it from the appearance of self and from consciousness. The ‘self’ makes real physical identity, and the appearance of self, when accompanied by truth, adds to it personal identity” (A vi, 6, 237/NE II, 27, §9). Given that selves are essentially persons, it therefore seems that for Leibniz persons are generated not by an individual’s appearances (from another’s point of view or one’s own), but by something that gives rise to or unifies the appearances. Again, it is the “continuity or interconnection of perceptions which make someone really the same individual” (A vi, 6, 239/NE II, 27, §13). Let us contrast once more Leibniz’s position against that of Hume’s. I understand Hume to be an ascriptivist. We judge correctly that two individuals are the same “person” not because there is a fact to the matter whether one individual is the same person as another, but because we mistakenly think that an “impression of unity” (i.e., a multiplicity of objects that bear a certain causal relationship, a close resemblance among themselves) conveys the idea of identity (T 254f). Thus, we imagine that two things are identical with one another. In fact, the idea of identity for most, if not all, objects of ordinary discourse, is incompatible with the idea of those objects undergoing any kind of change. But many objects of ordinary discourse, such as plants, animals, and artifacts, are not thought to remain “invariable and uninterrupted thro’ a suppos’d variation of time” (T 253). Hence, we are mistaken in believing in the identity over time of things which change. Hume thinks that this analysis applies equally to persons. Persons are really no different from any other kind of object of ordinary discourse when it comes to their identification, according to Hume. The identity which we ascribe to the mind of man, is only a fictitious one and of a like kind with that which we ascribe to vegetable and animal bodies. It cannot, therefore, have a different origin, but must proceed from a like operation of the imagination upon like objects. (T 253) Hume’s denial of genuine personal identity seems to include a denial that our pre-analytic concept of person presupposes that persons persist over time, that

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they are enduring things. On the assumption that our idea of identity is actually an impression of unity—“[o]ne single object conveys the idea of unity, not that of identity” (T 159)—it is a mistake for us to ascribe identity over time to things which change. But that is our idea of identity, Hume asserts. So, in fact, our ordinary concept of person does not include the idea that persons endure over time. This, as we already saw, is utterly antithetical to Leibniz’s way of thinking.

NOTES 1

Also, see GP vii, 302/PM 136. The terms ‘real essence’ and ‘individual nature’ are at this point being used very broadly. 3 William Blackstone, Commentary I. i. 123. 4 Hobbes, Leviathan I, XVI, 2. 5 There is an interesting commentary by Kenneth Winkler on the fact that two contemporaries of Locke’s—Edmund Law and Samuel Pufendorf—both attribute to Locke the denial of proposition 5. Winkler argues that their interpretation is wrong in his “Locke on Personal Identity,” 212-17. 2

Appendix B

On Kant’s Paralogisms

The psychological paralogisms of the transcendental dialectic of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason exemplify arguments “in which there is a transcendental basis for inferring a formally invalid conclusion” (CPR A341/B399). Kant demonstrates how the transcendental basis of apperception—the “I think”—tempts us into making illegitimate inferences concerning the substantiality, simplicity, diachronic identity, and relations of the self or thinking I. Those who succumb to such temptation and so infer from the formal condition of apperception to a simple, enduring substance of apperception, Kant calls “rational psychologists.” We have seen that Leibniz agrees with the conclusions of rational psychology as articulated in the “Paralogisms of Pure Reason” (CPR A341-405/B399-432), but it is not so clear that Leibniz argues for these conclusions in the way that Kant understands. In this appendix, I will argue that the first three paralogisms do not accurately represent the manner in which Leibniz actually argues for the substantiality, simplicity, and diachronic identity of the self or I. (The fourth paralogism which concerns ideality seems on target.) Let’s consider the first three paralogisms in reverse order. 1. Third Paralogism The third paralogism begins: a person is defined as “that which is conscious of the numerical identity of itself at different times” (CPR A361). Or is it? There’s the rarely considered question of whether the major premise of the third paralogism is supposed to express a bona fide definition of person at all. Patricia Kitcher certainly does not consider this question, for she simply writes: “The third paralogism defines a person as that which is conscious of the numerical identity of itself at different times.”1 Henry Allison says that the third paralogism “affirms the numerical identity of the thinking subject, which Kant equates with its personality.”2 Allison offers an important qualification: “This identification is easily subject to misunderstanding. It should, therefore, be noted that Kant distinguishes between a moral and a psychological sense of personality .… The former is construed as the ‘freedom of a rational being under moral law,’ and the latter as ‘the capacity to be conscious of the identity of oneself in the various conditions of one’s existence.’ Clearly, the latter conception is the one at work in the paralogisms. The same conception is to be found in [Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View].”3 Indeed, Kant does write in the Anthropology that “[t]he fact that man can have the idea [representation] ‘I’ raises him infinitely above all the other beings living on earth. By this he is a person; and by virtue of

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his unity of consciousness through all the changes he may undergo, he is one and the same person.…” (I, i, §1). However, I’m hesitant to follow Kitcher and Allison in thinking that the third paralogism offers a full-blown definition, in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions. For there is the matter of the ‘so fern’. Let me explain. Here is what the major premise says: “Was sich der numerischen Identität seiner Selbst in verschiedenen Zeiten bewußt ist, ist so fern eine Person" (CPR A361). Now the major premises of the other paralogisms do offer definitions, but they do not include ‘so fern’, thus suggesting that the major premise of the third asserts something less than a full definition. Now, ‘so fern’ can be a degree notion—even in Kant’s hands (for example, CPR A349)—but it would be odd to suggest that there are grades of being a person, especially since the third paralogism is supposed to represent the views of the “rational psychologists.” According to such thinkers as Descartes, Leibniz, Wolff, and Mendelssohn, one cannot be less of a person, even after undergoing change, except of course in the non-metaphysical sense of developing a less admirable character or the like. Certain changes, such as the annihilation of one’s substance (that is, strictly speaking, the substance that one is identical with) would render one not a person at all; however, this is not a change of degree. But who then offers the third paralogism? Who indeed stands to lose from Kant’s criticism? So I recommend that ‘so fern’ rather means something like is already (that is, by that condition alone). In other words, we should think of the major premise as giving merely a sufficient condition for personhood. (By the way, if we took the major premise as giving a necessary condition, then the paralogism would be obviously invalid.) So let’s take the third paralogism from the beginning again. It goes like this. That which is aware of its numerical identity over time is already (that is, by that condition alone) a person. But the self or thinking I is aware of the numerical identity of itself at different times. Therefore, the self or thinking I is a person. According to Kant, one who asserts the third paralogism is trying to establish a particular metaphysical condition of the self or I, namely, unbroken continuity and permanence. How does this relate to the question of personhood? Well, among other qualities, persons are the kinds of things which do endure over time; for one thing, persons comprise the class of morally responsible agents and thus need to be re-identified at different times, least of all by the agent himself or herself. The rational psychologist infers that the self or thinking I must denote a unified, enduring object through change, on the mere basis of the representation of the I at different times. In other words, the rational psychologist moves from a condition or feature of apperception (that is, the thinker must always regard himself or herself as a continuant) to a feature of the apperceiver (that the thinker is in fact a real continuant), with nary an intervening step. But such an inference is illegitimate, Kant contends, since the fact that I am not aware of (nor can I be aware of) being a plurality of non-identical beings over time, tells me merely that I cannot be aware of experiences at different times as belonging to someone or something else, and not that I am really numerically identical over time. Nevertheless, the transcendental temptation to attribute real permanence to the

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self simply on the basis of a feature of apperception is great. For it is so easy to conflate the indeterminate or empty claim that I cannot be aware of being different beings over time with the determinate claim that I am not, for example, a string of thinkers, but numerically identical over time. Does Leibniz argue for the “personality” of the I (that is, its unbroken, objective continuity over time) in a way akin to the third paralogism? I don’t think so. To show this, let’s concentrate on Leibniz’s understanding of person and its correlate personal identity. Kitcher alleges: “The major premise is put forward [by Kant] because it states a definition of ‘person’ employed by Leibniz and by Christian Wolff, as well as by Locke.”4 Kitcher appeals in part to Jonathan Bennett’s testimony that Lewis White Beck told him that “Wolff defined ‘person’ as a thing which ‘maintains a memory of itself’. Locke said that a person can ‘consider itself as itself, the same thinking thing, in different times and places’ … Leibniz endorses this [Bennett adds] not only in his replies to Locke but elsewhere as well.”5 But caution is needed here, notwithstanding any breakdown in the chain of authority. Most likely Locke does define person in the way described by the major premise (we will not worry about this question), yet it is highly doubtful that Leibniz and Wolff do. Let’s focus on Leibniz. To support their allegation, Kitcher and Bennett refer to the lengthy and difficult section of Leibniz’s Nouveaux essais, titled “On Identity and Diversity.” Responding to Locke’s claim that “as far as this consciousness can be extended backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person,” Leibniz says that “I also hold this opinion that consciousness or the sense of I proves [prouve] moral or personal identity” (A vi, 6, 236). Kitcher and Bennett take this to mean that Leibniz agrees with Locke’s definition of person. But I do not see Leibniz’s words here as tantamount to an agreement with Locke’s definition of person; rather, it seems to me that Leibniz is making an purely epistemological claim. Having an internal experience by way of selfconsciousness or the sense of myself, I can know that I am one and the same person. Is not Leibniz, by making this epistemological claim, perchance committing himself to a Lockean definition of person, at least indirectly? Not at all, for in the same section Leibniz emphasizes: “So, not wishing to say that personal identity extends no further than memory, still less would I say that the ‘self’, or physical identity, depends upon it. (By the way, as pointed out earlier, the French here is ‘physique’ by which Leibniz means real, as he does in other places in the Nouveaux essais.) The existence of real personal identity is proved with as much certainty as any matter of fact can be, by present and immediate reflection; it is proved conclusively enough for ordinary purposes by our memories across intervals and by the concurring testimony of other people” (A vi, 6, 237). Note that all of this is perfectly compatible with the view that personal identity requires sameness of substance. And, this is made perfectly feasible by Leibniz’s presupposition that the evidence upon which we judge two persons to be one and the same is not that which constitutes personal identity. For simple, immaterial substances are just not the kinds of things that we clearly perceive qua simple, immaterial substances.6

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Nevertheless, according to Leibniz, there is a close relationship between consciousness and personal identity which is not merely evidentiary or epistemological in nature. He writes in two passages, both of which are also adduced by Bennett and Kitcher: “But the intelligent soul, knowing what it is— having the ability to utter the word ‘I’, a word so full of meaning—does not merely remain and subsist metaphysically, which it does to a greater degree than the others, but also remains the same morally and constitutes the same person. For it is memory or the knowledge of this self that renders it susceptible to punishment or reward” (GP iv, 459f). Also, Leibniz writes: “Since minds must keep their personality and moral qualities … it is necessary for them to retain in particular a kind of recollection, consciousness or power to know what they are …” (GP ii, 125; cf. Gr, 98f). But, strictly speaking, neither passage commits Leibniz to a definition of person. Rather, these passages point quite clearly to a necessary, but not a sufficient, condition of personhood or personal identity; that is to say, memory or knowledge of the self. Leibniz is unwilling to claim, as Locke famously does, that personhood or personal identity consists wholly in sameness of consciousness. Why do I say this? Well, if he were to concede this point to Locke, then he would have to also concede to Locke the idea that thinking, conscious machines could be genuine persons. For, surprisingly enough, Leibniz does concede to Locke the logical possibility of a machine, a mere aggregate of matter (i.e., not a true substance at all), that is conscious (and which presumably also is conscious of its self-identity over time) (A vi, 6, 236f). Yet Leibniz is not willing to concede the further proposition that thinking, conscious machines could be persons, as we saw in Chapters 3 and 4. Let me summarize quickly. According to Leibniz, there are only two ways in which we can understand a machine to be conscious: either by association with a conscious soul or by the attachment of miraculous mental states (A vi, 6, 67 & 379). In either case, God is involved. But Leibniz thinks it is clear that the first way rules out, ironically, the possibility of genuinely conscious machines altogether. For there would not be a conscious machine as a result but a machine to which a conscious soul was appended. Leibniz explains: “If one says that God gives matter this new nature or the radical power to think—surely a selfmaintained power—he would simply have given it a thinking soul, or else something that differs from a thinking soul only nominally. And since this radical power is not strictly speaking a modification of matter (for modifications are explicable by the natures they modify and this power is not so explicable), it would be independent of matter” (GP iii, 356). Thus, that which is essentially passive—matter—remains so. That which is conscious, even after God’s intervention, is not matter but a soul, an appendage to the machine. Lest there is some misunderstanding, it should be clear that what we have here is not a corporeal substance. Let’s consider the second way in which God can create a conscious machine. Would the attachment of miraculous mental states to a machine also result, ironically enough, in a non-conscious machine? It is tempting to say yes, for how can we properly attribute mental states to the machine since those mental states

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arise from God and not from the power or nature of that machine? (This is just what it means to have a miraculous state, according to Leibniz.) But even if a machine could be the locus for conscious, mental states through miraculous intervention, this is not enough to establish that conscious machines could be persons. For, as Leibniz emphasizes on a number of occasions (GP iii, 68f; vi, 609; vii, 328f), there can be nothing in the machine to produce its conscious states and therefore nothing to explain the presence of such consciousness. But, for one thing, according to Leibniz, something cannot be a morally responsible agent unless it produces its own modifications of reflection and consciousness (among other things). And, of course, all persons are moral agents for Leibniz. Only genuine substances can produce such modifications, whereas for Leibniz machines are by definition mere aggregates of matter and thus not substances. In fact, I have argued in Chapters 3 and 4 that Leibniz never abandons his view that sameness of substance is necessary for personal identity. Hence, Leibniz would accept the major premise of the third paralogism only if it merely stipulates that consciousness of diachronic self-identity is a necessary condition for personhood or personal identity. But the major premise does not; rather, as we saw earlier, it only states that such consciousness is a sufficient condition. By the way, I should point out that it is much easier to show that Descartes, Wolff, and Mendelssohn would likewise reject the major premise of the third paralogism, for they too maintain that substantiality is a necessary (and possibly even sufficient) condition for personhood and correlatively sameness of substance necessary (and possibly sufficient) for personal identity. 2. Second Paralogism The second paralogism goes like this. A simple thing is defined as that “whose action can never regarded as the concurrence of many acting things” (CPR A351). (Fortunately, there is no ‘so fern’ here to complicate matters for us.) But the actions of the self or thinking I can never be regarded as the concurrence of many acting things. For the unity of thought which must be met with in all cognition, including that of oneself, makes it impossible that states divided among various subjects could constitute a unified thought. Or, as expressed by William James: “Take a sentence of a dozen words, take twelve men, and to each one word. Then stand the men in a row or jam them in a bunch, and let each think of his word as intently as he will; nowhere will there be a consciousness of the whole sentence.”7 Therefore, the self or thinking I is really, and not merely logically, simple. The rational psychologist infers that the self or I must denote a metaphysically simple object, on the mere basis of the representation of the I. In other words, the rational psychologist moves from our experience of a unity in apperception (that is, a condition or feature of apperception) to the real unity of the apperceiver, with nary an intervening step. But such an inference is illegitimate, considering the fact that the representation I contains no trace of a manifold or variety and thus has either no content of any sort or at best indeterminate content. According to Kant, we really have nothing more to say of the self than merely that it is something (CPR A440). Yet, for all this Kant does admit that the transcendental temptation

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to attribute real simplicity to the self is understandable since it is easy to confuse emptiness or indeterminacy with simplicity. Does Leibniz himself make this mistake? To answer this, it is useful to recognize that the second paralogism is probably an argument from ignorance. For it seems to rely on the assumption that “if a thought were identical with a state of a composite qua composite, elements of the thought would be identical with states or elements of the composite.”8 But some have pointed out that this assumption is contentious, since it fails to recognize the sophistication of the materialist’s conception of mind. So, inferring from James’ assumption to the claim that a thinker must be simple is rooted in ignorance. But I don’t think that Leibniz presents an argument from ignorance for the simplicity of the self (at least in his more careful moments). Rather, he relies on the claim—not at all accounted for in the second paralogism—that perception (which includes any and all mental states, conscious and unconscious) is inexplicable if attributed to any system of parts or components acting in concert. It follows then that consciousness cannot be distributed among a number of things. Leibniz seems to consider this claim to be perfectly analytic or definitional: in unpacking the concept of perception, we see that perception is “the transitory state which involves and represents a multitude in the unity” (GP vi, 608) or the expression or representation “in a single indivisible entity” (GP ii, 121). So, the perceiver itself (or himself or herself) must be a real unity.9 Something very interesting results. The second paralogism takes our consciousness of unity as evidence for the unity of the conscious self or I. (And therefore is prey to a charge of ignorance because the materialist might at some point be equipped to explain this unity.) Whereas, in Leibniz’s hands, consciousness of anything is evidence of the unity of the conscious self or I. For any conscious awareness, any experience of mentality, no matter how multitudinous and seemingly disunified, must be understood a priori as represented by a single indivisible or simple thing. 3. First Paralogism The first paralogism goes like this. A substance is defined as “what cannot exist otherwise than as subject” (CPR B411). (Again, there is no ‘so fern’ to hurdle.) But the self or thinking I cannot be thought otherwise than as subject; that is to say, it can never be deemed the predicate or determination of any other thing. Therefore, the self or thinking I exists only as subject, that is, as a real substance. The rational psychologist infers that the self or thinking I must denote a substance, on the representation of the I alone; the rational psychologist moves from a condition or feature of apperception (that is, the thinker must always regard himself or herself as subject) to a feature of the apperceiver (that the thinker is a real substance). But such an inference is illegitimate, since the fact (and it is a fact for Kant) that the I is always something of which things are predicated (and can never itself be predicated of anything), tells us merely that the I must occupy the subject-position in any judgment, and not anything about the real nature of the I. Yet, for all this Kant does admit that the transcendental temptation to attribute real

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substantiality to the self is understandable since “everyone must necessarily regard himself as a substance and regard thoughts as being only accidents of his existence and modifications of his state” (CPR A349). Now, Leibniz certainly believes in the natural and real permanence of the self or I. He writes in a letter to Arnauld: “Substantial unity requires a … naturally indestructible being … something which cannot be found in shape or in motion … but which can be found in a soul or substantial form, after the example of what one calls I” (GP ii, 76). But does Leibniz argue for this claim in a way that mirrors the first paralogism? To answer this question, let us examine Leibniz’s own definition of substance. Consider the Discours de métaphysique §8, where Leibniz writes: “It is indeed true that when several predicates are attributed to a single subject and this subject is attributed to no other, it is called an individual substance…” (GP iv, 432). But Leibniz goes on to tell us in the same section that “such an explanation is merely nominal. We must therefore consider what it is to be attributed truly to a certain subject.” According to Leibniz, an explanation or definition is nominal “when it is still possible to doubt whether the thing defined is possible” (GP iv, 450). Leibniz thus gives his real definition of substance, and hence allows us to know the possibility of substance: “[T]he subject term must always include the predicate term in such a way that anyone who perfectly understands the concept of the subject will also know that the predicate applies to it. Given this, we can say it is the nature of an individual substance or complete being to have a concept so complete that it is sufficient to make us understand and deduce from it all the predicates of the subject to which the concept is attributed” (GP iv, 432). Notwithstanding the obvious problem of whether Leibniz has indeed established the possibility of substances by merely asserting the complete concept theory of substance, there is something very interesting happening, here. Leibniz seems to infer from his conceptual containment theory (that is, the claim that the concept of the predicate is included in some way in the concept of the subject) to his theory of the independence or self-subsistence of substance (that is, the claim that nothing happens to an individual substance—nothing can be predicated of a subject—that is not already contained in its own concept). Nor is this the only place where such an inference occurs: see C 520f; GP ii, 56f; iv, 439.10 What we have here, I think, is a move that is remarkably close to what is happening in the first paralogism: Leibniz, on the basis of his complete concept theory of substance, infers from (i) something cannot be thought otherwise than as subject to the claim that (ii) it must exist only as subject. However, it seems to me that Leibniz’s mature, preferred view of the matter is at odds with the first paralogism. To see this, consider one of Leibniz’s favorite ways to characterize substance, that is to say, as naturally spontaneous or active. Leibniz writes that a substance is “a being capable of action” (GP vi, 598) or “whatever has within it active force” (GP iv, 470). But, interestingly, all indications are that sometime in the 1690s Leibniz no longer regards the relationship between (i) and (ii) as a simple inference validated by his complete concept theory. In fact, Leibniz will claim that it is precisely this spontaneity that enables us to know the possibility of

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substance, and hence gives us a real definition of substance. However, the first paralogism makes no reference to this aspect of substance. Leibniz’s mature view is that “[w]hile causes are present in things, complete concepts are properly ideas in the mind of God. The complete concept of a monad, were it available to us, would allow us to deduce or infer the states of that substance. But, this a priori ground for inference is not the same as the cause of a change, and Leibniz is careful to avoid causal language when speaking of the value of individual concepts.”11 The cause of each (non-initial, non-miraculous) perception of a monad is to be located in its primitive active force, an internal power that is an attribute of the monad (GP iv, 486 & 507; A vi, 6, 65 & 210).12 4. Conclusion I hope that even with my rather hasty observations I have provided sufficient reason to suspect that Kant’s first three paralogisms do not accurately represent how Leibniz actually argues for the substantiality, simplicity and identity of the self or I. But let me suggest that it might be misguided to try to determine how Leibniz in fact argues for these categorical features of the self. For perhaps Leibniz doesn’t properly argue for these at all. Leibniz writes to Thomas Burnett that “[w]e have [an] idea of substance, which in my opinion comes from the fact that we, who are substances, have an internal sense of it in ourselves” (GP iii, 247; cf. GP iv, 452; iv, 559f; vi, 502 & 612; A vi, 6, 85f & 105). As we saw in Chapter 2, Margaret Wilson explains that “it seems to follow that (for any I) self-consciousness must be consciousness of a particular simple substance (the one that is me) and further that it must involve consciousness of the identity, simplicity, and substantiality of this entity ….”13 Wilson adds: “Leibniz seems also to want to claim that we can somehow know from direct experience of ourselves and our perceptions that we are indivisible and hence immaterial substances [GP ii, 112; vi, 502; A vi, 6, 51; cf., vi, 6, 110f].”14 One might argue that the paralogisms themselves represent an attempt to make explicit this move. But, again, I wonder if Leibniz strictly speaking argues for our substantiality and simplicity.

NOTES 1

Kitcher, “Apperception and Epistemic Responsibility,” 289. Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism, 285. 3 Allison, Kan’s Transcendental Idealism, 367, fn. 23. 4 Kitcher, “Kant’s Paralogisms,” 535. 5 Bennett, Kant’s Dialectic, 93. 6 GP iv, 477 & 570; vi, 617. See Adams, 287, fn. 27. 7 James, Collected Works I, 160. 2

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M. Wilson, “Leibniz and Materialism,” 511. James assumes this, doesn’t he? As do Samuel Clarke, Ralph Cudworth, and many others. For a good discussion of this subject, see Ben Mijuskovic, The Achilles of Rationalist Arguments. 9 See Paul Lodge and Bobro, “Stepping Back Inside Leibniz’s Mill,” 553-72. 10 See Adams, Leibniz, 315f. 11 See Bobro and Clatterbaugh, “Unpacking the Monad: Leibniz’s Theory of Causality,” 412. 12 See Roger Woolhouse, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, 67f and Bobro and Clatterbaugh, “Unpacking the Monad,” 409-26. 13 M. Wilson, “Leibniz: Self-Consciousness and Immortality,” 341. 14 M. Wilson, “Leibniz and Materialism,” 507f.

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Index of Proper Names

Conway, Anne, 4, 10, 14-15, 19, 82, 95 Copleston, Frederick, 59 Cover, Jan, 6 Cudworth, Damaris, 52, 134 Curley, Edwin, 53, 59, 76, 79, 140

—A— Adams, Robert, 44, 54, 57-9, 76, 78, 95-6, 99 Allison, Henry, 56, 58, 76, 126-7, 134 Aquinas, St. Thomas, 5, 26, 28, 37 Arista, 102-05, 108, 116 Aristotle, 104 Arnauld, Antoine, 25, 36, 43-4, 46, 51, 56, 65, 93, 97

—D— Deleuze, Gilles, 84, 96 Des Bosses, Bartholomaeus, 122 Descartes, René, 1, 8, 9, 25, 30, 102, 105, 111, 115, 121 Donagan, Alan, 115-16 Donne, John, 99 Duran, Jane, 10, 19

—B— Barresi, John, 114 Baruzi, Jean, 97 Bayle, Pierre, 98 Bennett, Jonathan, 26, 36, 56, 58, 128-9, 134 Berkeley, George, 39, 41, 56 Beson, Elizabeth, 115 Blackstone, William, 123, 125 Blumenfeld, David, 20 Boethius, 7, 28, 37 Brennan, Andrew, 40, 56 Brown, Clifford, 48, 57, 59 Brown, Gregory, 78 Brown, Stuart, 30, 37, 58, 76, 135 Burnett, Thomas, 29, 36, 58

—F— Fardella, Michel Angelo, 29, 44 Fischer, John Martin, 118 Fleming, Noel, 96 Fludd, Robert, 63 Foucher, Simon, 80 Fouke, Daniel, 20 Frankel, Lois, 78 Frankfurt, Harry, 19 —G— Garber, Daniel, 81, 95 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 100, 115 Greenberg, Sean, 19 Grene, Marjorie, 115 Grua, Gaston, 1, 6, 76, 82, 95-6

—C— Carr, Herbert, 1, 6, 84-5, 96 Chisholm, Roderick, 27, 36-7, 100, 105, 108, 116 Clatterbaugh, Kenneth, 59, 77, 95, 135 Coburn, Robert, 112

—H— Haksar, Vinit, 118 Hansch, Michael, 104 142

Index of Proper Names Hart, Alan, 57 Harvie, J. H., 115, 118 Hazlitt, William, 114 Hobbes, Thomas, 26, 31, 124-5 Hume, David, 7, 31, 122-5 —I— Ishiguro, Hidé, 97 —J— James, William, 39, 56, 130, 134 Jaquelot, Isaac, 90 Jolley, Nicholas, 19, 33-6, 38, 42, 51, 53, 58-9, 64-5, 70-1, 75-9, 96 —K— Kant, Immanuel, 5, 36, 38, 94, 120, 126-7, 131-4 Kitcher, Patricia, 127-8, 134 Klopp, Otto, 20, 97 Kulstad, Mark, 26, 27, 30-2, 36-7, 77, 135 —L— Lach, Donald, 118 Latzer, Michael, 78 Law, Edmund, 125 Lewis, David, 114 Lewis, H. D., 115 Lloyd, Genevieve, 115 Locke, John, 1-5, 10-1, 22-3, 25, 278, 30, 32-4, 38-42, 45, 48-53, 567, 60-7, 70-2, 74-5, 95, 108, 116, 120, 122-3 Lodge, Paul, 6, 59, 76, 134 Loemker, Leroy, 97 Lowe, E. J., 37 —M— Mahoney, James, 112 Martin, Raymond, 114 Mates, Benson, 6, 53-5, 57, 59 McCann, Edwin, 6

143

McCullough, Laurence, 6 McRae, Robert, 23-4, 30, 32, 36-8, 79, 96, 135 Mersenne, Martin, 115 Meyer, R.W,. 6 Mijuskovic, Ben, 48, 59, 134 Mittelstraß, Jürgen, 97 Molinos, Miguel, 104 Mollat, G., 95 More, Henry, 4 —N— Naërt, Émilienne, 96, 115 Nails, Debra, 115 Noonan, Harold, 6, 40-1, 56-7, 96 Nozick, Robert, 114 —P— Parfit, Derek, 40-1, 56, 101, 114-15, 117-18 Parkinson, G. H. R., 77-8, 84, 96 Paul, St., 10 Peirce, Charles, 101, 114 Phemister, Pauline, 77-8 Philalethes, 2, 112 Plato, 43, 102, 105, 111, 116, 121 Pruss, Alexander, 17 Puccetti, Roland, 99 Pufendorf, Samuel, 125 —Q— Quinton, Anthony, 106-7, 116 —R— Reid, Thomas, 39, 41, 56 Remnant, Peter, 58 Rescher, Nicholas, 15, 19 Rorty, Amélie, 36 Rovane, Carol, 3, 19 Russell, Bertrand, 57 Rutherford, Donald, 15, 20, 37, 59, 78, 89, 94-8

144

Index of Proper Names —S—

Sapontzis, Stephen, 98 Savile, Anthony, 16 Scheffler, Samuel, 22, 32-6, 38, 64, 65, 72, 76, 79, 98, 109-11, 118 Shaffer, Jerome, 82, 95 Shoemaker, Sydney, 100, 114, 118 Silesius, John Angelus, 104 Sleigh, Robert Jr., 30, 37, 59, 62, 67, 69, 70, 76-8, 83, 96 Sophie Charlotte, 28, 30 Sosa, Ernest, 114 Sotnak, Eric, 76 Spinoza, Baruch, 103-05, 121 Stillingfleet, Edward, 4 Strawson, Peter, 99 Suárez, Francisco, 28, 37, 48, 59 Swinburne, Richard, 105, 107, 11516 —T— Taylor, Charles, 98 Theophilus, 2, 112 Thiel, Udo, 57

—U— Unger, Peter, 114, 116 Uzgalis, William, 38 —V— Vailati, Ezio, 38, 42-3, 45, 51, 56-7, 64-5, 76, 79 Van Helmont, Francis Mercury, 13 —W— Weigel, Valentine, 104 Weller, Cass, 53 Wiggins, David, 7, 35, 114, 118 Williams, Bernard, 36, 103-05, 112, 114-16, 118 Wilson, Catherine, 36-7, 57, 64, 76, 79, 82, 95-6, 98 Wilson, Margaret, 29-30, 37, 41-3, 45-7, 51, 54-6, 65, 71-2, 76-7, 79, 95, 108, 116, 118, 134 Winkler, Kenneth, 125 Woolhouse, Roger, 97, 115, 135