An
Essay about ‘Personal Identity’
In this essay, I shall respond to the question, ‘What
is personal identity?’ Given there is little point in shrinking from my initially odd-seeming
answer to this question, I will state it clearly and explicitly right now,
before we progress any further: we
already know what identity is.
It is my contention that the meaning of this word we call
identity is not mysterious, because all there really is to the word identity is
how it is used. We certainly know what it means in conversation. We do not
question it or begin to dissect it when it arises in everyday speech; we parse
it and we respond to it exactly as we would respond to any other word. I believe
that is all there is to identity, because all identity is is a word. I believe
we are misguided in looking for an essence of identity, or in trying to
penetrate the ‘concept’ in a philosophical manner.
Since I am sure this strange and prickly idea will
have already offended you, I shall start the process of persuasion very slowly.
First, I would like to invite you to examine these examples of common sentences
in which the word appears:
1.) “He’s changed so much since he got Alzheimer’s,
he’s lost his identity.”
2.) “I have a dual-identity: one by night, one by day.”
3.) “I feel like my identity has changed so much over
the years.”
4.) “One’s genes determine one’s identity to a large
extent.”
5.) “Her identity hasn’t changed at all, she’s the
same as she was twenty years ago.”
6.) “We know the identity of the terrorists.”
7.) “What is our national identity?”
It is true that the word “identity” does seem to be
quite straightforward semantically and easy to define with only two main
senses. Oxford Online’s primary definitions, for example – 1.) “The fact of
being who or what a person or thing is” and 2.) “The characteristics
determining who or what a person or thing is” – seem adequate descriptions of
the word. Certainly, all of the uses of the word in the exemplary sentences
above could be seen to conform to one of the two definitions, or perhaps a
subtle synthesis of the both. Nevertheless, if you examine these sentences
above a little more closely you can see that they each imply subtly different
things about what identity actually is, or the “concept of identity”. In sentences
1 and 2, one’s identity is implied to be discrete, unique, identifiable,
and can be transformed into a different but equally discrete, unique,
identifiable identity (can be “lost” or replaced with another). By contrast, in
3, the implication appears to be that identity is not so absolute, and can be
subject to gradual change. However, there is still a sense in 3 of one’s identity
being unique and identifiable (“my identity”).
In 4, “one’s identity” is clearly shorthand for “one’s
identity over one’s lifetime”. We do not parse this sentence as implying that
we are all exactly the same over our lifetime because nobody could possibly
think that. Instead, we immediately understand the word “identity” here as
referring to our identity at all times of our life. To use the word in the
manner of sentences 1 and 2, we might say that it is referring to one’s identities.
But the point is that the speaker of 4 does not have to use the plural form to
be understood in that way. In 5, we might say that the sense of the word, taken
broadly, is the same as all of the other sentences and that there is thus
nothing new to be gleaned from it. Yet it is certainly of note that this
sentence preserves the notion that one’s identity can remain the same over many
years. This suggests that the concept of identity can be fixed. In 6, yet more different
things are implied of the concept of identity. Here, we can say that the
concept of identity probably amounts to nothing more than one’s name, one’s
age, one’s sex and various other basic, impersonal details. Again, we likely
don’t even think of the word in that way when we hear 6; we know immediately
what is meant by identity. In 7, the concept of identity is implied to be a
fixed and static one, and one that can also be applied to a nation rather than
just a person. How exactly you might unpack what someone is talking about when
they use a phrase like “national identity” is unclear, but it obviously again
implies different things about the concept of identity. While identity is again
about characteristics, this time they are the characteristics of a nation, which
are surely utterly different kinds of things.
Clearly there is a huge divergence in what these deployments
of the word identity suggest about this ‘concept of identity’. Intuitively, it
seems that we are confused about what the word actually means! And what a
philosopher wants to do in this situation is try to resolve the confusion by
shining the light of reason onto the word, by constructing theories that aim to
reach the best compromise between logic and our intuitions about the concept.
Yet here’s where we run up against our first problem
with this theoretical attitude: to embark upon such a mission of illumination,
one must presuppose that there is some kind of abstract essence to the word
identity. But what if there isn’t? What if there is only the use of the word? If so, what are you really doing when you
carry out a philosophical investigation of this sort? You are trying to
penetrate a word that has no centre. It is no surprise that this leads to
extraordinary conclusions, and to grand, irreconcilable disputes, and to the
genesis of ever more subtle and interesting theories. There is simply no limit
to the explication, elaboration and disputation of a concept that does not
exist.
I know this is a fairly grandiose and shocking
hypothesis, and I expect that I will have drawn only a reaction of hostility.
But be patient, for there is much more justification to come.
Let us first start with a very basic argument.
Identity is not a physical substance, like, say,
water. A more obvious and truistic sentence has nary been written, but I
believe philosophers do not actually acknowledge the truth of it: indeed, I
would go so far as to say that the treatment of intangible concepts like
physical ones has been a scourge on philosophy since time immemorial. In order
to illustrate this even bolder claim, I will begin by supporting my claim that
identity and water are very dissimilar.
First, we need to ask a simple question: can we
conceive of a world that is just like ours barring the fact that everyone in
this imaginary world uses the word “water” to refer to water as we know it in
the sciences (H20), but also to refer to what we, in our world, know
as salt-water, mud and clouds? Clearly, there are facts about H20,
salt-water, mud and clouds that unite them (their shared primary ingredient of
H20 being perhaps the most fundamental), just as you might say that
there are facts about the different ways we use the word identity that unite
them (the Oxford definitions apply to all my 7 cases). Moreover, you might say
that we do already have, in our own language, nouns that refer to a whole host
of loosely connected physical things, in the same way that water in this other
world refers to a whole host of loosely connected physical things. The nouns
“game”, “computer”, “tree” and “tool” might be seen as examples of this. Very
few properties unite all the senses of these words, and, in the case of game,
arguably none. So I think we can
conceive of a world where everyone used water to refer to all these disparate
physical things – in fact quite easily.
However, given these different physical things
(scientifically defined water, and the other water-containing things) are
clearly both quantitively and qualitatively very different things, and even two
mud puddles or two clouds can be very quantitatively and qualitatively
different, we can assume that we would, in this other world, realise that the
word water can refer to utterly disparate things. This is because physical things
are quite easily deconstructable, they are very easily reduced to
properties of an ever diminishing magnitude, and we do have a technical or
scientific vocabulary that permits us to describe these properties. We have
basic concepts like size and texture, then slightly more specific ones like
chemical state and temperature, and then ever more complex and microscopic
properties like chemical composition and atomic structure.
But identity is not a physical thing. It is
intangible. It has no size, texture, chemical state, temperature, chemical
composition or atomic structure. In fact, it has no properties save linguistic
ones. So why should we assume that it has an essence?
I expect that the hostility has probably not died down.
This is understandable; the idea I’m proposing is, after all, a very
uncomfortable one, and it goes against so much of what we are taught and even
where language itself leads us, by giving words like identity precisely the
same grammatical properties as words like water. I know that numerous
objections will have arisen by now.
We know that intangible things are not the same as
tangible things; that is a complete truism, as you said yourself. But surely that
means your conclusions are far too grand. Just because people imply different
things about identity when they speak doesn’t mean that there isn’t actually a
truth of the matter as to the question of what identity is, in a philosophical
sense. It is our job as philosophers to figure out if there is such an essence
– that’s what we’re doing. We all understand when we use the word identity in a
philosophical context that we are talking about something vague, but we are
trying to clarify it, make some sense of it, give it a coherence and a
consistency. That’s the whole point.
But what I want to ask is a question that may seem
totally banal and insignificant, but which I think speaks to the heart of what
I’m saying:
What do we actually mean by identity when we ask what
identity is?
I believe a philosopher ought to be able to answer
this before he begins, but no philosopher ever does! He treats identity kind of
as if it were a physical substance, believing that investigation can help
uncover a deeper truth about it. But what reason does he have to assume this?
What grounds?
It’s easy for
you to say all of this in the abstract, but surely philosophers have more sophisticated
ways of looking at questions like “What is identity?” than you’re giving them
credit for. They’re not just pursuing a nebulous essence when they pose such
questions, but looking at the solid heart of the concept of identity. And
modern philosophers would surely not just attack the basic question
uncritically; they would ask more specific questions first, like ‘Which way of
conceiving of the word identity makes most sense?’
This last part is absolutely true. Since it is their remit and
duty, since it is in their job description, philosophers think hard about the
concept of identity. They don’t examine in any detail how people use the word,
but instead adopt the theoretical attitude: they immediately try to formulate
cogent theories to try to explain the concept in a way that best fits both with
logic and our intuitions. Philosopher A says, “The physical continuity theory
of identity is the best one we have for explaining the concept. It is plausible
and it is neat. It means we can say that a human being has the same identity as
he had yesterday because he is composed of the same matter.”
For a while this theory seems adequate, but eventually
new scientific discoveries about cells (how they are constantly replicating and
dying) leads Philosopher B to suddenly realise that this theory is hopelessly
inept. He says, “The psychological continuity theory of identity is far
superior. It means we can say that a human being has the same identity as she
had yesterday because he has the same psychology.”
Much bickering between the two camps ensues for many
years. Eventually, Philosopher C strides imperiously onto the scene and says,
“No, no, no, the concept of identity is not nearly so simple. There are so many
problems with both those theories. They both preclude our most strongly held
intuitions, because we don’t see our identity as evolving constantly and almost
all of us believe we are the same person that we were when a child. No,
we must instead look to my new notion of continuity connected by an ancestral
rather than strict continuity, and we must stop the bickering and instead acknowledge
that both the physical and the psychological are important. This new
synthesised theory of mine is the most plausible at all. Now we can make sense
of our intuitions: we don’t have to say we have changed identity when we grow
up because both the stuff we are made of and our psychological makeup do have
their root, their ancestry, in the way we were yesterday, and five years ago,
and ten years ago, and when we were a foetus.”
The majority of philosophers think this theory a great
leap forward, and the focal point of the philosophical debate about the concept
of identity is, for many years following, just around the various permutations
of the synthesised theory. Philosopher D says psychological continuity is more
important than physical, using a thought experiment involving a computer to
illustrate his point, while Philosopher E retorts that physical continuity is
more important, using our intuitive beliefs about senile relatives to make
hers.
Finally, Philosopher F (who is actually a real guy
called Derek Parfit) comes along and throws a spanner in the works. “No, you
guys,” he says, “Imagine if you were in Star Trek and the teletransporter
malfunctioned and you were actually replicated instead of transported. Surely,
we can’t say that that replica would be you, despite being physically and
psychologically identical. Therefore, we must conclude that we have no identity
whatsoever, that the concept is an illusion.” Many philosophers really like
this idea and it becomes, for a while, the most popular of them all.
Nevertheless, the debate rages on.
I admit that it’s very nice for philosophers to try to
tie up loose ends in this way, to resolve our understanding of words like
identity so that they’re neat, logically consistent, compatible with our
intuitions and all the rest, but why should we take any of their claims about
the nature of identity as anything more than prescriptions? This is how we should think of identity,
they say, and we supposedly bow down before them and chant their conclusions to
ourselves over and over again, while whacking our foreheads with their weighty
gospels and wearing dark cloaks.[1]
No, I refuse to submit, to succumb, to acquiesce. And why should I?
Let us look at our common sentences once more. Now
that the philosophers have given us this new vocabulary of ‘continuity
theories’, we are perhaps better placed to dissect the differences in what the
sentences imply about the concept of identity. Now we can say that 1 and 2
imply that some kind of mental continuity theory is correct. We can say that 3
perhaps implies that some kind of mixture of the two is right. That 4 probably
implies that some kind of mixture of the two is right again. That 5, well,
that’s a bit ambiguous – has she aged physically? That 6 implies that neither
theory is correct, but just that each person has a single fixed identity given
presumably by their name, D.O.B, address etc. And that 7, well it’s not about human identity
at all (which the philosophers concentrated on when asking the question ‘What
is identity?’ for no obvious reason).
As I demonstrated before, if you try to unpack the
concept lying behind the deployment of this word in these various sentences, you
just go insane. Obviously, we, as human beings, don’t have a fixed concept of
identity, and yet we understand what people are talking about when they use it!
What weird creatures we are! How completely irrational!
Well, maybe it’s
completely irrational, but other words are like this too. Most interestingly, other
words that philosophers like asking ‘What is?’ questions about and then
debating for centuries, like ‘meaning’, ‘happiness’, ‘love’, ‘friendship’,
‘art’, are actually very similar to this. You just need to think hard about the
ways they’re used to realise this. Wittgenstein showed this in Philosophical Investigations, the book
that is basically the one progenitor of this essay.
Obviously, most philosophers would concede that this
is the case. They’d say, ‘Of course people don’t use these words in a logically
consistent fashion and have no idea about our lovely, logical theories. This is
because most people are not philosophers! It’s our job to think hard about this stuff and to try to get to some
truth of the matter.’ But this is predicated on the assumption that there is
something more to identity than the way people use it. And isn’t that quite
mystical? What reason do we have to think that the real ‘concept’ of the word
identity has to be a logically consistent theory? Why can’t the word be exactly
what it is: a word? And if it is just a word, why do philosophers purport to be
expressing truths when they make claims about what it is? All they are doing is
insisting on some specific definition of the word that has no relation to the
real world, are they not? These, I
believe, are the real questions, but philosophers doggedly refuse to answer them.[2]
You may have noticed that I’ve scrupulously avoided
talking about philosopher F, Derek Parfit, who doesn’t believe that identity
exists. Obviously, he suffers from exactly the same ailment as all the other
philosophers, given that, in the construction of his theory, he treated the word
as if it had a nebulous essence. However, he is different in the way that he
then showed (supposedly) that it doesn’t. Evidently, the word identity does
exist and is used frequently and functionally, so he is prima facie wrong like
all the other philosophers who make claims about the word. But he isn’t quite
like the other philosophers, and I believe that his argument (which appears in
his seminal, acclaimed 1984 book Reasons
and Persons) does contain some kind of truth. As I demonstrated way back
near the start of this essay, when you listen to the way people speak in the
real world, you realise there is a profound inconsistency in our understanding
of the concept identity, because, to everyone who isn’t a philosopher with a
particular theory of identity, there is no one concept of identity, and we
don’t even really think about what we mean by the word identity when we use it.
In light of that truth, let us now consider these mostly
very basic facts: our bodies are constantly changing, with age or with injury; it
is often very hard to recognise an adult from their childhood picture, or a
really old person from a picture of them at a young age, and basically
impossible to identify a person from a baby picture; our cells are constantly
dying and replicating, meaning it takes only seven years for our bodies to
replace every single one; our personalities change discernibly over time, even
after we have left the tumult of childhood and adolescence; we don’t like to
think that our relatives have become different people when they become senile
with old age; we don’t like to think that our loved ones have become different
people when they suffer a brain injury that lowers their IQ or affects their
personality in some other way; we don’t like to think that our loved ones have
become different people when they suffer some horrific and transformative
physical injury; there is almost certainly no such thing as a soul.
I don’t know, really, what we should take from these
facts, but I do understand, on one level, why Derek Parfit might use them to
conclude that identity does not exist, even if I think that such a claim must
be prima facie wrong. If we are physically and mentally changing all the time
yet we like to think that we have some kind of fixed identity, and even when we
are physically and mentally identical to
another person (as in Parfit’s aforementioned thought experiment) we like to
think that we don’t have the same identity as them, then something has to give,
right?
But this is so deceptive, because, as we’ve already
made so clear, the word identity is deeply problematic. Sure, it seems iron-clad and logical. Yes, we’re tempted to think, if identity is to exist we need to think
that two identical people have the same identity. But we don’t. Therefore,
identity does not exist. What a syllogism! However, this syllogism doesn’t
actually mean anything. Identity is just a word. What reason do we have to
trust the intuitions of people on whether two identical people have the same
identity given that they have no consistent sense of the concept of identity?
Given that identity is such a fucking adaptable word? Again, why should I think
that “Identity does not exist” is not prima facie wrong given that identity is
a word that does exist and is functional?
You may think that I’m
the one playing with words. I am aware it may seem that way. But I am not the
mystic here. I am not the one trying to penetrate a word. I know that this will
still be a bitter pill to swallow, but I think it is an ultimately salubrious
one, like Panadol. I do admit that people understand what Parfit means when he
says ‘Identity does not exist’ and that it is therefore a meaningful statement.
In fact, I essentially agree with what I believe to be the sentiment and logic
behind it, even if I object so vehemently to its phrasing. I seem to get what
he means. So, in the interests of reaching a satisfying conclusion, I hereby
propose my own philosophical theory of identity that taps into the same basic
ideas:
We have no
reason to think that there is something that makes us who we are throughout our
life or – to put in a way more accurate yet kind of spacey way – that there is necessarily
anything physical or mental that unites the various people that have the same
birth certificate. We have no reason to think that these various people have
some quintessence, given that most of us now know that the belief in souls is
just a superstition like any other.
However, we are obviously extremely physically and
mentally similar to the person we were a day ago, and very similar to the
person we were a year ago. And psychologically we don’t necessarily have to change
a great deal in adulthood, barring some trauma, because there are no big
biological transformations that occur.
You may have noticed that this is not really a
philosophical theory at all, just a statement of a few facts that doesn’t
include the word ‘identity’ even once. This is logically consistent with what
I’ve said.
I’m afraid I’m sceptical about profundity. It seems usually
to rely on the manipulation of words.
References
Wittgenstein’s Philosophical
Investigations through http://www.accionfilosofica.com/misc/1307418043crs.pdf
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