Part 3 (1/2)

IN ORDER TO advance the general good of the human race (at least as he saw it), Leibniz believed that he would have to pursue his own personal good, too. To the famous Jansenist theologian Antoine Arnauld, the aspiring twenty-five-year-old philosopher made this confession: advance the general good of the human race (at least as he saw it), Leibniz believed that he would have to pursue his own personal good, too. To the famous Jansenist theologian Antoine Arnauld, the aspiring twenty-five-year-old philosopher made this confession: There is nothing, I think, upon which I have brooded more earnestly over the course of my life, however short, than the problem of a.s.suring my security in the future, and I confess that by far the greatest cause of my philosophizing as well has been the hope of winning a prize not to be disdained-peace of mind-and the ability to say that I have demonstrated certain things which have heretofore merely been believed or even, in spite of their great importance, ignored.

Leibniz, no less than Spinoza, was keen to win philosophical honor. But, whereas Spinoza sought the kind of fame that accrues to leaders of underground revolutions, Leibniz went in search of a much more aboveground form of prestige. He unabashedly craved all those things that Spinoza disdained: t.i.tles, awards, salaries, tenure. ”Great was his desire to s.h.i.+ne,” as one observer noted. And, indeed, without such trappings of fame, he reasoned, he would never be in a position to contribute to the general good of the human race. In Leibniz's mind, his own ”security in the future” was sometimes difficult to distinguish from the general good of the human race.

The moment he had been elevated to privy counselor of justice in the court of Mainz in the summer of 1670, Leibniz launched an aggressive campaign to thrust himself into the limelight of the pan-European intellectual scene. The first phase of this campaign consisted of direct-mail approaches to leading figures in the republic of letters. Although he occupied a political position of some note, the young diplomat had not yet established his reputation in the intellectual world; these early letters were, in essence, cold calls.

Among the first recipients of Leibniz's introductory offerings was Thomas Hobbes, the aging and highly controversial materialist philosopher, then residing in London. ”I know of no one who has philosophized more exactly, clearly, and elegantly than you, not even excepting that man of divine genius, Descartes himself,” Leibniz tells Hobbes, just before going on to suggest that perhaps the widely reviled materialist might wish to rebut more forcefully those who say he does not believe in the immortality of the soul. The octogenarian Hobbes chose not to respond.

Leibniz next opened up communications with leading intellectuals in Holland, Italy, and France. He devoted special attention to Antoine Arnauld. His letter to the theologian runs to six thousand words and summarizes and refines many of the concepts examined in his earlier epistles to Thomasius.

That same summer of 1670 Leibniz also initiated a lengthy correspondence with Henry Oldenburg. ”Pardon that an unknown one writes to one who is not unknown,” he begins, with typical baroque flourish. The point of the correspondence soon becomes clear: Leibniz has produced a pair of essays on the philosophy of motion, under the t.i.tle of New Physical Hypothesis New Physical Hypothesis, and he wishes to share his work with the members of the Royal Society.

Leibniz's essays on motion mark a significant stage in his philosophical development. They begin with some of the ideas about motion and activity that the philosopher first developed in the context of his work on the metaphysics of church reunion, and they go on to raise for the first time the problem Leibniz calls ”the labyrinth of the continuum”: loosely speaking, the problem of explaining how it is that infinitely small points can come together to const.i.tute a line. The essays thus supply a link between Leibniz's earliest theological reflections and his later metaphysics. Intriguingly, they also hint at the study of mathematical infinitesimals that would soon lead him to his epochal discovery of the calculus.

The essays also offer some frankly bizarre speculations in physics. ”Bubbles are the seeds of everything,” the young scholar confidently maintains. Water is a ma.s.s of countless bubbles, he adds; and air is nothing but rarefied water. And what of the earth? ”There can be no doubt that it, too, is made entirely of bubbles, for the basis of earth is gla.s.s, gla.s.s in a thick bubble.”

The immediate aim of the essays was to inject its author into controversies raging between some of the major powers of the intellectual world of the time. The philosophy of motion was the site of a battle among such t.i.tans as Christiaan Huygens, Christopher Wren, and the ghost of Descartes. Leibniz's goal in drawing attention to himself in this way, in fact, was to secure members.h.i.+p in either the Royal Society of London, the Royal Academy of Paris, or both. Making little effort to disguise his ambition, he dedicated one essay apiece to each of those august bodies.

For those who had as yet no reason to be interested in Leibniz's personal philosophical development, unfortunately, his essays were mainly a source of bafflement. Leibniz showed some facility in his criticisms of Descartes, but his discussion otherwise suggested that his attempt to throw himself into the deep end of contemporary debates was premature. The English mathematician John Wallis offered a favorable review of the essays, but the cantankerous Robert Hooke was scathing about the ”little work.” Then as now, the consensus was that the less said about the bubble theory of the world, the better. A later critic described Leibniz's early essays on physics as the product of ”proud ignorance.” In his eagerness to establish his reputation among the members of the Royal Society, it seems that Leibniz ruffled a few too many feathers, the disastrous consequences of which would unfold several decades later in the dispute with Newton over the calculus.

THE IMMENSE AND variegated tableau of Leibniz's philosophy of philosophy came together in a letter he addressed to his future employer, Duke Johann Friedrich of Hanover, in the autumn of 1671. Johann Friedrich was the runt of the House of Brunswick. According to his mother, he was ”horrifyingly fat, and much shorter than the others.” Indeed, he was reportedly so obese that he rarely moved, and often preferred to rule his fiefdom from his well-appointed bed. On a journey to Italy that he had taken in the long, slow years before coming to power, he had converted to Catholicism. To the consternation of his family and peers, his conversion seemed to be motivated by a sincere belief in the truth of his new religion. He always had a soft spot for spiritual affairs, for philosophical speculation, and, more to the point, for Leibniz himself. The young philosopher pinned many of his hopes for future success on the pliable duke. variegated tableau of Leibniz's philosophy of philosophy came together in a letter he addressed to his future employer, Duke Johann Friedrich of Hanover, in the autumn of 1671. Johann Friedrich was the runt of the House of Brunswick. According to his mother, he was ”horrifyingly fat, and much shorter than the others.” Indeed, he was reportedly so obese that he rarely moved, and often preferred to rule his fiefdom from his well-appointed bed. On a journey to Italy that he had taken in the long, slow years before coming to power, he had converted to Catholicism. To the consternation of his family and peers, his conversion seemed to be motivated by a sincere belief in the truth of his new religion. He always had a soft spot for spiritual affairs, for philosophical speculation, and, more to the point, for Leibniz himself. The young philosopher pinned many of his hopes for future success on the pliable duke.

In the first pages of his October letter, Leibniz informed Johann Friedrich of his own princ.i.p.al achievements thus far in life, among which he numbered:

*The universal characteristic. If he is able to realize this idea, he says here, it will be the ”mother of all my inventions.”

*The philosophy of motion. ”In natural philosophy, I am the first perhaps to have demonstrated completely that...there is a vacuum, not by experiments, but by geometrical demonstrations, for I have proved some propositions on the nature of motion that no one else has thought of before.... A scholar from Italy wrote me that he had neveryet seen any hypotheses that contented him more. From England I have received some quite favorable reviews.”

*Mathematics and mechanics. ”I have discovered some things that...should be esteemed of no little importance.” He refers here to an idea he has for building a calculating machine, one capable of performing basic arithmetical functions. He also proposes a similar calculator for trigonometric functions.

*Optics. He lists three ideas: a ”pandochal” lens, a ”catadioptric” tube, and a surveying instrument able to measure distances from a single point. All of these, he says, have hitherto been ”attempted in vain” by others.

*The problem of longitude. He says he has the idea for a solution to the problem of determining the longitude of s.h.i.+ps at sea. If his experiments are not stopped, he warns, his method will shortly prove to be ”the most accurate and universal of all those we now have.”

*Submarines. He says he has ”rest.i.tuted” the idea behind the invention first attributed to Cornelius van Drebbel and described by the priest Marin Mersenne, for a vessel capable of traveling under the surface of the sea.

*Pneumatics. He has designed a machine capable of compressing air to 1,000 atmospheres-levels ”for which hitherto there is nothing in the world to compare”-for possible use as an engine in s.h.i.+ps or carriages.

*Moral philosophy and jurisprudence. His essay Elementa Iuris Naturalae Elementa Iuris Naturalae (Elements of Natural Justice) is a ”brief” work, he concedes, but ”of such clarity and pithiness” that it has already exerted a profound influence on contemporary jurisprudence. (Elements of Natural Justice) is a ”brief” work, he concedes, but ”of such clarity and pithiness” that it has already exerted a profound influence on contemporary jurisprudence.

*Natural theology. He has demonstrated that ”there must be an ultimate reason for things or for the universal harmony, which is G.o.d” furthermore, he has adduced proofs that G.o.d is not the cause of sin, that punishment for sins is part of universal harmony, and that the mind is incorporeal; plus, he has solved the mind-body problem.

*Revealed theology. He has defended the ”mysteries” of the church-such as transubstantiation-against the ”insults of un-believers and atheists.”

There can be no doubt that Leibniz was a universal genius-perhaps the last such genius in modern history. ”In the same way that the ancients could manage eight horses simultaneously,” said Fontenelle in his eulogy for the great thinker, ”Leibniz could manage all the sciences simultaneously.” Still, it would not be unkind to wonder whether the twenty-five-year-old who wrote this letter had perhaps a few too many horses in the race. Of all the world-beating inventions mentioned in his list, only one-the arithmetical calculating machine-later achieved any degree of physical reality. The rest went the way of most brilliant ideas. The lavish self-praise that characterizes the letter raises a quandary, too. Did Leibniz really believe that the English were head over heels for his allegedly groundbreaking physics? That he was, moreover, on the verge of cracking the centuries-old problem of longitude, not to mention that he already had the mind-body problem in the bag? Or was he just throwing everything he had at the Duke in a desperate hope that something would stick?

Fontenelle, as it turns out, was wrong only in the detail: the number of projects that Leibniz managed simultaneously was almost always an order of magnitude greater than eight. When an idea flared in his kinetic mind, he would grab it like a torch and run until the next bright light caught his eye, and then he would add that one to the bundle in his arms, too, dropping a few others in his haste and so leaving behind a trail of smoldering visions. In the 120 volumes' worth of material in the Leibniz archives, there are without doubt hundreds of sparkling inventions that have yet to be catalogued, let alone realized. He wrote about everything, to everybody, all the time. If Spinoza was the quintessential monomaniac-ruthlessly compressing a lifetime of insights into a single, adamantine volume-then Leibniz may be aptly described as an ”omnimaniac.”

There was in Leibniz a limitless energy, an enthusiasm for all things, and an almost desperate love of life that can only evoke wonder and admiration; but there was a certain recklessness, too, and maybe even an odd lack of seriousness. Though Leibniz's achievements in life were extraordinary by any measure, they were meager indeed in comparison with his plans. As he confessed to one of his later correspondents, ”I can suggest much to others, but cannot alone execute all that occurs to me; and I would gladly give to others the fame of many of my inventions, if only the public welfare, the good of the race and the glory of G.o.d might thereby be promoted.”

The epistle to Johann Friedrich does not end with the swollen list of the young Leibniz's intellectual triumphs. After summarizing his real or intended contributions to the sciences, the philosopher-diplomat turns to his work in politics. It is evident that the buildup of French armies will end badly, he tells the Duke. He foresees a ”universal war” in which 100,000 men will die. But, praise G.o.d, he continues, he has devised a plan. He presents the essentials of the idea for a new holy war.

He intends to go to Paris to promote the plan, he says, and he is confident that the doors of the French capital will swing wide open before his advance. Louis XIV's all-powerful first minister, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, has expressed interest in his calculating machine; and he believes he can introduce himself to the Marquis de Pomponne, the secretary of state, on the strength of his ties with Pomponne's uncle, the great Arnauld.

At last, in the closing paragraphs of the letter, Leibniz gets to the point-for, whenever he wrote to the Duke of Hanover about his many achievements, there was always a point. He wants letters of introduction from the Duke to notables in Paris, especially people of the kind who may wish to ”encourage through pensions” talented young men of learning-men such as Leibniz himself. For, he sees ”no better opportunity” for advancing his scientific work than in journeying to Paris.

The Egypt Plan, as it turns out, is a brilliant means with which to further Leibniz's philosophical career. Paris, Leibniz gushes, ”is the most knowledgeable and powerful city in the universe.” It is the capital of the international republic of letters, home to the likes of Antoine Arnauld, Christiaan Huygens, and Nicolas Malebranche. Paris will provide the young courtier the opportunity to meet with and work alongside the great scientists and philosophers of his time. Just as important, it will allow him the opportunity to acquire t.i.tles, awards, and society members.h.i.+ps; it will thrust him on to the brightly lit stage of world history. If the feeling of vanitas vanitas that Spinoza describes in his earliest treatise has an opposite, it would have to be the sense of fervid antic.i.p.ation with which the young Leibniz beheld the distant, tantalizing glitter of the City of Light. that Spinoza describes in his earliest treatise has an opposite, it would have to be the sense of fervid antic.i.p.ation with which the young Leibniz beheld the distant, tantalizing glitter of the City of Light.

Of course, it may seem strange that one of the two greatest thinkers of the seventeenth century should have made use of a proposal for a new holy war as a means to advance his philosophical career. But this rather unlikely circ.u.mstance may also serve as testimony to Leibniz's heroic skills as a universal mediator. In the eyes of William the Peacemaker, the Egypt Plan solved all the world's problems at a stroke: it solved the problem of German security, the problem of Europe's future as a Christian republic, the problem of Egypt (inasmuch as those Egyptians who weren't killed in the process would become Christians), and, mirabile dictu mirabile dictu, it solved the problem of Leibniz, too. This would be far from the last time that the philosopher discovered, to his delight, such an unexpected but highly convenient concordance between the general good and his personal ambition. There is no reason to doubt, furthermore, that, as he labored to enact his bold plan to remake the Middle East and conquer the world of learning in one fell swoop, Leibniz remained convinced that the whole, multifarious operation was just one more proof of the ”elegance and harmony of the world.”

LEIBNIZ'S PHILOSOPHY WAS not yet fully formed; but his philosophy of philosophy-the att.i.tude and approach he took to philosophy-was all in place by the time he turned twenty-five. The primary goal of contributing to the general good; the commitment to the chief good of defending the theocratic status quo (or, better, in view of the reunion project: the status quo not yet fully formed; but his philosophy of philosophy-the att.i.tude and approach he took to philosophy-was all in place by the time he turned twenty-five. The primary goal of contributing to the general good; the commitment to the chief good of defending the theocratic status quo (or, better, in view of the reunion project: the status quo ante ante); the altruism or other-orientation of his work, in both form and content; the perception of philosophy as a scene; the aspiration to thrust oneself on to center stage, to become the great conciliator of all thought; the emphasis on the utility of philosophical doctrines over and above their truth; the deconstructive approach to modern philosophy; the identification of philosophical merit with the rewards and recognition offered by the established authorities of the intellectual world; and the omnimania-all of this was present in Leibniz's earliest philosophical exercises, and all would remain with him throughout his long career.

Already evident, too, was the unexpectedly modern cast of Leibniz's mind. Notwithstanding the medievalism inherent in his ecclesiastical project, the young philosopher had already signaled the commitments to a form of humanism, the welfare state, and the primacy of reason that would link his thought to modernity. Even more telling, perhaps, the pragmatism-perhaps one may even call it relativism-that seems to underlie his approach to philosophy renders him more a figure of the present than of the past. ”We must always adapt ourselves to the world,” Leibniz once said, ”for the world will not adapt itself to us.” In the political ideal that he advocated, reason may have been the basis for empire; but in the real world in which he lived and acted, as Leibniz amply demonstrated in his practice, reason was just one more expression of power, and ”the good” was just another name for ”the useful.”

Shadowing Leibniz from the start, too, were some of the question marks that inevitably arise over one who adopts such a quasi-modern approach to philosophy: the concern that in his relentless pursuit of the good, he perhaps lost sight of the truth; and the suspicion that in his failure to distinguish clearly between the general good and his personal interests, he perhaps confused the two.

The contrast with Spinoza, as always, seems definitive. There can be little doubt about the firmness of the convictions that motivated Spinoza's monomaniacal quest. In his case, the enigma lies rather in their source. How could he be so sure? Leibniz, on the other hand, presents us with a very different puzzle. In attempting to synthesize irreconcilable positions, in cavalierly defending doctrines to which he himself most likely did not adhere, and in spreading his attentions on all things so thinly as to seem superficial, he begs the question that troubled the villagers and n.o.bles of Hanover alike: Did he believe in anything at all?

And so it is all the more curious that, at the very time that he was polis.h.i.+ng up the Egypt Plan and burnis.h.i.+ng his credentials as the in-house philosopher for a reunited Christian church-indeed, in the same month that he produced his lengthy self-a.n.a.lysis for the benefit of the Duke of Hanover-Leibniz made his first, secret contact with the philosopher of The Hague. But in order to make sense of his bewildering behavior in that regard and its many implications and ramifications, it is necessary first to catch up with Spinoza and the storm he had just unleashed on the republic of letters-a tempest of ideas that was to transform forever the landscape of the same world that the young man from Leipzig intended to conquer.

6.

The Hero of the People Tommaso Aniello, an Amalfi fisherman, left this earth at the age of twenty-six in a strange and violent blaze of glory over ten hot days in the summer of 1647. Naples at the time was a dominion of the Spanish crown, which ruled the city with its customary blend of avarice, brutality, and incompetence. That spring the Spaniards had imposed a new tax on fruit, thus adding to the citizens' long list of grievances. On July 7, the fruit vendors rioted, the police fled under a hail of oranges, and the people arose in rebellion.

Masaniello, as the young fisherman came to be known, rowed his boat ash.o.r.e and a.s.sumed leaders.h.i.+p of the uprising. With his fis.h.i.+ng net strung over his shoulder, he marched the rabble into the town palace and put their demands before the Spanish viceroy. For six days in that steamy July, Masaniello and his people's liberation army ruled the streets of Naples. From a wooden pavilion outside his home, the rebel fisherman held court, issuing edicts on behalf of the oppressed people of the city and dispensing justice to the friends and enemies of the revolution. On the seventh day, through the mediation of the Vatican, the captive viceroy signed a truce, according to which Masaniello would a.s.sume the magnificent t.i.tle of Captain-General and his followers would get the tax relief they sought.

The events of the next three days were lost in the haze of revolution. Some said that the young fisherman, overwhelmed by his sudden rise to prominence, succ.u.mbed to his own megalomaniacal fantasies; others said that the viceroy poisoned his drink; others that he was betrayed by his own followers. Whatever the case, on July 16, nine days after the winds of fortune swept him from his fis.h.i.+ng boat to the people's pavilion, Masaniello was murdered in front of a church. The rougher elements of the mob hacked off his head, affixed it to the end of a lance, and presented it to the viceroy as a trophy.

A few days later, the people of the city suffered remorse for the foul deed. They put the slain hero's body parts back together again and interred him with great pomp.