## 1.The Linguistic Transition



Tracing the development of consciousness in the early modern period is
complicated by the fact that both Latin and French, the two primary
languages in which philosophy was written, have a single term that
could mean either (a) moral conscience, or (b) consciousness. For
Latin, the term is *conscientia*; in French it is
*conscience*. (The verb and adjective forms are similarly
ambiguous.) These terms were used with both of their major senses
(along with other minor senses) in the seventeenth century, and so any
interpretation of the important texts will have to be sensitive to
this potential ambiguity.



But, more importantly, the underlying reason for this ambiguity is due
to the shift in meaning that was taking place during the seventeenth
century. *Conscientia* and *conscience*, both of which
primarily signified a moral conscience prior to the seventeenth
century, were now taking on a new, purely psychological, meaning. And
the philosophers of this period were among the main figures
influencing this shift in meaning. 



Things aren't any easier for philosophy written in English or
German, both of which *do* have a linguistic means of
distinguishing the two concepts. The English term
"consciousness" first became widely used in the
seventeenth century to mark out this new concept; the German term
"Bewusstsein" was coined in the early eighteenth century
(the German word for conscience is "Gewissen"). But even
with a new word to identify the concept, the English and German terms
had multiple shades of meaning. By 1727, we find an English text
defining consciousness as:



> 
> 
> (a) "The reflex Act, by which a Man knows his Thoughts to be his
> own Thoughts," (b) "the Direct Act of Thinking; or (which
> is of the same Import;) simple Sensation," or (c) "the
> Power of Self-motion, or of beginning of Motion by the Will"
> (quoted in Thiel 1991, p. 80).
> 
> 
> 



So, when reading English philosophical texts it is a tricky matter
assigning a meaning or analysis to the term. But, of course, this is
true to the nature of the problem. Philosophers of the seventeenth
century were sketching out a concept that remains problematic to this
day. In today's discussions of consciousness, it is fairly
common to mark out even further distinctions to identify which aspect
of the problem one is addressing (creature consciousness, state
consciousness, phenomenal consciousness, access consciousness, etc.).
While some have used these later terms to make
sense of what seventeenth-century philosophers are attempting to
articulate in their theories, these
finer-grained concepts will be for the most part left to today's philosophers. This entry will instead see
what sense can be made from the seventeenth-century philosophers' own attempts at providing a coherent
analysis of consciousness.



(For a helpful survey of linguistic history the Latin term
*conscientia* prior to the seventeenth century, see Hennig
2007, pp. 466-481. For the transition in seventeenth century
French, see G. Lewis 1950, pp. 111-114. For an account of the
introduction of the philosophical term in English, see Thiel 1991. For
a more literary account of the different senses of the terms in Latin
and Greek, see C.S. Lewis 1960.)



**The Story**. It will be helpful to sketch the narrative arc
before becoming immersed in the details of individual systems. There
are two significant shifts that will emerge in the discussion below.
The first is the one I've already indicated: the transition from
moral conscience to a purely psychological concept of
consciousness--a move from shared knowledge to a notion of
consciousness as what is privately introspectable. This starts with
Descartes and, in England, with the Cambridge Platonists. While this
is certainly a major development, the central concept remains largely
unanalyzed. The second shift occurs later in the seventeenth century,
when philosophers start to see consciousness as *itself*
something to be explained. This latter transition begins with the
Cartesian philosophers who say more about the nature of consciousness
in their development of Descartes's system and in order to avoid
some of the objections raised against it. But for the most part these
Cartesians remained committed to consciousness as a fundamental
property of the mind, a "mark of the mental." Leibniz
completes this second transition by arguing that consciousness
*cannot* be a mark of the mental. He develops an account of
mental representation and provides an analysis of consciousness *in
terms of* mental representations, arguing that this results in a
fully natural explanation for something that was otherwise mysterious.
This represents the start of an explanatory project that continues to
this day: can consciousness be explained in terms of something more
fundamental?


## 2. Descartes and the Cartesians



A history of consciousness, in its modern sense, properly starts with
Descartes. While it is true that some ancient and medieval
philosophers prefigured some aspects of the modern concept of
consciousness (see Heinamaa, *et al*. 2007), a significant
shift took place in the seventeenth century, and starting with
Descartes in particular, that corresponds with the linguistic shift
describe above. So, it is worth asking what it is about
Descartes's project that gave rise to a new way of thinking
about *conscientia*.


### 2.1 Descartes on Consciousness



In the Geometric Exposition following the second set of replies to the
*Meditations on First Philosophy* (1641), Descartes defines
*thought* in the following way:



> 
> 
> *Thought*. I use this term to include everything that is within
> us in such a way that we are immediately aware [*conscii*] of
> it. Thus all the operations of the will, the intellect, the
> imagination and the senses are thoughts. I say
> 'immediately' so as to exclude the consequences of
> thoughts; a voluntary movement, for example, originates in a thought.
> (CSM II 113 / AT VII 160; cf. *Principles of Philosophy* Part
> I, SS9 / AT VIIIA 7-8)
> 
> 
> 



Here, in 1641, we have Descartes defining *thought* in terms of
*consciousness*--a thought is something "in
us" of which we are conscious. 



There are obvious problems from the start. In what way am I conscious
of *my thoughts*? It seems, rather, that I am conscious of
*what my thoughts represent*. Descartes was well aware of the
distinction between *a thought* and *the object of
thought*, and he made use of two technical terms to mark out this
distinction. Descartes distinguished between the *form* of
thought, which he calls *idea*:



> 
> 
> *Idea*. I understand the term to mean the form of any given
> thought, immediate perception of which makes me aware
> [*conscius*] of the thought. (CSM II 113 / AT VII 160)
> 
> 
> 



Notice the similar reflective aspect of this: it is the *perception
of an idea* that makes me conscious of the thought. But the idea
is simply the *form* of the thought itself. The *object*
of thought is whatever is represented by the thought. And so,
Descartes defines the "objective reality of an idea" as
"the being of the thing which is represented by an idea insofar
as it exists in the idea.... For whatever we perceive as being in
the objects of our ideas exists objectively <*or by
representation*> in the ideas themselves" (CSM II 113 /
AT VII 160). 



And so, as a first pass, it seems that consciousness for Descartes
entails a perception (that has some content) and a second reflective
act by which I am aware of the first perception. It seems that the
reflective aspect of consciousness does remain as a part of
Descartes's account of consciousness, but we'll see that
it's less clear just what exactly the "second reflective
act" is. But it is also the case that Descartes isn't so
interested in an analysis of consciousness as such. *We* might
be looking for an analysis of consciousness; Descartes is not. For
Descartes, consciousness is taken as given.



To see the trajectory from earlier theories of mind, it will be
helpful simply to see that, in the *cogito* argument of the
First and Second Meditations, Descartes sees reason to doubt all
features of his mind *other than* what is consciously available
to him. And even then, his conscious thoughts serve only as evidence
of his own existence--they don't give any further evidence
that what they represent about things *external to him* either
exist at all or exist as represented by the idea in his mind. And so
consciousness implicitly becomes, for Descartes, the "mark of
the mental" and any further development of theories of mind
along these lines will have to consider the role of consciousness in
the mental economy.



The *role* of consciousness, for Descartes, is primarily
epistemic--it makes certain things available to the mind. Three
particular aspects of this come to the fore in the
*Meditations*:


1. **Transparency of the Mental:** All of my thoughts
are *evident* to me (I am aware of all of my thoughts), and my
thoughts are *incorrigible* (I can't be mistaken about
whether I have a particular
 thought).[1]
2. **Reflection:** Any thought necessarily involves
knowledge of
 myself.[2]
3. **Intentionality:** My thoughts come to me *as
if* representing
 something.[3]



Each of these emerge as necessary planks of Descartes's argument
in the *Meditations*. By simply having a thought (e.g.,
"I am doubting") I know that I am having a thought and
that this necessarily entails that I exist. This inference depends on
the transparency of the mental and a reflective act (which Descartes
further emphasizes in the Third Meditation, CSM II 34 / AT VII 49).
Further, the intentionality of thought is part of what allows the
meditator to infer that he is not alone in the world--he has a
thought of an infinitely perfect being, and he has other thoughts of
material objects. From this material--the thoughts and what they
appear to represent--he is able to infer that God and the
material world do in fact exist.



Do these three factors provide us with a full analysis of
consciousness? Not entirely. But when pressed to defend these three
aspects of the mind, he gives us more material from which we may infer
an account of consciousness. For example, Antoine Arnauld, in the
Fourth Set of Objections, raises the following problem for
Descartes:



> 
> 
> The author lays it down as certain that there can be nothing in him,
> in so far as he is a thinking thing, of which he is not aware
> [*conscius*], but it seems to me that this is false. For by
> 'himself, in so far as he is a thinking thing,' he means
> simply his mind, in so far as it is distinct from his body. But all of
> us can surely see that there may be many things in our mind of which
> the mind is not aware [*conscius*]. The mind of an infant in
> its mother's womb has the power of thought, but is not aware
> [*conscius*] of it. And there are countless similar examples,
> which I will pass over. (CSM II 150 / AT VII 214)
> 
> 
> 



Arnauld is objecting here to the transparency thesis--there are
countless examples, he thinks, of thoughts of which the thinker is not
conscious (a *very* interesting admission!). How does Descartes
respond?



> 
> 
> As to the fact that there can be nothing in the mind, in so far as it
> is a thinking thing, of which it is not aware [*conscius*],
> this seems to me to be self-evident. For there is nothing that we can
> understand to be in the mind, regarded in this way, that is not a
> thought or dependent on a thought. If it were not a thought or
> dependent on a thought it would not belong to the mind *qua*
> thinking thing; and we cannot have any thought of which we are not
> aware [*conscius*] at the very moment when it is in us. In view
> of this I do not doubt that the mind begins to think as soon as it is
> implanted in the body of an infant, and that it is immediately aware
> [*conscius*] of its thoughts, even though it does not remember
> this afterwards because the impressions of these thoughts do not
> remain in the memory. (CSM II 171-172 / AT VII 246)
> 
> 
> 



The possible evidence against the transparency thesis, namely, the
baby in the womb, does not tell against it, since failing to
*remember* having a conscious thought does not entail that one
*did not* have a conscious thought. But this answer, as a
defense of the transparency thesis, raises a problem for reflection.
If reflection is necessarily involved in consciousness, for Descartes,
then is he here granting that even a fetus can reflect?



Descartes appears to resist this in his later correspondence with
Arnauld. Arnauld distinguishes "simple reflection" from
"express reflection," and argues that although
"simple reflection" is "intrinsic to all
thought," it is distinct from the sort of reflection necessary
for intellectual memory and understanding. Descartes responds with his
own distinction:



> 
> 
> [W]e make a distinction between direct and reflective thoughts
> corresponding to the distinction between direct and reflective
> vision.... I call the first and simple thoughts of infants direct
> and not reflective.... But when an adult feels [*sentio*]
> something, and simultaneously perceives that he has not felt it before
> [i.e., it involves intellectual memory], I call this second perception
> reflection, and attribute it to the intellect alone, in spite of its
> being so linked to sensation that the two occur together and appear to
> be indistinguishable from each other. (CSM III 357 / AT V
> 220-221)
> 
> 
> 



Arnauld, however, preserves this distinction *in terms of
reflection*. According to Arnauld, 



> 
> 
> [O]ur *thought* or *perception* is essentially
> reflective upon itself: or, as it is said rather better in Latin,
> *est sui conscia*. For I do not think without knowing that I
> think. I do not know a square without knowing that I know it. (Arnauld
> 71)
> 
> 
> 



This reflection that is essential to any thought, however, does not
involve a second order perception. Each thought, according to Arnauld,
has reflection *built into it*--a representation of the
*subject* of thought is an essential part of the content of
each thought. This is what he calls "simple" or
"virtual reflection" to distinguish it from the sort of
reflection that is a result of the subject focusing her attention on
some other thought, which *does* require a second-order thought
taking the lower-order thought as its object. (See Nadler 1989,
118-22 for discussion of this.)



Although Descartes resists attributing reflection, even
*simple* reflection, to infants, Arnauld's distinction is
in line with Descartes's response to another of his objectors.
Pierre Bourdin attempts to raise problems for Descartes on the
supposition that consciousness requires a distinct reflective
thought:



> 
> 
> By "thinking" you may mean that you understand and will
> and imagine and have sensations, and that you think in such a way that
> you can contemplate and consider your thought by a reflexive act. This
> would mean that when you think, you know and consider that you are
> thinking (and this is really what it is to be conscious [*conscius
> esse*] and to have conscious awareness [*conscientia*] of
> some activity). Such consciousness, you claim, is a property of a
> faculty or thing that is superior to matter and is wholly spiritual,
> and it is in this sense that you are a mind or a spirit. (CSM II 364 /
> AT VII 533-534)
> 
> 
> 



Descartes denies this inference:



> 
> 
> My critic says that to enable a substance to be superior to matter and
> wholly spiritual..., it is not sufficient for it to think: it is
> further required that it should think that it is thinking, by means of
> a reflexive act, or that it should have awareness
> [*conscientia*] of its own thought. This
> is...deluded.... [T]he initial thought by means of which we
> become aware [*adverto*] of something does not differ from the
> second thought by means of which we become aware that we were aware of
> it [*per quam advertimus nos istud prius advertisse*], any more
> than this second thought differs from the third thought by means of
> which we become aware that we were aware that we were aware. (CSM II
> 382 / AT VII 559)
> 
> 
> 



Descartes does not here *deny* that reflection is necessary for
consciousness. Rather, he is denying that reflection requires a
*distinct thought*. (Note, however, the shift in tense,
"...we become aware that we *were*
aware...," which casts doubt on whether these could be
identical thoughts. More on this below.)



And so, in response to these objections Descartes gives us some
refinements on his account of consciousness. Consciousness, for
Descartes, is an intrinsic property of all thoughts (even of the
thoughts of infants) by which the subject becomes aware of the thought
itself. While this involves reflection, the reflective thought is not
distinct from the initial thought itself.



The adjustments Descartes makes in his claims about consciousness have
led some scholars to conclude that Descartes doesn't have a
single account of consciousness. Rather, he is working with multiple
distinct notions of consciousness (see Radner 1988,
Lahteenmaki 2007, and Simmons 2012). Whether or not he would
have been aware of this is unclear.



**Summary**. Descartes provides one of the first purely
psychological uses of the concept of consciousness when he defines
thought in terms of consciousness. However, he does not provide an
analysis of the concept. Rather, he *employs* the concept in a
way that grounds his epistemic claims in the *Meditations*, for
example. But the ways in which he employs the concept is suggestive of
an analysis: a conscious thought is a mental state that is somehow
self-intimating. And all thoughts, according to Descartes, have this
basic property.



This sketch of an analysis was bequeathed to Descartes's
disciples, who argued over how best to understand consciousness. It is
clear that Descartes's project gives a central role to
consciousness, but Descartes nowhere gives us an analysis of this
basic concept. Is there anything about consciousness *as such*
that allows it to play this central role?



(For more on the topic of consciousness and the related topics of
transparency of the mental, representation, and reflection in
Descartes, see Alanen 2003, Broughton 2008, Hennig 2007,
Lahteenmaki 2007, McRae 1972, Radner 1988, Rozemond 2006,
Simmons 2012, and Wilson 1978. Interpretations of Descartes's
account of consciousness differ significantly. Hennig, for example,
argues that Descartes is *not* in fact using the term
*conscientia* in a new way. Simmons, on the other hand, argues
that Descartes has the resources for a nuanced account of
consciousness, allowing for a wide variety of psychological
phenomena.)


### 2.2 In the Aftermath of Descartes



Three main threads of a psychological sense of *conscience*
emerge from this sketch of Descartes's views, and they
immediately generate philosophical controversy. 


1. **Consciousness makes thoughts *transparent* to the
mind:** Are we aware of all our thoughts? When we are aware of
having a thought, can we doubt that we are having that thought?
2. **Consciousness involves *reflection*.** Is
consciousness essentially constituted by a perception distinct from
the original perception? Does consciousness necessarily involve memory
or reflection? Is all consciousness a form of
*self*-consciousness?
3. **Conscious thought is *intentional*.** Are
all thoughts representational? What is the nature of intentionality
and what is its relation to consciousness?



Each of these three sets of questions were taken up and developed in
different directions by the philosophers that followed Descartes most
closely. The Cartesians, as they are called, were divided on each of
these issues, and these sets of questions continue with us in one form
or another to this day.


#### 2.2.1 Transparency



Many Cartesians followed Descartes in defining thought in terms of
consciousness. Louis de la Forge, who systematized Descartes's
account of the mind, defined thought in this way:



> 
> 
> Thought [is] that perception, consciousness [*conscience*], or
> inner knowledge which each one of us experiences directly in ourselves
> when we are aware of [*s'apercevoir de*] what we
> do or of what takes place in ourselves. (La Forge 39)
> 
> 
> 



And later,



> 
> 
> [T]he nature of thought consists [in] that consciousness
> [*conscience*], testimony [*temoignage*] and
> inner sensation [*sentiment interieur*] by which the mind is
> aware [*averti*] of everything it does or suffers and, in
> general, of everything which takes place immediately in itself at the
> same time as it acts or is acted on. (La Forge 57, translation
> altered)
> 
> 
> 



Note that here La Forge elaborates on Descartes's definition. He
treats these terms as equivalent: perception, consciousness,
testimony, inner sensation. Descartes does not describe consciousness
in terms of *sentiment*, and this addition raises important
questions--is consciousness simply a kind of sensation? Is it to
interior perception what our senses of sight, sound, taste, etc. are
to the perception of external things? Or is it different in kind?



Malebranche follows La Forge in this identification. In *The Search
after Truth*, Malebranche uses "consciousness"
(*conscience*) and "inner sensation" (*sentiment
interieur*) interchangeably. (See, for example, Book III, Part 2,
Chapter 7, *Search* 236-239.) Later, he defines thought
in a way that closely models La Forge's definition: 



> 
> 
> [B]y the words *thought*, *mode of thinking*, or
> *modification of the soul*, I generally understand all those
> things that cannot be in the soul without the soul being aware of them
> through the inner sensation it has of itself. (*Search*
> 218)
> 
> 
> 



(Schmaltz argues that Malebranche was strongly influenced by La Forge
in his argument here. See Schmaltz 1996, 16ff.) 



Thus, La Forge and Malebranche continue Descartes's commitment
to transparency. However, the shift to "interior sense" is
an important shift, since it marks a shift in the *content* of
what is transparent to the mind, especially concerning the
mind's own nature. Malebranche famously denied Descartes's
claim that the mind is better known than the body. This is due to the
fact that, although we know body confusedly through our sensations of
the external world, we nevertheless have knowledge of the nature of
body. (I'll leave aside Malebranche's complicated story of
how we come to have that knowledge.) But, in the case of the mind, all
we have is the internal sense of the mind--we do not know the
nature of the mind since we have no such concept. Malebranche
says:



> 
> 
> It is true that we know well enough through our consciousness, or the
> inner sensation that we have of ourselves, that our soul is something
> of importance. But what we know of it might be almost nothing compared
> to **what it is in itself**. (*Search* 238)
> 
> 
> 



He later gives an explanation of why we have knowledge of bodies
through the ideas of bodies, but not so for the soul:



> 
> 
> The knowledge that we have of our soul through consciousness is
> imperfect, granted; but it is not false. On the other hand, that
> knowledge that we have of bodies through sensation or consciousness,
> if the confused sensation we have of what takes place in our body can
> be called consciousness, is not only imperfect, but also false. We
> therefore need an idea of the body to correct our sensations of
> it--but we need no idea of our soul, since our consciousness of
> it does not involve us in error.... (*Search* 239)
> 
> 
> 



Thus, consciousness, as *internal* sensation, gives us
imperfect knowledge of the soul, but it is knowledge that is
sufficient for all practical (and, importantly for Malebranche,
theological) purposes. 



So, the subtle shift in the meaning of consciousness to
"internal sensation" places some limits on what can be
known about the mind by means of consciousness. One can be aware
*that* one is thinking, but this does not give us a clear idea
of the soul. It is not *self*-knowledge of the same sort. But
note also the other shift that this entails--marked by
Malebranche's qualification in the passage above. The sensation
of external objects may not be (properly speaking) consciousness.
Consciousness is an *interior* phenomenon, a sensation of what
is going on *in* us, and so the visual perception of a red ball
can be called consciousness only in a derivative way. This leads us to
questions about reflection, taken up in the next thread.


#### 2.2.2 Reflection



As discussed above, already in the Seventh Objections to the
*Meditations*, the objection was raised that consciousness
appears to require a distinct reflective thought. Descartes denied the
inference, saying that



> 
> 
> [T]he initial thought by means of which we become aware of something
> does not differ from the second thought by means of which we become
> aware that we were aware of it, any more than this second thought
> differs from the third thought by means of which we become aware that
> we were aware that we were aware. (CSM II 382 / AT VII 559)
> 
> 
> 



Again, as noted above, Descartes's response here is not a denial
that reflection is necessary for consciousness--he denies that
reflection requires a *distinct* thought. La Forge and
Malebranche both follow Descartes in this denial (see Schmaltz 1996,
18).



But this passage is somewhat ambiguous. Here Descartes distinguishes
(1) becoming aware of something, which apparently requires only a
single thought, from (2) becoming aware that we were aware of
something. Apparently, first-order awareness does not require a
*reflective* act. And, while becoming aware that we were aware
of something does require a reflective act, it does not require a
distinct thought (and so the threatening regress is not problematic).
But it's not at all clear from this passage how the reflection
could be built in to the original thought, especially since there
appears to be a shift in tenses (the second awareness is temporally
posterior to the initial awareness).



Antoine Arnauld develops an account of reflection that incorporates
this distinction. The reflection that is essential to any thought does
not involve a second order perception. As noted above, Arnauld argued
that each thought has reflection *built into it*, although this
does not entail a second-order thought. Only *explicit*
reflection, where an individual focuses their attention on their own
thoughts, requires a second-order perception. (For more on
Arnauld's account, see Nadler 1989, 118-22.)



As Genevieve Lewis shows, this issue became a critical source
of debate in the later seventeenth century. She notes that
Pierre-Silvain Regis, in his defense of Cartesianism, commits
himself to some sort of reflective knowledge as a constitutive part of
consciousness. Regis, like Arnauld, reaches all the way back to
Augustine as a source for this doctrine, quoting Augustine's
claim that "it is necessary that [an animal] perceives
(*sentio*) that it does see when it sees" (Augustine 37,
quoted by Regis, *Systeme* I, 150) When conscious
of something, one "perceives that one perceives it." This
way of putting it was actually quite common as a way of describing the
psychological sense of consciousness--one not only *sees*
a red ball, but one also perceives *that* one perceives the red
ball. This sounds for all the world like a reflective act.



On the basis of this, one of the chief opponents to Cartesianism,
Pierre Daniel Huet, argues that the Cartesians are begging the
question. He argues,



> 
> 
> Every thought involves three things: the thinking mind, the thing
> placed before the thinking mind [*i.e., the* object *of
> thought*], and the action of the thinking mind on the thing placed
> before it. (Huet 82)
> 
> 
> 



Descartes, Huet contends, fails to distinguish these three things in
the *cogito* argument. When Descartes says *ego cogito*,
I am thinking, what is the object of thought? His own thought itself.
But, and here is the objection, this cannot be *the same
thought* as the original thought, "for if it were, the
action would be turned back upon itself, which is absurd and contrary
to the natural light so often invoked by Descartes" (83).
Nevertheless, this is the very response Descartes gives in his
response to Bourdin. Why does Huet think this is "absurd and
contrary"?



Huet goes on:



> 
> 
> [I]n order for me to think that I am thinking, two thoughts are
> needed, with one reflecting on the other--the later, current one
> on the previous, earlier one--so that in order for the first
> thought, by which the mind is aware, to be placed before the mind, the
> second thought, by which the mind is aware, is of the first thought.
> Or, in short, the first thought will be the end or object of the
> second; the second will be the action of the mind whereby it is
> directed to the first thought. But it is a contradiction that both
> should occur by a single action... (84)
> 
> 
> 



In his reply, Regis argues that this is precisely what is going
on. He argues that we have no need for distinct reflective ideas;
Descartes "perceives that he thinks by a single and simple idea,
which is known *through itself*" (Reponse 35; cf.
*Systeme* I, 150). And then he argues that if a second
act were necessary then an infinite regress would threaten, since in
order to be aware of the second thought one would need a third, and so
 on.[4]
 Huet sidesteps this objection with a response drawn from Aquinas:
"he [Aquinas] admits that thoughts will be multiplied *ad
infinitum* and that the mind is infinite--not in act, but in
potency" (Huet 86).



But underlying all of this is a further, important, difference between
Huet and the Cartesians. Huet argues that



> 
> 
> This expression [i.e., "*ego cogito*"] is
> defective, for it should be taken to mean, and to be worth as much as
> if I were to say, 'I am thinking that I was thinking.' For
> like the eyes, the human mind can attend to only one thing at a time.
> Thus, in order for me to think that I am thinking, two thoughts are
> needed.... (84)
> 
> 
> 



If Huet's phrase "the human mind can attend to only one
thing at a time" means that a we can think of only one thing at
a time, then the Cartesians will reject this premise. Indeed,
Descartes explicitly does so (see CSM III 335 / AT V 149). But
Regis responds by rejecting the premise that the eye sees only
one thing at a time, reinforcing the analogy between the mind and the
eye. He argues that if thought is to the mind as light is to the eye,
then when we see something, there are three distinct aspects of the
event: "the eye that sees, the action by which it sees, and the
object seen" (*Reponse* 35). Suppose now that we
say, "I see the light." Must we suppose that there must be
a second light illuminating first? No; we see the light *by
itself*. Similarly for thought--if Huet grants the analogy,
he "must conclude that [a thought] is known through
itself" (Reponse 36).



The result is that, for the Cartesians, a thought *can*
"turn back upon itself," which is what Huet finds absurd.
Huet's objection is that the Cartesians are illicitly smuggling
in the *subject* as an *object* of all thoughts. If so,
he argues, then this requires a second thought, which undermines the
*cogito* argument.



And so one of the crucial points of clarification for a
*theory* of consciousness is getting straight on whether
consciousness involves reflection, and, if so, whether that requires a
distinct reflective thought.


#### 2.2.3 Intentionality



These considerations of incorrigibility and reflection have
implications for the intentionality of thought. Antoine Dilly, another
Cartesian philosopher of the seventeenth century, will bring out some
of these points. In response to an argument by Ignace Gaston Pardies
in which Pardies defends a certain kind of knowledge in animals, Dilly
defends the Cartesian position. He writes (in 1676):



> 
> 
> To avoid falling into an equivocation concerning the word
> *reflection*, it is good to recognize that [a] we can sometimes
> reflect on what we do and [b] sometimes the first thought that we have
> is not only perceived, but when a second thought takes the first for
> its object it happens that we know its nature much better by this
> repeated inspection. This is even more so since the first thought
> principally renders its object present to the soul and by being sensed
> informs us of its [i.e., the thought's] presence. But this
> second thought has as its object only the first; it shows it to us as
> lively as the first shows us its object. Thus it should not be
> believed that each thought is followed by a second that makes it
> known, because the latter would have to have a third, and so on to
> infinity. But we are assured, being convinced by our own experience,
> that all thought is made sensible to the soul, not by any veritable
> return on itself, but directly and immediately merely by its presence:
> thus when I see, my vision makes sensible what is, without having need
> for any other thing. Each person can be much better convinced of this
> by consulting themselves.... (Dilly 116-118)
> 
> 
> 



There are two noteworthy elements here. First, Dilly repeats the
arguments we saw in Regis, advancing the view that thoughts are
known through themselves rather than requiring a distinct reflective
thought. Second, Dilly nevertheless characterizes our perception in
terms of reflection in order to preserve a sense in which the original
perception "informs us" of its presence (i.e., the
presence of the idea), by means of which we are aware of the object of
thought. This is the sort of awareness that Descartes and the
Cartesians have been working to preserve.



Dilly is developing this thought with an eye to dismissing what
Pardies describes as "corporeal knowledge." As Dilly
understands this, Pardies is saying that an animal can
*perceive* something without *perceiving that it
perceives*, contrary to the Augustinian slogan mentioned above.
That is to say, there may be a *representation* of the object
in the animal, but the animal is unaware of the object. Dilly
responds: 



> 
> 
> Is it conceivable that [a dog] is led to run to his master by a
> genuine knowledge that he has of him, without knowing that he
> perceives his master...? How could he identify this man from a
> hundred others that resemble him without perceiving that he sees him
> and is assured, from the inside, that it is him and not some other
> that he needs to go to for petting? And how does he do all of this
> without knowing that he does it? (122)
> 
> 
> 



Underlying Dilly's rhetorical questions about the dog in need of
a good petting is a thesis about intentionality. According to Dilly,
any attempt to demonstrate that animals have thought must consider how
the thought would enter into the passions and actions that the animal
is experiencing. It is not enough simply to develop an account of
perception by which the things around the animal are
*impressed* upon it. 



The implicit argument here is that there is no genuine
*representation* if there is no *awareness* of the
representation. Whatever a dog *qua* machine is acting on when
running to his master, it is not an internal representation of his
master that the dog acts on with purpose. The "corporeal
knowledge" would be nothing but connections or impressions of
one body on another--without an awareness *of* these
impressions and what they represent, they won't serve the
purposes of knowledge, sensation, action, or volition.



Dilly argues that intentionality requires awareness--a thought
does not represent an object unless there is a subject that is aware
of the representation. And so the consciousness of a thought is
conceptually prior to its intentionality, which is to say that
intentionality is simply a kind of
 consciousness.[5]
 But, as we will see, others will argue in the reverse direction.
Indeed, if a conscious thought is a representation of something
*plus* a reflective act, then it seems that the representation
is conceptually prior to consciousness. What is being worked out
during this period is what, exactly, the relation of consciousness,
representation, and thought really is. And this is something of
enduring
 interest.[6]



## 3. Spinoza



While many philosophers after Descartes took up the issues related to
consciousness left by Descartes, one possible exception is Spinoza. On
some interpretations, he doesn't have much to say at all about
 consciousness.[7]
 This is somewhat striking, given how much Spinoza had to say about
ideas and the mind. However, this may be a reflection of just how thin
Spinoza's attribute of thought really is, bringing together what
in Descartes were distinct concepts: will and intellect, judgment and
perception, and the like, developing a fully naturalized account of
the mind. And so it seems that, insofar as Spinoza has a theory of
consciousness, it will be explained in terms of some other more
fundamental feature of the mind.



Spinoza's theory of mind is a thoroughly
*representational* theory of mind. The mental consists simply
in representational content, for Spinoza. In *Ethics* 2p7, he
argues that "the order and connection of ideas is the same as
the order and connection of
 things,"[8]
 which is to say that for each extended object, there is a parallel
idea. This is called mind-body parallelism. From this Spinoza is able
to develop his theory of mind: "The first thing that constitutes
the actual being of a human mind is nothing but the idea of a singular
thing which actually exists" (2p11). Each mind is itself an idea
with a particular object--in the case of humans, the mind is the
idea of its body, and whatever happens in the body will be represented
in the mind (as he argues in 2p12 and 2p13). The mind is a particular
idea that represents a singular object, namely, the body that it is
parallel to. This is a fully representational theory of mind, and
anything else that can be inferred from the mind will have its
parallel in the body that it represents. (For more on Spinoza's
representational theory of mind, see Della Rocca 1996.)



So, of the three main threads discussed above, it seems that the
intentionality of thought is the primary pivot on which everything
else turns for Spinoza's theory of mind. There are suggestions
in Spinoza's *Ethics* that he thinks there are some
representations of which we are unaware. At the end of the
*Ethics*, Spinoza describes the "wise man" as the
one who is "conscious of himself, and of God, and of
things" (5p42s), the clear implication being that those who
aren't wise *fail* to be conscious of themselves, God, or
things, even if these things are present to mind through a mental
representation. And so, it seems that Spinoza needs an account of
consciousness that does not extend to every mental representation (or,
at the very least, not to the same degree).


### 3.1 Moral Consciousness



As the reference to the "wise man" above suggests,
Spinoza's primary use of the term "consciousness" is
moral, but he is making a significant departure from the older sense
of the term as "moral conscience." There is no inner
testimony that Spinoza thinks we should heed. Rather, he is focusing
our attention on how we *think* of ourselves as a part of the
natural order. He uses this concept to draw together his moral,
epistemological, and metaphysical projects.



It is significant that Spinoza rarely used the term
*conscientia* (in its various forms) in the *Ethics*,
and when he does it is almost exclusively in parts 3 through 5, where
Spinoza is considering the nature of specifically human affects and
bondage or freedom with respect to them. Indeed, the few times Spinoza
uses *conscientia* in Parts 1 and 2, he does so in a way that
points forward to its use in the later part of the
 *Ethics*.[9]



The proposition in which the term *conscientia* gets the widest
use is 3p9:



> 
> 
> P9: *Both insofar as the Mind has clear and distinct ideas, and
> insofar as it has confused ideas, it strives, for an indefinite
> duration, to persevere in its being and it is conscious of this
> striving it has.*
> 
> 
> 
> Dem.: ...since the Mind (by IIp23) is conscious of itself through
> ideas of the Body's affections, the Mind (by p7) is conscious of
> its striving.
> 
> 
> 
> Schol.: When this striving is related only to the Mind, it is called
> Will; but when it is related to the Mind and Body together, it is
> called Appetite. This Appetite, therefore, is nothing but the very
> essence of man, from whose nature there necessarily follow those
> things that promote his preservation. And so man is determined to do
> those things.
> 
> 
> 
> Between appetite and desire there is no difference, except that desire
> is generally related to men insofar as they are conscious of their
> appetite. So *desire* can be defined as *appetite together
> with consciousness of the appetite*.
> 
> 
> 



The "content" of consciousness--what it is we are
conscious *of* when we have a mental state with the form
articulated in 3p9, is best expressed by the following quotation from
the appendix to Part 1:



> 
> 
> [A]ll men are born ignorant of the causes of things, and...they
> all want to seek their own advantage, and are conscious of this
> appetite.
> 
> 
> 
> From these [assumptions] it follows, *first*, that men think
> themselves free, because they are conscious of their volitions and
> their appetite, and do not think, even in their dreams, of the causes
> by which they are disposed to wanting and willing, because they are
> ignorant of [those causes]. It follows, *secondly*, that men
> act always on account of an end, viz. on account of their advantage,
> which they want. 
> 
> 
> 



The transition Spinoza is attempting to effect in his readers is a
transition from *this* sort of consciousness--where we
falsely regard ourselves as free, we think of the world as having a
rich and extensive teleology, and we think of ourselves as agents
freely acting on purposes and ends--to *another* sort of
consciousness in which we know ourselves to be part of an
"eternal necessity" (5p42s). As Spinoza puts it:



> 
> 
> Therefore, the more each of us is able to achieve this kind of
> knowledge [i.e., the third kind of knowledge], the more he is
> conscious of himself and of God, i.e., the more perfect and blessed he
> is. (5p31s)
> 
> 
> 



And so the role of consciousness for Spinoza is primarily
moral--the moral transition is a transition in the content of our
consciousness. But, as already noted, this appears to require some
variation between what is strictly represented by the mind and the way
it appears to the mind in consciousness. To get at this difference,
we'll need to look more closely at the *form* of
consciousness for
 Spinoza.[10]



### 3.2 *Ideae Idearum*



At the beginning of the previous section, we noted that Spinoza rarely
uses the term *conscientia*, and when he does it is primarily
in parts 3 through 5. This claim, while true, is somewhat misleading.
Note that the quotation above from 3p9 refers us back to 2p23 for his
claims about consciousness. And again in 3p30d, 3def.aff1, and 4p8d
Spinoza refers us back to 2p23, 19, or 21. It seems clear that he
intends 2p19 through 23 to have some consequence for his theory of
consciousness, and so many commentators have tried to develop an
account of consciousness from what Spinoza says in that section of the
*Ethics*.



2p23 does not say anything about consciousness as such. Instead, it
describes the way the mind knows itself and the limits on the
mind's knowledge of itself. Here is what Spinoza says:



> 
> 
> P23: *The Mind does not know itself, except insofar as it perceives
> the ideas of the affections of the Body.*
> 
> 
> 
> Dem.: The idea, *or* knowledge of the mind (by P20) follows in
> God in the same way, and is related to God in the same way as the
> idea, *or* knowledge, of the body. But since (by P19) the human
> Mind does not know the human Body itself, i.e. (by P11C), since the
> knowledge of the human Body is not related to God insofar as he
> constitutes the nature of the human Mind, the knowledge of the Mind is
> also not related to God insofar as he constitutes the essence of the
> human Mind. And so (again by P11C) to that extent the human Mind does
> not know itself.
> 
> 
> 
> Next, the ideas of the affections by which the Body is affected
> involve the nature of the human Body itself (by P16), i.e. (by P13),
> agree with the nature of the Mind. So knowledge of these ideas will
> necessarily involve knowledge of the Mind. But (by P22) knowledge of
> these ideas is in the Mind itself. Therefore, the human Mind, to that
> extent only, knows itself, q.e.d.
> 
> 
> 



Many of the crucial phrases are ambiguous here, but as a first
attempt, we might say that Spinoza is arguing for the following
thesis:



> 
> 
> A mind has a conscious thought of *P* iff
> 
> 
> 1. the mind has an idea that represents its body being affected by
> *P*; and
> 2. the mind has a second idea representing the first to itself.
> 
> 
> 



This is one way to make sense of "perceiv[ing] the ideas of the
affections of the Body." Edwin Curley presents such an
interpretation of this passage (Curley 1969, 128). The benefit of this
theory of consciousness is that it is thoroughly representational, and
so it is consistent with Spinoza's general project of developing
a representational theory of mind. Further, this theory would seem to
entail that not all minds are conscious (or that not all thoughts are
conscious)--Spinoza suggests that infants are not conscious in
5p6s and 5p35s



Despite these advantages, this initial understanding of this passage
has fallen under heavy fire. Margaret Wilson has objected to this
reading by arguing that it does not provide a satisfactory way of
distinguishing between conscious and non-conscious minds or conscious
and non-conscious thoughts. Since, in God, there must be ideas of all
ideas, any given idea (and any given mind) will have the necessary
second idea (or even infinitely many--see 2p21s) that would
render it conscious. (See Wilson, 134-138 for further
objections.) Jonathan Bennett puts forward similar objections,
concluding that if this is Spinoza's account of consciousness,
it is "absurdly excessive" (Bennett 188). Curley concedes
the point (see Curley 1988, 71-72).



Others have tried to rehabilitate this interpretation and respond to
the potential objections. Lee C. Rice (1990) and Christopher Martin
(2007) both offer responses to the objections and attempt to defend
this interpretation of Spinoza's theory of consciousness. Their
efforts at making sense of 2p19-23 are interesting, but it is
not easy from this section of the text to avoid the "absurdly
excessive" conclusions. Of course, one could simply bite the
bullet here and say that Spinoza is in fact "absurdly
excessive"! He is committed to panpsychism, why not take the
short step to a similarly extensive account of consciousness? Indeed,
the next set of interpretations are prepared to go that far. 


### 3.3 Complexity and Power



Despite the explicit reference to the "ideas of ideas"
passages in later discussions of consciousness, Stephen Nadler (2008)
and Don Garrett (2008) think this is the wrong place to look for
Spinoza's theory of consciousness. Instead, they develop their
interpretations from the thesis of mind-body parallelism.



While Nadler is inclined to think that Spinoza does *not* have
a full-blown account of consciousness, what Spinoza does offer is
"very suggestive...for a particular kind of project, one
that represents a naturalistic account of consciousness that is
precocious in so far as it points the way to just the kind of
empirical, scientific inquiry into consciousness that characterizes
contemporary neuroscience and (some) recent philosophy of mind"
(586). Quoting 2p13s and 5p39s, Nadler argues that the feature that is
being tracked by the mind in consciousness is the structural
*complexity* of the body. 5p39s reads as follows:



> 
> 
> [H]e who, like an infant or child, has **a Body capable of very
> few things**, and very heavily dependent on external causes,
> has a Mind which considered solely in itself is conscious of almost
> nothing of itself, or of God, or of things. On the other hand, he who
> has a Body capable of a great many things, has a Mind which considered
> only in itself is very much conscious of itself, and of God, and of
> things.
> 
> 
> 
> In this life, then, we strive especially that the infant's Body
> may change (as much as its nature allows and assists) into another,
> capable of a great many things and related to a Mind very much
> conscious of itself, of God, and of things.
> 
> 
> 



From these passages, Nadler concludes that "human or higher
consciousness for Spinoza is nothing but the mental correlate of the
superlative complexity of the human body" (587). The result is
that consciousness, for Spinoza, is a matter of degree (as is
suggested in the passage above). Nadler also suggests the possibility
that this could be a threshold concept--that there is a minimum
degree of complexity that must be satisfied before a mind could be
conscious. But, citing Garrett's appeal to Spinoza's
naturalism, he dismisses the threshold view. And so, consciousness
comes in degrees, and all minds have it (contrary to the worries in
the *ideae idearum*
 section).[11]




Don Garrett draws from the same texts as Nadler, but what he
emphasizes in these passages is the difference in *ability*.
Note in the above passage that Spinoza talks of the infant body as one
"capable of very few things." And so the underlying
feature that consciousness tracks, according to Garrett, is the
relative *power* of the body (23-24). The more power a
body has, the greater the degree of consciousness in the mind. 



The problem with this view, according to Nadler, is that "all
that Garrett is warranted in concluding from his argument and the
central passages in question is that degrees of consciousness and
degrees of power of thinking in a mind vary proportionately, but not
that consciousness is itself *identical* to power of
thinking" (592-93). However, given Spinoza's
representational account of mind, the only two features that stand out
as candidates for explaining consciousness are some features of the
representations themselves (their complexity) or the causal efficacy
of the ideas (their power). (Cf. Della Rocca 2008 108-118.)



Michael LeBuffe has argued that the central passages on which most
scholars have developed their interpretations should *not* be
read as proposing a theory of consciousness; rather, these passages
are focused on "the epistemological status of certain elements
of conscious experience." Nevertheless, he does recognize that
Spinoza requires a theory of consciousness and raises a particular
problem for Garrett's interpretation. On Garrett's
interpretation, the power of a mind and the power of its constituent
ideas could diverge. That is, there could be a very powerful mind
(which is conscious to a high degree) whose ideas are relatively less
powerful (of which the mind is conscious to a very low degree). That
is, on Garrett's view, it is possible for a more powerful mind
(as a whole) to have ideas all of which are less conscious than the
ideas in a less powerful mind, in which case it would be odd to
describe the more powerful mind as having a higher degree of
consciousness (LeBuffe 2010, 557). LeBuffe argues to the contrary that
Spinoza does not characterize the power of a mind (as a whole) in
terms of its level of consciousness.



Eugene Marshall has proposed a development of Garrett's
interpretation, which reduces consciousness to
"affectivity" (see Marshall 2014, chapter 4).
"Affectivity" is the property an idea has when it
increases, decreases, or fixes the power of the mind's striving
(its "conatus") or when it moves the mind to act. Emotions
such as joy or fear would be affective in this way, but so would
certain rational judgments. Marshall argues that this provides a more
developed account of how power is centrally involved in consciousness
for Spinoza while avoiding some of the problems of Garrett's
proposal.


## 4. Developments in England



So far the discussion has centered on continental Europe. But there
were similar developments towards a theory of consciousness in
England.


### 4.1 Hobbes



At the beginning of the seventeenth century, we find Hobbes giving the
traditional definition of *consciousness*:



> 
> 
> When two, or more men, know of one and the same fact, they are said to
> be CONSCIOUS of it one to another; which is as much as to know it
> together. And because such are fittest witnesses of the facts of one
> another, or of a third; it was, and ever will be reputed a very evil
> act, for any man to speak against his *conscience*; or to
> corrupt or force another to do so.... Afterwards, men made use of
> the same word metaphorically, for the knowledge of their own secret
> facts, and secret thoughts; and therefore it is rhetorically said,
> that the conscience is a thousand witnesses. (*Leviathan*
> 7.4)
> 
> 
> 



The etymological sense of consciousness of *shared knowledge*
is preserved here and connected with the function of conscience as a
witness. Indeed, it is important to Hobbes to preserve this public
sense of consciousness/conscience, since he viewed the private
judgments of conscience to be "repugnant to civil society"
(*Leviathan* 29.7).



And yet, quite apart from the term consciousness, it seems that Hobbes
has an account of phenomenal awareness:



> 
> 
> [I]f the appearances be the principles by which we know all other
> things, we must needs acknowledge sense to be the principle by which
> we know those principles, and that all the knowledge we have is
> derived from it. And as for the causes of sense, we cannot begin our
> search of them from any other phenomenon than that of sense itself.
> But you will say, by what sense shall we take notice of sense? I
> answer, by sense itself, namely, by the memory which for some time
> remains in us of things sensible, though they themselves pass away.
> For he that perceives that he hath perceived, remembers. (*De
> Corpore* 25.1, p. 389; for some discussion of this text, see Frost
> 2005)
> 
> 
> 



We must be cautious about attributing a theory of consciousness (in
the modern day sense) to Hobbes here. In particular, we should be
cautious of what is meant by sensing that we have sensed, since
sensation is *itself* an appearance, which, presumably, one
would be aware of. But these appearances are connected together into a
single experience by memory. As Hobbes says in *Leviathan*,
"much memory, or memory of many things, is called
*experience*" (2.4). But phenomenal awareness seems to be
a property of sensation itself, for Hobbes. Hobbes resists the
implication of a higher-order account of consciousness in his
objections to Descartes's *Mediations* (cf. CSM II,
122-123 / AT VII 173; for discussion of the relation of Hobbes
and Descartes on the topic of consciousness, see Ross 1988).


### 4.2 The Cambridge Platonists



The shifting use of *conscientia* has here been traced through
the Cartesian line. However, a largely independent line developed
through the Cambridge Platonists (as is argued in Thiel 1991), and in
particular in the writings of Ralph Cudworth. 



Cudworth developed his theory by reflecting on Plotinus's
*Enneads*, where Plotinus makes use of the Greek term
*synaisthesis* (literally: "sensed with") to
distinguish lower natures from higher. Cudworth translates this into
English as "*con-sense*" or
"*consciousness*" (*True Intellectual
System* 159). It is by working out a particularly Platonic
metaphysical theory that Cudworth develops his account of
consciousness.



Cudworth, along with other Cambridge Platonists, argued for
"plastic natures," which are immaterial sources of action
in the world. These plastic natures are similar to minds or souls,
but, *pace* Descartes, Cudworth allowed that there are
non-conscious thoughts and non-conscious plastic natures. Against
Descartes's argument that all mental states are conscious,
Cudworth argues as follows (*True Intellectual System*
160):


1. Suppose, for *reductio*, that "cogitation" (or
thought) is the essence of the soul.
2. The essence of thought is consciousness (granted by both Cudworth
and Descartes).
3. The souls of men are sometimes in a deep, dreamless sleep (i.e.,
without consciousness).
4. So, by (1) through (3), the souls of men sometimes cease to
exist.
5. But (4) is absurd.
6. And so, (1) should be rejected: the essence of the soul is not
thought.



And so there is much in the soul (and especially in other principles
of life) that we know nothing about and cannot account for
mechanically (*ibid*). Unlike Spinoza and Leibniz (below),
Cudworth does not have the same interest in articulating a
"natural" account of consciousness or mental activity,
since the plastic natures themselves are sources of *divine*
activity and providence.



Nevertheless, the role consciousness plays in Cudworth's system
is a similar awareness of one's own thought that is distinct
from the moral conscience. While consciousness does contain a
reference to the subject of thought, for Cudworth, it does not do so
immediately or explicitly. It takes a distinct act of reflection in
order to provide the sort of self-reference necessary for making moral
judgments about one's own actions (Thiel 1991 92-24). (For
more on Cudworth's account of consciousness, see Thiel 1991 and
Lahteenmaki 2010.)


### 4.3 Locke



John Locke famously makes use of consciousness in his theory of
personal identity, separating personal identity from identity of
substance or identity of matter. This is a purely psychological
account of identity, which has implications for judgments of moral
responsibility (which Locke does develop), but consciousness
*itself* is not to be equated with the moral sensibility. 



Locke's definition of "person" contains in it a
definition of consciousness:



> 
> 
> [A *person*] 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: It being impossible for any one to perceive,
> without perceiving, that he does perceive. (*Essay* 2.27.9)
> 
> 
> 



Here again we find commitments to the transparency of the mental and
connections between consciousness and reflection. The identification
of consciousness with "perceiving that [one] does
perceive" raises again the specter of the higher-order
 interpretation.[12]
 But there are good reasons to think that a higher-order theory
won't work for Locke (see Coventry and Kriegel 2008 and Weinberg
2008). In just about every section of this entry, we have encountered
*someone* as interpreting the relevant philosopher as a
higher-order theorist. But repeatedly this suggestion is countered
explicitly by the philosopher himself or implicitly by an obvious
incoherence with other basic principles. One might hope that the
frequent objections in the literature will put an end to such
 speculations.[13]
 While expressions of accounts of consciousness in the seventeenth
century might sound a lot like today's higher-order theories of
consciousness, there are almost always alternative ways of construing
the accounts that are more faithful to what's going on at the
time.



Rather, in Locke's case, it seems that the analysis of
consciousness allows only the inference that thoughts are
*self-intimating*. "When we see, hear, smell, taste,
feel, meditate, or will any thing, we know that we do so"
(2.27.9). And yet there has been a long history arguing that Locke
equates consciousness and reflection (for this history of this
interpretation, see Kulstad 84-85). Of course, even if
Locke's account of consciousness necessarily involves
reflection, we have seen that this doesn't immediately entail a
higher-order theory. But, as Mark Kulstad argues, there is good reason
to think that Locke distinguishes consciousness from reflection. One
can be conscious of something (namely, a sensible quality) without
thereby reflecting on it (Kulstad
 87-91).[14]




Further, like Descartes, Locke argues that this is the essence of
thought--one can't have a thought without "being
conscious of it" (2.1.19). However, he will extend this idea
only as far as experience will allow--it is not at all clear to
him that "the soul always thinks," since we often fail to
have conscious experience while asleep. And so, as Locke says,
"every drowsy nod shakes their doctrine, who teach that the soul
is always thinking" (2.1.13; see 2.1.10-20 for the full
argument). This argument resembles that offered by Cudworth, and, like
Cudworth, Locke will conclude that thinking is not the essence of the
soul. The soul can persist through a state in which there is no
thinking--this is the beginning of his separation of the
underlying substance from its psychological states. The consciousness
of an individual bears no necessary relation to the substance it
inheres in, and so the substance contributes nothing to the identity
of the individual. 



Shelley Weinberg has argued for an interpretation of Locke's
theory of consciousness that she thinks solves many of the most
pressing problems of interpretation. According to Weinberg, for Locke,




> 
> 
> Consciousness is self-consciousness. It is a non-evaluative
> self-referential form of awareness internal to all perceptions of
> ideas. It is the perception that I am perceiving an idea, or the
> perception of myself as perceiving an idea. (xi)
> 
> 
> 


 She takes Locke's account to entail that every act of
perception is a complex state involving "at the very least, an
act of perception, an idea perceived, and consciousness (that I am
perceiving)" (xi). Her defense of this view shows how such an
account of consciousness helps make sense of Locke's claims
about the knowledge of one's own existence, the knowledge of
external objects, personal identity, and moral agency (Weinberg
2016).


## 5. Leibniz



Returning to the Continent, we find that Leibniz may be the first
philosopher we'll encounter that can properly be said to have a
*theory* of consciousness. Leibniz is one of the first
philosophers to make it very explicit that he is trying to work out an
analysis for this new psychological account of consciousness. He even
invents a new word for the concept: *apperception*, a
nominalization of the French verb *s'apercevoir de*, to
perceive. And along with this new term, he develops a theory of
consciousness that he intends to be fully naturalized, which, in part,
means that there are no unexplained gaps in the analysis that require
recourse to brute explanation or miracle.



Further, Leibniz is one of the first to provide a theoretical
grounding for non-conscious mental states, in contrast to the
Cartesians we discussed above who defined thought *in terms* of
consciousness. As Leibniz says, 



> 
> 
> [I]t is good to distinguish between *perception*, which is the
> internal state of the monad [i.e., simple substance] 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. Moreover, it is because they lack this distinction that the
> Cartesians have failed, disregarding the perceptions that we do not
> apperceive, in the same way that people disregard imperceptible
> bodies. This is also what leads the same Cartesians to believe that
> only minds are monads, that there are no souls in beasts, still less
> other *principles of life*. ("Principles of Nature and
> Grace" SS4, AG 208)
> 
> 
> 



Thus, Leibniz thinks he has diagnosed a significant error in the
Cartesian philosophical system, and he has the solution in his account
of consciousness. A couple of things stand out immediately from this
passage, which connect to our discussion above:


1. Leibniz's theory of mind is a *representational*
theory of mind. Perception is not understood in terms of awareness,
but rather in terms of the substance's "representing
external things."
2. Some, but not all, "souls" are conscious.
3. And those souls that are conscious can transition between
conscious and non-conscious states. Indeed, as he argues elsewhere,
there must be infinitely many *petites perceptions* in each
mind of which they are unaware, even while they are conscious of some
things. (See the preface to the *New Essays*.)
4. Minds or mind-like substances are found throughout nature (in
humans, animals, and other "principles of life"). But
their fundamental properties are the same: they are by nature
*representational*.



So, like Spinoza, Leibniz will have to provide a theory of
consciousness *in terms of* representations, and, perhaps
unlike Spinoza, he will have to demonstrate how this theory allows for
transitions from conscious to non-conscious states. If he can do this,
then, he thinks, his theory of mind will avoid many of the problems
plaguing the Cartesian theory of mind. Further, he thinks it will be a
fully natural theory, one that will open up a new science of the mind,
which he calls *pneumatology* (cf. RB 56; the name
*pneumatology* obviously didn't catch on, but the science
Leibniz envisioned would probably overlap significantly with
today's cognitive
 sciences).[15]




So, then, what was the account of consciousness Leibniz had to offer?
Some have picked up on what Leibniz says in the quotation above
("...*apperception*, which is
*consciousness*, or the reflective knowledge of this internal
state") and argue that consciousness, for Leibniz, is a matter
of reflection. And, as we have seen, this is a popular option during
the seventeenth century, but it is also an option for which it is not
always clear what the underlying structure would be. Does reflection
require a distinct second-order perception that takes the first-order
perception as its object? Or is it rather like Arnauld's
suggestion of a *virtual reflection* (in contrast to an
*explicit reflection*)? Many scholars believe that Leibniz is
arguing for higher-order theory of consciousness, where consciousness
is constituted by a first-order perception and a distinct higher-order
perception. (For this sort of an interpretation of Leibniz's
theory of consciousness, see Kulstad 1990, Gennaro 1999, and Simmons
2001.)



In fact, Leibniz's purported analysis of consciousness in terms
of reflection isn't entirely clear. *If* Leibniz is
arguing that a perception becomes a *conscious* perception when
it is accompanied by a second-order perception, then Leibniz has a
philosophical problem. Margaret Wilson's argument against
Curley's similar analysis of Spinoza's theory of
consciousness above applies even better to Leibniz. Leibniz's
theory of mind entails that every mind represents the universe (the
"universal expression" thesis), which would always
necessarily include a self-expression. All minds would have
higher-order perceptions of themselves and their mental states,
undermining Leibniz's ability to distinguish among
conscious/non-conscious substances or conscious/non-conscious
perceptions within a single substance. *All* substances would
be conscious, and all mental states would be conscious mental states.
(For a development of these criticisms as well as an argument that a
higher-order theory of consciousness would violate one of
Leibniz's basic metaphysical theses, see Jorgensen 2009. For a
possible response (but not decisive) to some of these objections, see
Jorgensen 2011a.)



Of course, it may be that Leibniz simply didn't see this
implication and so he held an incoherent theory of consciousness. But
there is another candidate theory in the near neighborhood. Consider
what Leibniz says about simple substances (or, as he calls them,
"monads") in the following passage:



> 
> 
> [S]ince the nature of the monad is representative, nothing can limit
> it to represent only a part of things. However, it is true that this
> representation is only confused as to the detail of the whole
> universe, and can only be distinct for a small portion of things, that
> is, either for those that are closest, or for those that are greatest
> with respect to each monad, otherwise each monad would be a divinity.
> Monads are limited, not as to their objects, but with respect to the
> modifications of their knowledge of them. Monads all go confusedly to
> infinity, to the whole; but they are limited and differentiated by the
> degrees of their distinct perceptions. ("Monadology,"
> SS60, AG 220-221)
> 
> 
> 



Leibniz here starts by articulating the universal expression
thesis--all simple substances represent "the whole."
What distinguishes them from one another is the relative
"degrees of their distinct perceptions," which track the
things that "are closest, or...greatest with respect to
each monad." Combining what Leibniz says here with other similar
texts, we see Leibniz articulating a broadly functional account of
consciousness. Consciousness is a function of perceptual distinctness,
which itself is a function of how things are represented in the
individual monad.



To see how perceptual distinctness arises from a variety of
representations, Leibniz provides his famous example of the sound of
the ocean:



> 
> 
> To give a clearer idea of these minute perceptions which we are unable
> to pick out from the crowd, I like to use the example of the roaring
> noise of the sea which impresses itself on us when we are standing on
> the shore. To hear this noise as we do, we must hear the parts which
> make up this whole, that is the noise of each wave, although each of
> these little noises makes itself known only when combined confusedly
> with all the others, and would not be noticed if the wave which made
> it were by itself. (RB 54)
> 
> 
> 



Each tiny wave sound impresses itself on our sensory organs and are
then combined into a more noticeable sound, one that will stand out
from the rest of the background representations of the world.
"Noticeable perceptions," Leibniz says, "arise by
degrees from ones which are too minute to be noticed" (RB
57).



The *way* in which distinct perceptions arise depends on the
functional organization of the body. In the "Principles of
Nature and Grace," Leibniz says that when a simple substance has
a body with "organs that are adjusted in such a way that,
through them, there is contrast and distinction among the impressions
they receive, and consequently contrast and distinction in the
perceptions that represent them...then this may amount to
*sensation*..." (AG 208). The contrast in noticeable
perceptions arises because of the function of the body
"confusing" (that is, fusing together) the representations
of the external world in such a way that they become more distinctive.
So, although they are confused, these perceptions stand out against
the perceptual background--they are confused *and*
distinct. When and how this occurs will depend on a variety of
factors, including the ability and sophistication of the sense organs,
the disposition of the individual, etc. Additionally, this will be a
matter of degree--certain representations will stand out more
than others. And so, for Leibniz, consciousness itself will be a
matter of
 degree.[16]




However, in order for Leibniz to account for transitions in
consciousness (whether it's a mind becoming conscious or whether
it is a transition in a mind becoming conscious of a particular
object) it cannot be the case that just *any* degree of
perceptual distinctness results in consciousness. Rather,
Leibniz's theory of consciousness appears to entail that there
is a certain minimal threshold at which consciousness arises. And this
threshold might itself be sensitive to context and the status of the
mind--things that I'll notice when I'm wide awake
will go unnoticed when I'm in a sound sleep. Here is one example
that Leibniz provides, along with his explanation:



> 
> 
> [T]here are hundreds of indications leading us to conclude that at
> every moment there is in us an infinity of perceptions, unaccompanied
> by awareness [*apperception*] or reflection; that is, of
> alterations in the soul itself, of which we are unaware because these
> impressions are either too minute and too numerous, or else too
> unvarying, so that they are not sufficiently distinctive on their own.
> But when they are combined with others they do nevertheless have their
> effect and make themselves felt, at least confusedly, within the
> whole. This is how we become so accustomed to the motion of a mill or
> a waterfall, after living beside it for awhile, that we pay not heed
> to it. Not that this motion ceases to strike on our sense-organs, or
> that something corresponding to it does not still occur in the soul
> because of the harmony between the soul and the body; but these
> impressions in the soul and the body, lacking the appeal of novelty,
> are not **forceful enough** to attract our attention and
> our memory, which are applied only to more compelling objects. (RB
> 53-54)
> 
> 
> 



Note that Leibniz here reaffirms that we are aware only of the
perceptions that are "sufficiently distinctive" or are
"forceful enough." This suggests a certain level of
perceptual distinctness or force that will "make themselves
felt." As in the case of the mill--you move in next door to
the mill and can't sleep because of the noise. But, over time,
you become accustomed to the sound of the mill and no longer notice
it. It is this sort of phenomenological fact, which we can all
recognize, that Leibniz thinks he can explain in terms of the
variations in perceptual distinctness. It's not, as he says,
that the noise no longer affects our sensory organs--the noise
continues to be registered internally, but there is something about
the lack of novelty that results in a transition in consciousness. We
no longer notice the noise (or, at the very least, we don't
notice it nearly as much). What explains this? Leibniz thinks he can
give a natural explanation of this in terms of the forcefulness of the
impression. Somehow it becomes less forceful over time. (How does it
do this? Leibniz doesn't give us a full account here. This is where he thinks we will see the promise of his theory and
then investigate the
 causes.)[17]




Thus, Leibniz may be seen as providing a fully naturalized
philosophy of mind in which he advocates for a **threshold theory of
consciousness**. This is a same-order theory of
consciousness--for Leibniz, a conscious perception is a distinct
perception. That is, at some level of distinctness, the perception
stands out sufficiently to be noticed. All perceiving substances have
perceptions that have some degree of distinctness, but not all
perceiving substances have distinct perceptions. Rather, it requires
some threshold degree of distinctness (relative to context) for a
perception to be distinct. (For a full account of this position, see
ch. 7 of Jorgensen 2019.)



Leibniz never uses the term "threshold" when discussing
consciousness, but his examples all appeal to thresholds in one way or
another. He says later in the *New Essays*:



> 
> 
> I...prefer to distinguish between *perception* and
> *being aware* [*apperception*]. For instance, a
> perception of light or color of which we are aware is made up of many
> minute perceptions of which we are unaware; and a noise which we
> perceive but do not attend to is brought within reach of our awareness
> **by a tiny increase or addition**. (134)
> 
> 
> 



Thus, at some level the noise will be noticed. Leibniz is silent on
precisely how this threshold is determined. Although he frequently
claims that differences in kind (although continuous with other kinds)
arise at the infinite or the infinitesimal, this is in tension with
many of the phenomena of consciousness which apparently arise at some
mid-level degree of perceptual distinctness (as with the description
of the difference between a conscious perception of light and an
unconscious perception of light above). Here is another area where
Leibniz is offering a *theory* and is optimistic that the
relevant natural factors determining the threshold will be discovered
in the science of *pneumatology* (and, indeed, cognitive
science has made some progress in this direction). 



But the overall transition has been made. The initial transition from
a morally-laden concept to a fully psychological concept was made with
Descartes and the Cambridge Platonists. And here, through the
Cartesians and in Leibniz, we see an attempt to clarify the concept
and to provide a coherent analysis of the concept. Leibniz's
account (and Spinoza's account, insofar as he has one) treats
consciousness as a natural phenomenon to be explained in natural ways,
and so he endeavors to explain consciousness in terms of the
underlying mental representations. This has obvious connections to
representational and functional accounts of consciousness that
continue to this day.



(For more on the topic of consciousness in Leibniz, see Barth 2011;
Bolton 2011; de Gaudemar 2004; Furth 1967; Jorgensen 2009, 2011a, and
2011b; Kulstad 1990; Thiel 2011 (section 3 of chapter 9); and Simmons
2001 and 2011.)